The Way We Talk

My name is Erica Saunders, and I'm dating a frat boy.

Okay, Chris Kamrada's not my boyfriend - at least not officially - but after three dates (or rather, two proper dates and one frat party in which I was dubbed "Kamrada's girl"), I'm sitting on his lap and wearing his Tau Kappa Epsilon sweatshirt.

It's an interesting concept. After my first few experiences at GW's frats, I'd concluded that every frat boy all but met the stereotype - loud, obnoxious, and perpetually shitfaced. Outfitted in those skinny jeans and with those ever-present drum sticks, Chris definitely breaks the mold, but is still loud and obnoxious when he's drunk. But I'm usually drunk too, so I don't particularly care.

I nurse my coke and shitty whiskey as Chris continues his story. We're alone on the small terrace of Jay's off-campus apartment. Enriquez is smart in this way; American's a dry campus, so drinking on campus will get you kicked out/ticketed. Because his apartment isn't university-affiliated, we can't get in quite as much trouble if we get caught.

Chris excuses himself to get us another round, and I grin out at the view of the city. It's just warm enough that a sweatshirt is all I need, and I run my fingers over the sewn-on letters. I always thought it as silly, these silly sweatshirts with Greek letter, along with the t-shirts, shorts, hats, underwear, etc... But it's the college version of a boy giving you his letter jacket, I guess.

"Hey, what's up" My head snaps up as Deeanna takes a seat next to me.

I shrug. "It's a nice night for January."

She hums in agreement, though not to the same degree. A nice, winter night in Houston is different than one in Maine, after all. "Yeah, I'm hoping it stays this way. I was stuck here during the snowstorm after Finals Week. Not my idea of a good time."

I giggle, and we're silent for a minute or two. A voice behind us breaks the silence. "I'm back," Chris says cheerfully, kissing my cheek from behind, "Who are you talking t-" He faces us, then freezes. He clears his throat, then addresses the girl next to me coolly, "Hello, Deeanna."

I hear Deeanna gulp loudly before replying, her voice shy and frail, "Uh, hi Chris. I'll, uh, leave you alone." And with that, she walks back inside as fast as is socially acceptable as still walking.

Chris sighs, sitting down next to me wordlessly, pressing the fresh Solo cup into my hand.

After a good five minutes of that awkward silence, I pipe up. "Can I just ask what just happened there?"

Chris sighs, staring at his own drink instead of meeting my gaze. He opens his mouth then closes it, as if reconsidering his words. "You know my ex-girlfriend?"

In reality, I don't. Chris spared few details about the ex. Well, other than she'd cheated on him and they were still on bad terms.

"What does she have to do with-" I begin to ask, and then it hits me, "Oh."

Chris's ex cheated on him over the summer. Deeanna's last relationship ended because she hooked up with a friend in August and her boyfriend had found out. Both relationships had lasted nine months, and ended badly.

To put the puzzle together, Deeanna and Chris dated, and she cheated on him.

"Yeah," he responds affirmatively, gritting his teeth before taking a swig of whatever is in his cup. "It's okay if you're friends with her, seriously," he adds on a sidenote, though his tone says something else altogether.

We continue to sit in silence.

--

To no one's surprise at all, I invite Deeanna to lunch on Monday. She meets me at JStreet and we stit down in the seating area, bad Chinese in hand.

"So, you're dating Chris now?" She asks, playing with her General Tso's chicken with her plastic fork.

I shake my head with a mouth full of Asian stirfry. "Sort of," I say once I swallow, "Not officially."

She puts down her form and shrugs. "I'm not sure what he's told you, but I'm not the devil. Like yeah, I cheated on him once. I was drunk and it happened. I came clean and he flipped out and that was the last time we spoke until Saturday."

I nod. "I don't think you're the devil. Neither does he. He's just...sensitive about it."

"It's been six months, you'd think he'd get over it. It's funny, really. Maria slept with someone completely sober and Christian forgave her, no questions asked and the promise that it would never happen again, yet I get shitfaced and make out with a stranger and Kamrada flies off the handle like I killed his fucking puppy. Talk about double standard."

I tilt my head at this bit of new information. "Seriously? Whoa. I guess people's tolerance for mistakes is different?"

We resume eating until Dee speaks up again five minutes or so later. "So yeah, you and Chris? Are you going to be official at some point?"

"Yeah, I guess," I respond, aware that nothing in my voice seems convinced.

Deeanna laughs, running a hand through her light blonde hair. "Don't sound so sure, Erica. Something holding you back - or someone?" I furrow my brows at her suggestion. "Come on, Ric, the only person in the world who doesn't know that you've got it bad for Christian is Christian and maybe Chris."

I shush her, though it's to no avail. She's right; it's a terribly kept secret. "It's not that I don't like Chris; it's just...complicated."

She shakes her head. "That's the thing, Erica, is that it's not complicated. Chris likes you, you like Chris and you're in love with Chrisitian, who is in love with you and his girlfriend. It's all there - what's complicated is how you deal with it all."

I cannot bring myself to argue with her logic. I ponder it through the rest of the meal.

--

There is no socially acceptable way to ask someone whether their girlfriend cheated on them, I realize mid-studying for physics.

"How do you solve number six?"

"Maria cheated on you, didn't she?" Strange, that doesn't sound like a kinematics equation. I resist the urge to hit myself over the head.

Christian puts down his textbook. "Yeah," he responds nonchalantly, "Like two months into our relationship. Who told you that?"

"Deeanna. She said something like, 'Maria fucked someone and Christian didn't give a shit and I made out with someone and Chris had a tantrum'."

Christian laughs at this, shrugging slightly. "Deeanna conveniently forgets that I was within a inch of dumping her."

"Why didn't you?" I'm probably treading on territory where you just shouldn't go, but hell, curiosity kills.

"We struck a deal. If I take her back, I get a free pass to hook up with anyone I want," he explains, stretching and casually leaving his arm on the edge of the sofa.

I shrug, leaning against his chest. "Who did you use it on?"

"Actually," he admits with a nervous chuckle, "I, uh, haven't actually used it yet. I know it's been like over a year, but...you know."

I laugh. "That makes a lot of sense now," I add, tilting my head up to look at him, "Maria thinks you're going to use up your get-out-of-jail-free card on me."

I see his lip curl up in that 'kind of...welll, yeah' sort of way of his, and grin. "I won't deny that it's definitely cross my mind."

His head tilts up to face mine, our faces about two inches apart at the most. "That Maria think that or that we could hook up?" I ask uncharacteristically boldly.

"Both."

If life were a movie, Christian would tilt his head down, just a smidgen, as if asking permission. I'd smile coyly and he'd push my bands away from my eyes and press his lips to mine, cautiously cute. He'd break the kiss for a split second to pivot himself so that he'd be able to face me head on. Then, he'd kiss me again and pull me onto his lap. He'd part my lips with his tongue, his hands holding tightly to my hips and mine tangled in his hair. The camera would then cut to a new scene of us, his white sheets up to our armpits, grinning like two kids with a secret.

But we don't live in a movie - at least, not in those cheesy, predictable, romantic comedy blockbusters that Katy drags me to. Instead, he immediately adds, "But you're with Chris now, so I'll just have to keep my hand onto that, won't I?"

But I'm not with Chris, I want to shout, but he's still right. Whether I'm his technically his girlfriend or not is irrelevant. I'm still the girl wearing his TKE sweatshirt.