Serious Moonlight(73)

Oh. I didn’t expect this.

Maybe we weren’t as different as I thought.

Maybe we’d both been let down by other people.

After a long silence, I said, “I’m sorry you went through that. I guess I assumed my life was more messed up than yours.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“I’ll see your overdose and bet you the death of a parent.”

For a moment I was scared I’d been too jokey. Then his shoulders relaxed, and he smiled the sort of smile that made me feel like I was receiving the queen’s blessing. “Who needs normal?” he said, eyes twinkling. “Not us.”

“Normal is for the weak.”

Warm fingers clasped mine and held tight. “Forget all this stuff. Remember what you told me in the van? I want that too. All of it. And I think we can. But I can’t guarantee it, and I don’t expect any sort of guarantee from you, either. I just need acceptance, that’s all.”

“That I can give you. But I need you to try not to die on me, because I’m getting really tired of that happening.” I was trying for light and jokey, but a wave of emotion caught me off guard, and my eyes brimmed with tears. I blinked them away, wanting to smile and cry at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, looking back at me with glossy eyes. “I’m pretty sure I can manage that.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he agreed.

He softly stroked his thumb over my knuckles. I couldn’t stop my fingers from clasping his. Such a little thing, holding hands. But a warm, electric current flowed between us where we touched, and it suddenly felt as if things were going to be okay somehow.

“I feel pretty stupid now,” I said after a moment.

“No reason for that. I mean, I do want to have sex with you again,” he said, glancing at the box on the coffee table. “But for future reference, you can’t just toss condoms at me and expect me to be in the mood. I mean, sure. The variety is tempting,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I’ve always wanted to try a glow-in-the-dark flavored condom. Kiwi? And they’re green, so I’d match the room.”

“Good grief,” I whispered, mildly horrified. “I just grabbed something.”

“And I appreciate that,” he said, struggling to hold back a smile. “Safe sex is good sex.”

I snorted. “It wasn’t last time.”

“Okay, fair point,” he said, grinning. “You know what? I think we should—” An obnoxious ringtone startled us both. He dug inside his pocket. “Shit. This is my mom’s phone. How did that happen? I must have grabbed hers off the dinner table when I was rushing.”

“Does that mean she has yours?”

“Probably. Stay here. I’ll go run this over and get my phone before she breaks the door down here. Meanwhile, make yourself at home. There’s Coke in the fridge. Let’s . . . put all of this on hold for a minute and think about our options, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back, yeah?”

I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to finish the sentence he was in middle of before the phone rang. I think we should . . . Should what? Wait until we’re less emotional? Turn off the lights and see if these condoms really do glow in the dark? Run a taste test on the kiwi flavor? SHOULD WHAT?

Now I was nervous. I pushed off the old couch and meandered into the kitchen. A cold drink sounded good. I could use the sugar to power through the fog that was hanging over my brain. My eyes roamed over a collection of bizarre cookie jars—mostly frogs and leprechauns—until I spotted a Mason jar filled with sugared gummy squares on the counter. I wondered if they’d been there since the 1980s, so I opened the lid and cautiously sniffed. Smelled like sugar and fruit. Looked homemade. And when I took one out, it wasn’t petrified, so I tested a small corner. Cherry. Nice. I grabbed a couple and ate them while opening the fridge. And after snagging a Coke and wiping sugar-sticky fingers on my jeans, I went for one more piece of candy. But when I opened my mouth to pop it inside, the door swung open.

“Don’t eat that!” Daniel yelled, lunging toward me.

I dropped it on the counter, terrified. “Why?”

“Did you eat any already?”

I nodded.

“How many?”

“What’s wrong?” I said, utterly alarmed. “You’re scaring me.”

“How many, Birdie?”

“Two? I don’t know.”

“Just two?”

“Yes! Are they bad? Is it bugs? Poison? What’s wrong?”

Daniel gritted his teeth. “They’re medicated,” he said, and when I stared at him dumbly, he clarified. “As in cannabis.”





“I try hard not to make the same mistake more than three or four times.”

—Stephanie Plum, Three to Get Deadly (1997)





23




* * *



Oh. My. Good. Gravy.

“I just ate . . . weed candy?” I massaged my throat as if I could get it back out.

“If you only ate two, you should be fine,” Daniel assured me. “They aren’t strong.”