Know Not Why: A Novel (15 page)

“How ‘bout you tell us?” Cora retorts oh so
sweetly. “Since you were listening and all.”

“I wasn’t really
listening
. I maybe heard
some stuff, but it was just because I’ve got ears, so I couldn’t
really help—”

Cora keeps on looking at me like I’m lamer than
a herd of My Little Ponies breaking their legs on rainbows, but
Kristy goes along with it. Bless her. “I was just telling Cora
about how you were over at my place with Arthur on Saturday
night!”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, yeah, I was there.”

Do something with
that
, girly girls. I’m
totally cool.

“Didja hit that?” Cora asks.

Kristy does this great gasp-giggle hybrid thing.
“
Co
ra!”

Thank God I dragged her out of
Old
Yeller.
I’m pretty sure this girl shouldn’t even be let out in
public. “
What
? No! Where the hell would you get that
idea?”

“I dunno,” Cora responds, twisting a strand of
crazy hair around her finger. “I guess I was just hoping that you’d
grow a pair after our little evening together, sweetie pie.”

“Well, I didn’t,” I retort. Admittedly, without
really thinking about it first.

Cora just about smirks her face off.

“Because I didn’t
need
to because I’ve
already got a pair,” I finish. “But really, thanks for your
concern.”

“What can I say? Men’s health issues really get
me going.”

“It seemed to me like they just had dinner,”
Kristy jumps in.

“Yes,” I say, pointing at her. “
Thank
you
. That is what happened.”

“Did you at least make out a little?” Cora
persists.

I glare at her. “What is
up
with
you?”

“I’ve decided to live vicariously through you,”
she replies, not even slightly discouraged. “Your sex life is my
sex life. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Arthur seemed like he was in a really good mood
for the rest of the night,” Kristy mercifully interjects. “I think
he liked having you over.”

“Really?” I ask. Not that I care either way,
but, well. You go over to somebody’s house, you want to hear that
they had an okay time. It’s just common decency.

“Yeah! He didn’t even start to look like he had
a headache when we found
13 Going On 30
on TV and stayed up
late so we could watch it to the end. Oh my gosh, I am pretty sure
I just want to
be
Jennifer Garner when I grow up. She’s so
radiant
, isn’t she?”

“Totally,” I say. It’s the least I can do, I
figure. “Jennifer Garner, she’s awesome. I can’t think of a better
person to aspire toward being.”

“Madam Curie,” Cora says. “Shakespeare.
Jesus.”

“He didn’t, er, say anything about me, did he?”
I add. Nonchalant. Just wonderin’. No big.

“Jesus?” Cora asks dryly.

“Not directly,” Kristy says, eyes sparkling.
“But he did mention that—”

“Good morning,” Arthur says, coming into the
kitchen. He seems pretty jaunty. Pretty step-springy.

“Would you look at that!” Cora exclaims. It’s
like she’s doing a freakily accurate impression of Kristy. “My
goodness, it’s almost time to open! And nobody’s out front! We’d
better fix that right away, huh, Kris?”

I think at first maybe Kristy will refuse to go
along with such cruel, tactless shenanigans – or at least get
insulted at being made fun of or something – but all she does is
link her arm through Cora’s. “Gosh, you’re right! Let’s go!”

They skip off giggling like a couple of lady
lunatics, leaving Arthur and me to stare at each other. He quirks
an eyebrow at me; I feel myself starting to smile.

Then—

“Oh, by the way,” Cora says, stopping in the
doorway and pulling Kristy to a halt along with her, “what are you
guys doing on Friday night?”

Something in the way she says it makes it sound
like we’d be doing something together, which is totally ridiculous
and also, hey, FUCK YOU, reddening cheeks,
I am your master
now.

“Well,” Arthur begins, “I thought that I
might—”

“Wrong,” Cora interrupts briskly. “You’re coming
to see my play. All of you.”

“Rocky Horror?” Arthur frowns.

“Yep,” Cora replies, absolutely merciless.
“Bring your fishnets.”

“I—”

“Don’t pretend you don’t have any.” And with
that parting shot, she drags Kristy out front.

There’s a moment of silence.

“I don’t have fishnets,” Arthur says then.

“I know,” I reply. Because sure, he’s gay, but
the whole ‘maybe you’re just girly’ lesson still shines fresh in my
mind.

