“Can you try?” I ask.
I expect him to say yes, but he doesn’t.
He presses his lips tight and concentrates on the road.
EIGHTEEN
“I’ve always wanted to do simple things,” I tell Finn.
He looks up, mouth full of lemon merengue. He swallows. “What do you mean?”
We are sitting at a picnic table by the ocean. Long flat rocks jut out toward the sea. The sky is still gray. This setting, the peace and beauty of it, clashes with the angry chaos of my morning. My heart keeps speeding up, skipping, then abruptly slowing down, a child playing tag. But I like the world at this odd, heady angle.
Finn brought us to a ramshackle cottage on the side of the road, painted a pale blue. On the shingled wall next to the windows is a homemade sign that says “THE PIE SHOP” in block letters. Each one is a bit imperfect, slanting to the left or right, wider in some places and narrower in others. Inside the shelves are packed floor to ceiling with chocolate bars from all over the world, the kind that are hard to find. The rest is a kitchen where three people are hard at work cutting and chopping and baking. A long display case brims with all kinds of pies. Savory, sweet. Some vegan, some vegetarian, and plenty for carnivores.
I’ve lived here my entire life, but I didn’t know this place existed.
Shows how much I get out.
I look down at the oblong pie I’ve been devouring, half of it gone, the crust crumbling where I’ve attacked it with my fork. Steak and cheddar. I don’t know why I picked it, but it’s delicious. “Simple things like, I don’t know, this, for example,” I tell Finn. “Eating with a friend.”
“So we’re friends?” Finn asks.
Something flutters in me. Do I want to confirm that we’re friends, when what I really want is for us to be more? Finn answers before I can respond.
“Wow, I see how it is, Marlena,” he says, but he is laughing. “Don’t let me pressure you or anything. We don’t have to be friends.”
I hesitate, sensing this moment is important. An image flashes. Is it a vision or a simple thought? It’s of me, reaching out, taking a step. Finn is waiting for me, a few feet away. The picture fades. “It’s just that, well, um.” How can I explain? “It’s difficult for me to know what a friend is. I’m only recently learning what it means to have one. I’ve been sheltered from other people. Everyone but my mother. She keeps me, our life, very private. But lately I don’t want to live like this anymore, and the more I want to be free, the more my mother wants to imprison me.” I stab at the pie to give myself something to concentrate on other than Finn. “Hence, I do things like demand a kiss from a boy I hardly know at the absolute wrong moment because I have no idea what I’m doing. Or what other people do in such situations.”
Finn lays his fork on the table. “I wasn’t making fun of you. Or, if it seemed that way, I didn’t mean it to.”
I resist the urge to dig into my plate again to distract myself from the nervous feeling in my chest. “I know. It’s okay.”
Finn’s hand is flat across the weather-worn boards, not far from my own. “I’m glad you called me,” he says quietly. “You should consider me a friend.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” At first I don’t realize the different ways this question might be interpreted, but I don’t take it back. The breeze floats around us. As I wait for Finn to answer, I want to inch my fingers toward his hand. A car drives by on the road beside us. It sounds loud, like someone turned up the volume on the world. Finn’s eyes drop to the table, and he pushes the conversation in a different direction.
“Tell me about the simple things you’ve wanted to try. I want a list.”
I grab my fork, stabbing the pie, trying not to be disappointed. “I don’t want to bore you. Or make you think I’m even more of a freak than you already do.”
Finn raises one eyebrow, something I’ve read about in books but never seen anyone do. “I don’t think you’re a freak, but obviously you think you are. And I’ll remind you that technically, I’m kind of freakish, given my age and that I’m already getting my PhD. So let’s just say I want to know some of the things on your list so maybe I can assist in the effort to defreak you. Or maybe we can normalize each other, since it hasn’t occurred to you that I also might need help in that department.”
I swallow the bite I’ve just taken, then laugh. “I’ll tell you some of the things on my list, but only in the effort to help you out.”
“Of course. I really appreciate that.”
Things pop into my mind. I try to pick through them. There are so many and they appear at random. “Going for a swim on the beach.”
“You’ve never been swimming?”
“Not like a normal person. Not in a bathing suit.”
“Normal for you is skinny-dipping?” Finn asks, laughing again.
“That’s not what I meant.” I shake my head, cracking up. “Okay, moving on. Going to a party. You know, with people my age.” I keep going. “School. I’ve never been to school or class or had a locker. I’ve only read about those things in books.” Finn is staring like he wants to speak, but has decided to be patient so I can get through my list. “I’ve never been to a movie. I’ve never gone on a road trip. I’ve never had a sleepover. I’ve never been allowed to dress like a normal person, at least not openly.” My heart rushes forward, beating at the insides of my rib cage. “Even though I’m eighteen, I’ve never driven a car, never even sat behind the wheel of one. And I’ve never been . . . out on a date.” My eyes dart toward the spray of ocean rising up from the rocks. “There’s plenty more but I’ll stop there.”
Finn says nothing.
“What? Now you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, offering to help me out with this list?” My question sounds cheerful, but underneath it is insecurity.
“No. It just makes me sad that being a healer has kept you from . . . from living.”
“I’m living.” I swallow. “Right now.”
The silence that follows is frustrating. I can tell Finn is holding back again. He’s like a soda can that started gushing after being shaken but then somehow stopped. I want to shake him up again, like I did when I told him I wanted to kiss him in his truck.
“You’ve never been out on a date?” Finn asks finally.
And here we are. Where I want to be. But will the outcome be bad or good?
I bite my lip. Then shrug. “Maybe not.”
“Ever?”
What is the right answer here?
“Maybe never?”
“Okay,” Finn says.
“Does that freak you out?”
There’s a beat before he answers. “Stop saying that word. And no.”
“Does it surprise you?”
“No,” he answers, this time too quickly.
“Is this a date?” I ask, just as quickly.
There is a long pause.
“Maybe?” Now it’s Finn’s turn to be uncertain. “Do you want it to be?”
I nod, but don’t speak. Words might shatter the moment.
“I want it to be, too,” he says quietly.
I smile, but only a little so as not to wear my joy too boldly. I look down at my thin cotton sheath and pull at the ends of Finn’s scarf. “This isn’t how I imagined I’d be dressed for my first date. Like an escaped mental patient.”
Finn laughs, loud this time. “You do not look like an escaped mental patient.”