The Way We Talk

It's weird walking into class on Friday.

Christian's not here yet, I realize as I take my usual seat. If he wants to talk to me, so be it. There are empty seats, he can decide where he wants to sit. I don't care. I'm also a liar. I pull out my laptop as Professor Abra clears her throat on her clip-on mike.

About five minutes into the lecture, I hear her say, "Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Mr. Climer." I freeze as he slides next to me wordlessly.

I tune back into the lecture, trying to pretend like I didn't even notice him at all. That is, until half-way through, when he nudges me with his elbow.

talk to me after lecture

I turn to him and nod once, then go back to my notes.

--

We walk up Pennsylvania Avenue in silence. He asked me if I was still getting my nose pierced today, and I said yes. He asked if he could go with me and I said yes. And that was the extent of it.

We hit the intersection of Penn, 25th, and L at a stop signal, and Christian finally speaks up. "I'm sorry about Wednesday night. I was way outta line."

I don't say anything, unable to meet his gaze. The signal turns to walk, and I cross the street and sigh.

"Me and Maria got into a fight about you on Tuesday," he continues, as if it is supposed to make everything all better, "And I hate having to choose which one of you I don't want to piss off today. Like, she's my girlfriend and I love her more than anything, but there are conversations that we have that I could never have with Maria."

We hit another stop signal and I shake my head. This is not my day. "You and her don't talk the way we talk." I'm not sure if I mean this as a question or a statement, nor do I see how he'll interpret it. People call us the same mind sometimes, but that's a horrible misstatement. We're two separate people, leading two separate lives that randomly intersected one day in a Starbucks.

He doesn't answer for awhile, kicking around a few loose pebbles with the toe of his shoe. "I don't talk to anyone the way I talk to you," he whispers, peeking at me out of the corner of his eye.

That's because she's your girlfriend, I want to tell him, and I'm just the best friend. And that's what I'm afraid of.

"Do you want to have lunch first or get the piercing first?" he asks as Penn ends on M Street, a random subject change. I'm not sure how that line of conversation would have ended.

"After," I reply hastily, "Best to get it over with." He nods in agreement as we head down M Street.

--

There's something comforting about Jinxproof Tattoo to me.

I know, it sounds weird to say, but it's true. It doesn't match the usual connotations of a tattoo parlor, with its bright artwork. The piercer is an unmenacing-looking man who explains all of his processes upfront, and I exit the parlor with a silver hoop through the left side of my nose.

Christian slaps me on the back and congratulates me on 'taking it like a man', escorting me to Johnny Rockets, on him. I hate it when Christian insists on paying - I just feel uncomfortable being spoiled like that when I could easily spend my own money. But Christian has this correlation between cash and conscience - you have to give to get, I suppose.

We make small talk through our burgers, and it isn't until we split a milkshake that we actually reach a topic of substance.

"What exactly were you and Maria fighting about?" I ask before taking a sip from my straw. There is something cliche, a sort of 1950's first date feel to this scene but we ignore it completely. We're beyond that, metaphorically.

Christian fiddles with his straw and sighs. "Maria doesn't believe that girls and guys can be just best friends."

"So, I'm going to steal you away from her and then we're going to run away to go get married?"

He chuckles at that, then half-smiles at me. "Not exactly. She just doesn't understand why I need to in my life. But it's like, you two hold these really different parts of my heart. I know that you don't see it, but Maria's been the perfect girlfriend for the last year and a half. She's everything I thought I wanted."

"And that's changed now?" Suddenly, that shake seems like a bad idea.

He nods, ignoring our milkshake as well. He grabs the pepper and salt shakers from the table: half-nervous habit, half-John Mayer song. "Yes and no. I like that we can talk about anything and everything. I like that you're willing to just do nothing with me. And you always understand."

"But, I inevitably create problems with your girlfriend."

He nods, dumping small amount of pepper onto the tabletop then playing with the grains aimlessly with his pointer finger. "The logical solution would be to choose between the two of you. But obviously, I'm not going to do that because I'm a selfish bastard and I want everything I can get my hands on."

I shrug at this, the side of my mouth curving up in a reluctant grin, and take a quick sip from our chocolate shake. "Hey, at least you're honest."

He hums as yes, then we finish our meal.

--

This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm on a date.

Okay, so maybe it's just coffee with Peter-the-Soc-Boy, but it's a step in that direction. I haven't been on a legit date since Dave (and even then, Veilleux's idea of a romantic night out is sneaking blizzards from Dairy Queen into a movie, on him), and I need to start somewhere. Pete's nice and we talk in class - mostly complaining about a) the weather or b) our professor, but words are still exchanged. And he's none too bad on the eyes.

That, and every second I spend away from Christian, the less license Maria has to hate me.

The truth is, this date has nothing to do with my recently resolved conflict with Christian. In an attempt to broaden my guy friend horizon past Climer, I asked Jay to dinner for tonight. That fell through, so I asked Pete if he wanted to grab coffee on Friday night. It's a friendly move that might possibly extend to friendlier.

The conversation is much of the same: weather, professor, and some small talk on an upcoming play that he's in.

"So," he asks, stirring around the remnants of his chai in his cup, "I'm going to admit, I'm pretty surprised that you asked me to coffee considering everything."

"How so?" What the fuck is that supposed to mean, I want to ask, but think better of it and take another gulp of coffee.

He shrugs. "I just heard that you and Christian Climer are attached at the hip."

"We're friends," I reply as casually as I can. God, Saunders, stop being so fucking defensive all the time.

He sends me a look that says that he knows more than he's letting on. "Look, my director is hooking up with Maika, and she says you sleep over there sometimes. I know that this is just coffee and all, but I don't want to come in the middle of whatever is going on between you two."

Fuck. Maile, is it necessary to hook up with half of the female population of student theater? "I'm not hooking up with him, if that's what you're insinuating."

He throws up his hands in defense, the leans against the back of his chair. "I never said you were. I'm just saying that you are providing little evidence to the contrary. It's a weird situation and I'm not sure I want to be involved with it."

I knew this was a bad idea, I swear. I didn't know why I felt it before, but I just knew it would be bad. "Then don't be, Pete. If you want to go, here's your out."

He sighs, then gets up. "Erica, you seem like really cool girl, seriously. But you're in a pickle right now, and I don't really need the drama. I'm kinda already in drama."

I roll my eyes at his bad pun as he pats me on the shoulder, then exits Starbucks. I should have just waiting for Jay to get out of work to do dinner. I grit my teeth and lean back in my seat, shaking my head.