“Good,” he says, going for a mug in the
cupboard. He’s halfway to chamomile heaven when he adds, throwing a
glance back over at me, “I suspect they’re trying to matchmake
us.”

And, well,
duh
, but having it said out
loud is a little unsettling.

It’s also sort of nice, though. Because, here’s
the thing: this is a big deal. Inevitably a big deal. But Artie? He
doesn’t really make it seem that way. And that, I can
appreciate.

So I just say, “Yeah, what’s that about?”

“Honestly, Kristy’s been at it for awhile.”

“Yikes,” I say.

“Yikes,” he agrees.

It gets quiet, but it’s not necessarily a bad
kind of quiet. I grab a book on the table, only to discover it’s
A Little Princess
. Super cool. I pretend to read the back
cover, and I watch Arthur out of the corner of my eye. Oh yeah.
Straight up spy skills. He opens the cupboard above the sink and
pulls out a mug, then goes over to the coffeepot and fills it up.
Arthur plus coffee? What can it possibly mean?—

“Here,” he says, suddenly right next to me.
“You’re a coffee drinker, right?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replies genially, heading back
to the microwave.

I take a sip. It’s scalding and has a distinctly
tarlike consistency. Ah, Cora. A lady who knows how to brew it
right.

“Can you maybe pass me some—”

Arthur soundlessly hands me five sugar
packets.

“Awesome. Thanks.”

I set to work pouring them in. He grabs his tea
out of the microwave, then settles down in the chair next to
me.

“This a favorite read of yours?” he asks, a
perfect mockery of seriousness, and prods at
A Little
Princess
lightly.

“Oh, yeah. I love the part where she’s a
princess. And does all that … princess crap. And then, when the –
dragon attacks— it really sucks for her, because she’s so little,
she fits right in his dragon mouth—”

“Nope,” Arthur says.

“Didn’t think so,” I say. “You a big—” I glance
at the cover, “—Frances Hodgson Burnett fan?”

“I,” Arthur says, “grew up with a big sister.
Who loved to force upon me the reading material of her choice.”

Oh, this knowledge has some potential. “Did she
ever make you dress up in, like, tutus?”

“Not answering that,” Arthur replies crisply,
and takes a sip of his tea. I chuckle.

There are a few moments of peaceful quiet.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say.

“Thanks for staying,” he replies.

“Oh, totally. You feed me, I will stay.”

He smiles. “Good to know.”

Whoa. Is it?

Do I want it to be?

Kind of.

I don’t really know what to say, and I think I
can feel my ears turning red, a feat that should not be
biologically possible. (Like, isn’t that so lame that evolution
should have knocked it out by now?) I rip open my remaining two
sugar packets at the same time and dump ‘em in.

Arthur’s brow furrows. “Didn’t I give
you--?”

“Five.”

“And you put in …”

“Five.”

“I didn’t mean for you to use all of them.”

“What can I say? I
live
to exceed your
expectations.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, staring into the mug. “My
God. That’s so ruinous.”

I lift the cup and give it a tantalizing little
swirl. “You want a sip?”

“No. No, just – not … at all.”

“You sure?”

“So completely certain.”

“Come on, man. It’ll give you a little jolt.
Wake you up.”

“And I will remain awake for the next three
months. Say, haven’t you ever contemplated chamomile?”

“Yes, and the conclusion I came to was, ‘I’m not
eighty.’”

“I think it may be time to reevaluate your
stance—”

“ARTHUR! WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN THE CASH
REGISTER SPITS THE TAPE AT YOU??” comes Kristy’s desperate cry from
out front.

Arthur sighs. “I appear to be needed.”

“Go save ‘em, boss man.”

“Enjoy your sludge.” He stands up.

“Oh, I will. Count on it.”

“I SWEAR I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING DIFFERENT! BUT IT
IS TOTALLY FREAKING OUT!”

“FUCK THIS MACHINE.”

“CORA, CALM DOWN, IT’S OKAY! ARTHUR!!”

Arthur takes a few steps toward the door. Then,
so fast that I don’t even realize it’s happening ‘til it’s
happening, he comes back over to me, grabs my mug out of my hands
(complete with some finger brushing I don’t totally un-notice), and
takes a sip.

There’s a moment of solemn silence broken only
by the distant sounds of Kristy and Cora hysterically battling the
cash register.

