We make our way down to the river. I'm not even hungry yet, but I'd rather not stay at the Boarding House.
Arnold appears to thinking the same thing. We walk right past the food trucks and continue down to the docks. I spot a glass bottle left on one of the posts. I pick up a stone a chuck it at the bottle.
MISS.
I pick up another stone and repeat the motion.
MISS.
"Why must you spite me?!" I exclaim dramatically.
PING!
The bottle jerks back. I look over my shoulder to see Arnold has joined in my game.
"Ha! Bet you can't hit it again!" I challenge.
He throws again- PING! It almost falls off, but not quite. Now a third time, he can't strike again- PING! SPLASH!
Oh, my love never ceases to amaze me.
"What do I win?" he asks dopily, grinning.
Again fate has dealt me the perfect moment to kiss him. We're finally alone, he's won my affection, all I have to do is run into his arms.
"You win... A not quite brand new and slightly water damaged phone. Check your back pocket, bucko."
Well that was lame.
Arnold walks to the edge of the dock and takes a seat. He looks out over the river. His expression is perplexing.
"Oh, what? You feel bad about littering now?" I tease, joining him.
"Probably wasn't the best idea," he says.
"I was joking, oh Holy one," I say. "Sheesh. You better not touch me, I may burst into flames."
I expect him to laugh, as he usually does to my sarcastic banter. However, he does not. I wonder what's eating him?
I spot the bottle in the water, floating just in front of us. I pick up a few stones and toss them at it. It's a nice distraction. And finally- PING! I throw my hands in the air triumphetly. Arnold doesn't seem to have noticed though.
"Did you seriously miss that?" I demand.
He turns to look at me and asks, "Why didn't you write to me?"
Well that's a loaded question. Where to begin? To start I was mad. I was mad that he left just as shit really hit the fan for me. Bob's company had been going through a rough patch and he had become even more impossible. Miriam was his punching bag, of course, and her, um, "self-medicating" got out of hand. And Olga was driving me nuts! The worst part was that even she couldn't straighten them out. That's when you know things are hopeless.
Then I felt guilty for being mad at him. It was extremely selfish to want him to stay just for me. He already had plans, and it wasn't his duty to take care of me. I expect too much from him.
Finally, I was sad. I was alone and miserable.
"Huh?" I respond.
"Were you really mad?" he asks. "Is that why you didn't write?"
"I wrote you... I..." I try to say it, but the words get caught in my throat. "I wrote you 365 letters! I wrote you every day for a year!"
I blurt out this ridiculous line before I can stop myself. I let it hit him, and then I howl with laughter. Smooth, Pataki...
"Huh?" he now says.
"Oh, I thought you loved chick flicks," I tease. "Would've thought for sure you've seen that one. It's from some terrible movie, I don't remember the name..." The Notebook actually. "Olga made me watch."
In truth, yes, Olga did make me watch it with her. However I may have even snuck it from her room and ran it over to Pheobe's one night, sobbing. Of course, if you ask Pheobe that never happened.
"How've things been with Olga?" he asks.
Bringing up Olga is a fail proof way to change the subject. He always seems so concerned that I hate her. I wonder why...
"Oh, well she's as perfect as ever, and..." I start but quickly decide to change gears. "And it was actually, um, nice having her around."
"Really?" he asks surprised.
"Uh, yeah," I lie. "I might even miss her when she moves out."
"Hah, that's great!" he says enthusuactically.
"Yeah..."
"How's the rest of your family?"
"Not bad," I say, somewhat truthfully. "Bob's been able to turn things around with the company. And Miriam is, um, making progress. Things are looking up!"
Things are looking up for now, that is. Bob's happy only because he's making money again. Miriam's happy because Bob isn't verbally assaulting her anymore. I wish I could take things at face value. If only I could be as blissfully optimistic as Arnold and enjoy this. But no, I'm too aware of reality. I know it's only a matter of time before things come crashing down.
"How're your parents doing?" I ask quickly, wanting to shift the attention away from me.
"Great!" he says. "It was so good to see them."
He continues on about his summer and it seems like he had a wonderful time. The way he smiles when he talks, the light in his eyes, if only I could live vicariously through him. If only he could have enough happiness to fill both of us up.
