Flat-Out Celeste (11 page)

Celeste slid into the seat of the Prius and smiled. In that moment, she didn’t care if her parents were staring through the window at them. She was not nervous anymore.

#ITSNOTADATE

JUSTIN GULPED DOWN half a glass of ice water. “Told you they were spicy. Whaddya think?”

“I think that the Camptown shrimp very strongly exceeded their already glowing reputation.” Celeste rested her elbows on the table and put her chin in her hands. “And I’m surprised that you hadn’t mentioned the crusty bread that is served alongside. I do believe that I am drunk on a flavor rush, if that is possible.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “I like girls who eat, and we went through three orders. Seriously, there’s nothing more annoying than taking a girl out and having her suck on ice cubes all night.”

“I do not suck on ice cubes.”

They had spent most of the past forty minutes discussing… well, given
Justin’s propensity for changing topics at the flip of a dime, discussing everything under the sun. His energy, his bounciness, reminded her quite a bit of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. He did everything quickly: speaking, inhaling his food, and gesturing constantly with his hands. She never knew into which direction he might take the conversation or when one topic would remind him of another. And then another. And yet, even in the throes of his animated and ever-changing dialogue, he never took his eyes off of her. It was rather enjoyable. He did, she assumed, do this with everyone, and his charming style probably garnered him a sizable fan club.

“So I have an idea,” Justin leaned in and whispered, forcing her to lean in even more to be heard.

“What’s that?” She forced herself to meet and hold his look, despite this being quite nerve-wracking and unusual.

“You still hungry?”

“Would you like to order an entree?”

“I don’t know Harvard Square well at all,” he said. “How about you show me all the cool insider places to eat here? You must know every good spot, right? Let’s start with pizza.”

“Pizza,” she said transfixed. It was not her fault, she thought, that his half-smile with its mischievous edge captured her and made it impossible to look away from him. She’d assumed that he would be returning her home after their shrimp tasting, but perhaps it was over pizza that he would give the final hard Barton sell. “Pizza,” she repeated. “Yes, that is an excellent idea. If you would like, I can suggest Pinocchio’s, an establishment that has been here for years. It’s in a picturesque nook off of JFK Street.”

“Why’s it called Pinocchio’s? Are they all liars there?”

She smiled. “No. The owners want to be real boys.”

“Maybe that’s just what they told you.” He winked. “But you can’t trust them because they’re lying.”

“What is not a lie is that the pizza is lovely, and so we shall ignore any fibs they should throw our way. It is a small place, mostly specializing in take-out orders, so do not have high hopes for fine dining.”

“Let’s do it.” Justin pulled back quickly from his close position, knocking over a glass and sending water and ice cubs across the table. “Oh God, again? I do this all the time.”

Celeste reached for all available napkins. “It is not a problem.”

Justin shook his head as he frantically helped to mop up what they could. “Seriously. You can’t take me anywhere. I’m such an embarrassment. Did I get you? You’re probably soaked.”

“I’m completely dry. It was an accident, so please do not fret over this. One does not cry over spilt milk, and so one certainly does not feel even the slightest pang of remorse over spilt water.”

“You’re too nice. I’m a complete klutz. Really, I shouldn’t be let out in public.”

“Justin?” He looked at her, both of them with soggy napkins in their hands, and Celeste smiled softly. Justin looked near frantic.

Then very deliberately and very calmly, she tipped over her own water glass. “There. Now we can go have pizza.”

He looked down at the table, stunned, and shook his head. “You are remarkable,” he said.

And so they had pizza. Celeste ate her slice and watched as Justin gobbled gooey cheese. In between bites, he managed to eke out, “If loving food made by liars is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” He ate three slices, and she two. It was amazing that he was not sick, given how fast he ate. They tossed their trash and without thinking anything of it, Celeste brushed a paper napkin over a spot of sauce that had fallen on his shirt.

“
Of course
I have food all over me.” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s just a spot. In the shape of a marionette, by good fortune.”

