Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)(21)

“We have popcorn? Yes.”

“I won’t reveal where,” he says, disappearing into the kitchen, “but I have a hiding place.”

I’m too lazy to get up, so I don’t solve the mystery of where in the world is the secret popcorn. Also this acne-treatment infomercial is finally starting to get interesting.

“Voilà,” Dad says, coming back into the room with a bowl of popcorn, yay, and a shaker of Parmesan cheese, double yay.

“Awesome.” I stare at the TV as teenagers get their lives back. Apparently there are no lives with zits. “Did you have a lot of girlfriends in high school?”

Dad kind of laughs. “Well, yeah.”

Well, yeah?

“College, too.” He grins and takes a huge handful of popcorn. He needs sustenance to relish these lady memories. Ew. “Until I met your mom, of course.”

“Dad, I know.” I wish we could have this conversation without my having to think about Dad having dozens of girlfriends. “Just—that’s okay, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know. Knowing a lot of people.”

“‘Knowing’? Or dating?”

WHY AM I ASKING MY DAD ABOUT THIS? “Never mind.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re saying,” Dad says. “But of course it’s fine. As long as you aren’t in committed relationships.”

Committed relationships sound like they’re for people so old they worry about taxes and retirement plans and laxatives.

“Did you ever like three girls at once?” I ask, even though I don’t really want the answer.

“Well, yeah,” he says, again, “of course.”

OF COURSE?

Instead of dwelling on that, I turn my attention back to the on-screen teens and their miraculous better-skin miracles. And I decide I will call Milo tomorrow and see Ted Monday at school and figure out what the heck is up with Garrick and enjoy the fact there are suddenly so many options. I am not Reid with his weird rankings and back-up plans. I just like these guys.

*

There’s all sorts of noise in the background when Milo answers the phone on late Sunday morning.

“Hey,” he says.

“What’s going on there?” I ask. “Band practice?”

“Ha-ha,” he says. “I’m mowing the lawn.”

“You can call me back later if you want.”

“I’m talking to you now, right?” he says with a laugh. “What are you doing today?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “What are you doing, besides lawn mowing?”

“I’m not sure yet, either. Want to hang out?”

I suddenly feel like it’s weird. I don’t even know this guy, other than his first name and his phone number and that he plays the tuba and has good taste in music and that he’s eighteen. And now we could just hang out?

I guess that’s what dating is.

“Sure,” I say, doing my best to sound like this is standard operating procedure for me.

“Where do you live?” he asks. “I’m in Eagle Rock. We can pick a halfway spot.”

“I’m in Los Feliz,” I say. “Do you want to look at music at Jacknife Records in Atwater Village? And we can go to the farmers’ market and get free fruit samples and eat pupusas?”

Wow, I am suddenly brimming with ideas. Who knew!

“That sounds good,” he says. “Meet at twelve thirty?”


That doesn’t give me a ton of time to transform from Pajama Self to Normal Self, but I agree with this earlier-than-I’d-like time since he agreed with my agenda for the day. I was hoping dating would all be about hanging out and making out, but apparently there is also going to be compromise.

Milo is waiting at the entrance to the farmers’ market when I walk up, and he is like a vision, with his blond hair glowing in the sun and his Deerhoof T-shirt and his green Chuck Taylors and his jeans that I know would make his butt look awesome if he were to suddenly turn around. Milo, turn around!

“Hey,” he greets me. He is really good at casual.

“Hey.” I do an okay job myself, even without anywhere to lean.

“Come on.” He nods to the farmers’ market. “You said something about pupusas.”

“Totally, I did.” I walk in, past the booths selling fresh produce and organic homemade scented candles and fancy goat cheese, and get in line, with Milo right behind me. I always get really excited about getting pupusas, the fattest, most delicious corn tortillas stuffed with deliciousness, specifically beans and cheese and veggies and meat and whatever else, and topped with slaw and salsa and sour cream. Serious heaven.

“So how’s that Sandwiches album working out for you?” Milo asks.

“It hasn’t left my car stereo since I got it,” I say. “The sound is amazing, whatever they did remastering it.”

“Man, I never care about sound,” he says. “I feel like some of the best stuff’s recorded on crappy equipment in some dude’s basement, and it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t have to matter,” I say, “but when it’s something amazing, and then the sound’s great, too, it’s, like, synergy.”