After the movie, we head to an Italian place. I still don’t know what to do with the flowers, and wish I’d never asked for them. In the end, I put them under my chair.
He asks me again about how school is going, and I give him the update. I also tell him about letting my parents know, and about Rebecca calling him Mystery Man.
“I hope that’s not how you think of me,” he says.
“Well, you have to admit you have more mystery to you than the usual guy. I mean, person.”
“Like what?”
“Like why you are the way you are? Like where you come from? Like why you do the things you do?”
“Yeah,” he says, “but don’t we all have those same mysteries? Maybe not where you came from—but do you really know why you are the way you are? Or why you do the things you do? I don’t know why I was born this way—but you don’t know why you were born your way, either. We’re all in the dark. It’s just that my dark is a little more unusual than yours. For all we know.”
“But there’s more about me that’s explainable. You have to admit that.”
“You can drive yourself crazy looking for explanations for every single thing. I can’t do that. I’m happy to let things just be what they are. I don’t need to know why.”
“But you have to be curious! I’m curious.”
“Well, I’m not. And if this is going to work, I need you to take it at face value.”
“Face value? Really?”
“Okay. Bad choice of words. Inside value. Soul value. Self value. Whatever you want to call it.”
“What do you call it? What do you think you are?”
“I’m a person, Rhiannon. I’m a person who happens to go into other people for a day. But I’m still a person.”
Chastised. I feel like I’ve disappointed him. I’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone else. I haven’t understood.
We stop talking to eat. But I can’t help watching him. Searching.
“What is it?” A asks, catching me looking.
“It’s just that…I can’t see you inside. Usually I can. Some glimmer of you in the eyes. But not tonight.”
I’m not sure if this is his fault or mine. The connection needs to be plugged in on both ends, and maybe it’s loose in me tonight.
“I promise I’m in here,” he says.
“I know. But I can’t help it. I just don’t feel anything. When I see you like this, I don’t. I can’t.”
“That’s okay. The reason you’re not seeing it is because he’s so unlike me. You’re not feeling it because I’m not like this. So in a way, it’s consistent.”
“I guess,” I say. But it’s not what I want to hear. I’ve never heard him disown one of the bodies before. I’ve never heard him say, This isn’t me. Is it because he feels that way, or is it because I’m making him self-conscious? He knows I’m uncomfortable, and it’s making him uncomfortable. He, who can adapt to everything, and has been doing it for as long as he’s been alive, is seeing himself through my eyes, and because of that, he’s finding himself lacking.
I need to stop. But what am I supposed to do? Try to not see him as this huge guy? How can I ignore that? How can I not feel different relative to that?
All of these thoughts, and I can’t say any of them aloud. Because that will only make it worse.
So instead we talk about the movie. The food. The weather.
This is disturbing. Disturbing because we’re not talking about us. And also disturbing because I realize that when you’re sixteen and in love, there isn’t much to talk about besides yourselves.
This isn’t about the body you’re in, I want to tell A. It’s about where we are.
He doesn’t call me on it until we’re walking to get our cars.
“What’s going on?” he asks me.
“Just an off night, I guess.” I try to smell the roses, but the scent is worn out. “We’re allowed to have off nights, right? Especially considering…”
“Yeah. Especially considering.”
It’s not the one thing, it’s everything. If he were in the body from the cabin, I would be kissing him good night. If he were the girl-boy from the other day, I wouldn’t be. Or if he were Ashley with her Beyoncé looks. Or if he were Nathan from the basement. I wouldn’t be. And if he were the picture in my mind, this night would have been different. Right now would be different.
It’s not how it should be. But it’s how it is with me. At least until I can get more used to it. If I can get more used to it.
I couldn’t even kiss him goodbye if I wanted to. Not lightly. Not without him coming down to my level.
So instead of trying for that, I raise the roses up. I let him breathe them in instead of a kiss. I try to make it a nice goodbye that way.
“Thanks for the flowers,” I tell him.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“Tomorrow,” I say.
He nods. “Tomorrow.”
We leave it at that.
But is it enough?
We keep saying tomorrow. We keep promising it, even though there’s no way to promise it for sure.
My parents are already asleep when I get home, but the quiet house gives me too much space to think. Dinner and a movie. The most basic elements of a relationship, of dating. But we failed it, didn’t we?
I think maybe I’ll feel different in the morning.