“Yep,” he says at last. “Disgusting.”

Then he hands the cup back to me and hurries on
out.

I stare after him, awed.

+

“Oh! That thing Arthur said!” Kristy exclaims
out of nowhere that afternoon; we’re sitting in the knitting aisle
restocking yarn.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, oh so subtle. “I forgot about
that.”

“It wasn’t all that much,” Kristy continues,
bouncing on her knees. “It never really is with Arthur. He didn’t
even cry after he broke up with Patrick, and they were together for
two and a half years! And I know boys aren’t supposed to cry, but
that is such a lie, sometimes they do! Like, I have totally seen
Reddy cry before, even though I don’t think I’m really supposed to
tell anybody about it, so forget I said it. But it’s not like it
makes me like him less! I think it’s
so sweet
.” (Reddy’s her
boyfriend’s name. Well, no, correction:
Clifford
is her
boyfriend’s name, and everybody calls him Cliff – except Kristy,
who calls him Red, like, Clifford the Big Red Dog. And then,
because Kristy’s the sort of person who likes to put ‘ee’ sounds on
the end of things to the point where it might be an actual speech
impediment, he’s Reddy.) “And anyway, if Arthur needed to cry, I
would have totally held his hand and told him it was gonna be okay!
But all he did was read
The Remains of the Day
over and
over, which is apparently about a sad butler? He told me all about
it. After I asked. A couple of times. So anyway! That’s how Arthur
shows his emotions. He doesn’t. He reads books instead. So when he
does even a little thing, it means a lot.”

“And … what’d he say?” I don’t want to seem
eager. I’m
not
eager. Just … curious. Not, like,
cat-death-curious. A healthy amount of curious. George-curious.

“After you left, I was like, ‘You seem happy,’”
Kristy reports, her eyes bright. “And he was like, ‘Yeah. It was a
nice night.’”

Huh,
I think.

+

I dawdle after work, take awhile to get my coat
on. I step out into the parking lot while Arthur’s still locking
up, but I don’t get into my car yet. That’s saying a lot, just so
you know: it’s reached new levels of freezing out here. After what
seems like roughly twelve gazillion frozen eons – like, maybe we
squeeze in a new ice age – Arthur turns away from the front door
and starts over to his car.

“Hey,” I say, sauntering over. Okay, maybe it
doesn’t count as sauntering if you slip on the ice a little. But
whatever. I’m totally cool. I don’t fall or anything. Barely
noticeable.

“Whoa,” Arthur says, holding out a steadying
hand. His fingers brush my shoulder. “You okay?” He smiles at me,
this small, easy smile, and even though we’re drenched in the dull
orange light from the lampposts, the kind of light that’s just
bright enough to turn everything dingy and ugly, he still looks so
good to me.

Damn it.

And so I ask. “Will you do something for
me?”

“Yes?”

“Freak out about something.”

He stares at me. “What?”

“Freak out about something. Anything. Just – I,
okay, I would appreciate it if you’d just show me that you can.
Like, hey, how about that kitten angel poster?
That
is some
freaky nonsense. No one should be forced to live with that! Am I
right??”

“I’m not really upset about it,” Arthur replies,
with that typical slight frown of his. He has a nice frown. “It
is
Kristy’s house, and I am imposing upon her hospitality.
Complaining about her choice in wall decor seems unfair.”

“Of course,” I mutter.

I start to turn around. What’s the point in
trying to force the impossible, and all that.

“Howie?” Arthur says.

“What?”

“Why do you want me to freak out?” He asks it
sort of gently, which makes it worse somehow.

“Because you make me freak out all the time.”
Maybe I’m not so totally chill, but whatever, whatever, I’m sick of
it. “Like, honestly, I’m pretty sure I’ve started doing it
professionally. Maybe you should start considering paying me extra.
‘Cause seriously, dude, when it comes to freaking out about you, I
am the master. I am friggin’ incomparable, I got mad skills all
over the place. And I don’t think this is exactly mutual freaking
out, like, I don’t get the sense that I make you want to wither and
die and explode. And that’s okay. That’s cool. I’m kind of going
through a thing here that you probably went through a long time
ago, unless you didn’t go through it at all because you’re just all
together, like, you popped out of the womb, all, ‘Thanks for
squeezing me out, Mom; no more pussy for me.’”