She pulled her hand away. How odd that she’d made a presumptive move such as this. It was not her place to do this. But then she noticed that she was using her fingertips to brush off a smattering of crust crumbs that had somehow flown onto his shoulder. “It means that you enjoyed your food. And that I picked a good place.”

“You’re sweet.” Justin held open the door for her. “So pick another place.”

Celeste pulled on her gloves. It was quite bitter out tonight. “You’re still hungry?” She struggled to put on her hat while wearing gloves, but Justin wordlessly took her hat in his hands and eased it onto her head.

“Of course I’m still hungry. Thanksgiving was like training day. Besides, as great as the food is in San Diego, I mostly eat on campus. Stupid dining plans. I have to stock up on good eating now so that I can get through until Christmas break. Campus food everywhere sucks, so that’s why I work part-time as a student liaison. Extra money for real food.”

Ah, yes, here was the confirmation that Justin was only doing his job. Was it wrong that she wanted to delay the end of the night? That she had been relieved each time he hadn’t mentioned courses, or well-published professors, or all the many accomplishments of Barton graduates? Because she had been. But now it was a matter of waiting for his spiel, signaling the start of the end of their night.

“So where are you going to take me next?” he asked excitedly. “God, it’s cold. I’m not used to this at all anymore.” He shivered even in his down coat.

“Hot cider then? At Algiers?” she suggested.

“Okay, where’s that?”

She started back towards Brattle Street. “You’ve never been to Algiers? It’s practically an institution here. Dark and worldly,” she hollered through a cold gust that blew their way. “Been here for years, by the Brattle Theatre. The service is dreadful, but that is part of the tradition. You must try the hummus and baba ganoush. Or, if you are still quite hungry, the lamb sandwich.”

Justin pressed his shoulder to hers as they walked. “Cider first, for sure. Then everything else you mentioned.”

After running together through the night’s plummeting temperatures, they were soon nestled in a dimly lit corner of the Algiers cafe, surrounded by dark wood and scholarly customers, and both blowing into steaming cups.

“Where are we going after this?” Justin took a small sip of the scalding cider.

“It is your belief that you will be hungry still after eating all that we ordered here?”

“That is my exact belief.”

She thought for a moment. “I have a plan that will, without question, satiate your desires.”

“Well, now I can’t
wait
to hear—“ Justin used his body to turn his chair more in her direction, shaking the table and nearly toppling their ciders. Celeste giggled, and Justin grinned sheepishly. “I know. You can’t be surprised by this point. So tell me this dastardly plan you have.”

“It is not dastardly, just practical. If you want another true Harvard Square experience, then I will take you to a place that my brother and I love, Mrs. Bartley’s, and we will order you an Upstairs on the Square burger, which is a tribute to the now-defunct restaurant of the same name.”

“And what makes this burger so special? Why is it better than McDonald’s?”

“Because McDonald’s is disgusting. and we do not eat there. We eat at Mrs. Bartley’s. The burger I have selected for you comes with no roll, but is instead served on spinach, then topped with chopped egg, bacon, walnuts, tomatoes, red onion, and a lemon vinaigrette.”

Justin wrinkled his nose and shivered. “I can’t say that sounds good.”

“I didn’t say it would be good. I said it would be an experience. But by ordering that burger, you get a double-dose of Harvard Square in one dish. I’d advise the addition of blue cheese.”

“Then I will take your advice. I trust you.”

“The alternative is that we go to Ben and Jerry’s and order a Vermonster. That is a twenty-scoop sundae with many candy toppings, and sauces, and such; and considering that you and I are both still shivering, ice cream holds little appeal now, correct?”

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. “How about we do that in the summer?” He smiled. “I’m home all winter break, too. You know, some people pack up and do holidays in St. Bart’s or something, but we just stay in Needham and freeze.” A server set down a bowl of hummus on the table, and as Justin reached for a slice of pita, he swiped his hand in such a way that his fork sailed off the table, clanging as it landed on the floor. The server flashed him a look, and Justin muttered an apology. “See? I’m forever annoying people.”

“I do not find you annoying,” Celeste offered. “I quite like your exuberance.”