"I was just so busy enjoying everything," he says. "I got caught up. That's why I didn't write much."
"Oh, yeah, tell me about it," I lie.
"And, well, I don't know, I guess I thought a break would be good anyway," he continues.
I wait with baited breath.
"You know, just to clear our heads."
"Oh, uh- yeah, definitely," I lie, again.
"Yeah.." his voice trails off.
"Yeah," I repeat. "But you're back now so..."
He gives me a wide grin, and I think I even caught a wink. It's hard to tell now though. The sun is setting fast, but the lights haven't turned on yet. My stomach growls. Oh not now, things were just getting good!
"Hungry?" he asks, reading my mind
I think I've used up all my lies.
"Yeah," I admit.
He stands, then extends a hand to me. We let go of each other though once we're walking. Maybe it's out of habit...
We settle on a sandwich shop and I pick a simple turkey sandwhich: lettice, tomato and mayo. I'd rather my breath not reek of onions or something offensive. We make small talk about school. I ask if he's seen anyone else since he's been back. He says just Gerald and Jamie-O. He saw his new apartment, and it's nice.
Then it's time to head home. It's already going on nine. I wouldn't mind staying out later. I never get enough sleep on school nights, so it makes no difference to me. Arnold however would rather not adopt my bad habit. So we head home.
We're on our way to my place when Arnold stops abruptly.
"Ah! I forgot," he says.
"What?"
"I, uh, have something-"
"Oh yeah!" I say, remembering now he had mentioned giving me something. "What is it?"
He shrugs.
"Oh, come on," I coax.
He doesn't say anything.
"Fine, let's go back to your place."
We turn around and head to the Boarding House. When we arrive, he asks me to just wait outside. I oblige. A few minutes later he comes back with a black bag and hands it to me.
Excited, I reach inside and, well this is odd. I expect it to be book or something, but my fingers touch fabric. I then pull out that hideous ruffled yellow bikini top. My jaw drops; then I round on him.
"Sorry, I had to," he says meekly, ducking as I try to smack him with the bag. "Hey, hey! There's something else in there, Olga."
"That's NOT funny!" I cry, this time striking him when I throw the bag.
Something hard in it hits him.
"Okay, okay! I'm sorry," he says. "Truce?"
I cross my arms. He hands me back the bag. Curiosity make me give in. From the bag, I pull out a leather bound notebook. Instinctively I open it to find the first few pages filled with beautiful watercolor paintings.
"I thought you'd might like to see where I was," he says sheepishly as I flip through his paintings, seven in total.
"And a camera wouldn't work?" I tease.
He just shrugs. I'm joking though; I adore his artwork. I can't even hide it if I want to. I'm beaming at him. I love it. I absolutely love it.
"And I figured you could use a new journal anyway," he says. "I feel like you have a new one every other day."
"Hmmm," I murmur, agreeing with him.
I do write A LOT.
"So do you forgive me, Helga?" He asks, emphasis on Helga.
He gives me his big, goofy grin. I smile back and gently toss the bikini at his face. He catches it and throws it in an open garbage can to our right.
"I really am glad to hear you're getting on better with Olga," he says, smiling.
"Oh, yeah," I lie, flipping through the notebook.
He walks down the stoop, and I know it's time to head home. I slip the notebook back into the bag. I carry it in my left hand, leaving my right, facing Arnold, free. I steal glances at him every now and then. We are about halfway there and all of a sudden I get the overwelhming urge to just kiss him already.
So I blurt out, "I don't know why you're the one walking me home."
He looks at me, amused.
"I mean if someone wanted to pick a fight with one of us, I'd be more worried about you than me."
True, he would probably try to reason with them and by that time I would've already thrown hands. We're pretty much the same height by now, standing 5' 8" and slim. His shoulders may be broader, but I sure as hell know I can throw a harder punch. But of course, I'm a girl and society says were meek and helpless, or something like that. What a crock.
Arnold just laughs though. He stops and crosses his arms.
"Maybe you're right," he says. "We've been doing this wrong the whole time."
"Doi!" I say, grinning.
In this moment, I drop my bag and inhibitons. I wrap my arms around him and say the one, big truth I've been dying to admit: "I've. Missed. You."
"I've missed you, too," he says.
With that, I let go, just enough so I can kiss him. And he kisses me back.