He took sugar packets from the table and began rolling and unrolling them. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I do.” She didn’t like the disheartened aura that took hold of him.

“I interrupt people; I fall down; I have irritating attention issues. People think that I don’t care about them because I forget to ask questions or stop listening to what they say. I’ve lost a million friends because of that kind of nonsense. Well, and I spill stuff. As you may, you know, have noticed.” He forced a smile. “I’ve driven every teacher I’ve ever had to the brink of frustration. I nearly failed a handful of classes in junior high… Whatever. You don’t want to hear this. Sorry.”

“You are not annoying, Justin.” Intuitively, she put her hand atop his. “You’re not.”

“I don’t know how you can say that.”

“I would not lie to you. There are occasions to tell white lies, but this is not—”

“Celeste, you’re sweet, but I’m bothersome. There’s no way around it.”

“You do not bother me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t I bother you with all my… stuff?”

Celeste was confused. “Why would you being who you are bother me?”

“You say that now. Try spending any length of time around me, and you’ll think differently. I wear everyone down, trust me.”

“You have created an unfair situation. You just asked me to trust you,” she said.

“And?”

“And you will not trust me when I say that I do not find you bothersome. That is not right.”

He laughed. “You were on the debate team, right? I think the dean told me that. Dean Dean, remember? Anyway, you may be telling the truth right now, but you also may change your mind. I won’t hold that against you when it happens.”

Celeste thought for a moment. She took the wrinkled sugar packets from his hand and gave him fresh ones from the ceramic holder. “Another possibility is that young Dean grew up passionately trying to prove himself in various non-dean careers, but destiny intervened and he was unable to fight fate, accepting a job as dean at Barton College, where he has now become a topic of amused conversation for students and staff.” She took a sip of her cider and then licked a dollop of whipped cream with her tongue. “And I won’t change my mind.”

“I can be very hard to tolerate.”

“Okay.”

“I could drive you crazy. I have eccentricities.”

Celeste waited him out.

“I work really hard to manage them,” he said.

She nodded.

“Anyway, that’s enough of that. I don’t want to ruin this nice hummus section of the evening. Did we get baba ganoush, too? I love that stuff. Eggplant is not really my thing, but…”

Celeste tore apart a piece of pita bread and watched and listened as Justin talked. When he paused for air, she bravely asked what she’d been avoiding. “Justin, I have a question for you.”

“Yeah? Shoot.”

“Tonight, why have you not asked me about attending Barton? Or regaled me with all of the educational attractions?”

“I’m sorry. I got all caught up in my crap, and you’ve been so patient and nice about it all. I didn’t realize that you had more questions. Shoot. I’m ready.”

In that moment, it became clear that this night was not about Justin’s pitching Barton. She didn’t know what it was about, but that was okay. In fact, it was lovely.

“Actually, no. I do not have questions.” Celeste smiled.

After another stop for burgers, followed by coffee at Starbucks (which was very good, but noticeably absent of snowy owl foam images), Justin drove her home.

Their drive was quiet, neither of them saying a word. Silence between two people could be unbearable or it could be comforting, and this was comforting. The confines of the car created a shelter where it was just the two of them and where Celeste felt safe. Protected. It was unexpected, but undeniable. Watching Justin drive was mesmerizing, the way he maneuvered traffic and crowded streets with an ease that was such a contrast to the parts of him that were more touched with chaos. She liked the relaxed, thoughtful look on his face as he drove. Celeste looked out of the window at the dark sky as music filled the car. She didn’t know the song, but the lyrics resonated. Perhaps too deeply.

“I am unfamiliar with this musical selection, Justin. What are we listening to?”

“This? It’s ‘Shine.’ David Gray. I love his stuff, and this is one of my favorites. I guess it’s kind of a sad song, but it’s hopeful, too. I think he’s saying that love is complicated, that
life
is complicated. There are hard paths we go down, but there can be determination to survive and thrive in the face of adversity. We make choices. I don’t know… That’s the thing about music. You get to make it mean whatever you need it to mean. But anything that has to do with rising from the ashes always gets me.” He pulled up in front of her house. “We all have to overcome something, right?”