10.26

She wished her heart would slow down. "Hey yourself." She immediately told herself to stop being a ditz and sound like a human again. She had little hope of it working.
"So, you're home."
"Obviously. And you?"
"Well, I'm calling from in front of your house. You wanna go on a walk?"

Catherine smiled.

"I'll take that as a no, then?" Marco sounded puzzled that she hadn't responded.

"Ah! Yes, yes I'll go on a walk. Let me get my shoes on."

Catherine's mother called from the kitchen. "Where are you going, honey? It's almost supper time."

"Out. I'll be back for supper, don't worry."

Catherine rushed out the door and saw Marco at the corner, waiting. She walked to him, taking the time to pull her thoughts into order. They had been friends for only two months, but it had been a long time. Maybe he was ready for a relationship like she was. She looked up once and saw him smiling. It felt like sunlight through the windows in a cold car. Catherine's gait sped up. She stopped thinking, for the first time in a long time, about how she looked, or what she might sound like, or how she should stand, or what Marco would think of her shirt, or anything. She just smiled back.

When she arrived at the corner, the two stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to greet each other. It occurred to Catherine that this was one of the first times they had been alone. So she just smiled at him again. Laughing, Marco stooped to open his backpack.
"I got something for you," he said. "I hope you like it. I wasn't sure if you had one . . ." His voice trailed off as he rummaged deeper into the bag. "Ah! Here it is."

From the bag, Marco produced an umbrella. It was plaid.

Catherine felt like crying, but laughing was more appropriate, so she did that instead. She reached up and pulled Marco into a hug. "Thank you," she whispered. She couldn't see Marco blush.

The two walked around the block twice. They talked about the stupid things people talk about when they have something else to say.

Catherine hated Jurassic Park. "It was completely unbelievable."

Marco loved mall kiosk salespeople. "They'll give you stuff if you just hang around and look skeptical."

Catherine needed hot milk when she was sick. "Mom says it's saved my life more than once."

Marco disliked when pop musicians tried to branch out. "She can't sing salsa."

Catherine loved boots. "Not like other girls. I loved boots before boots were cool."

Marco didn't understand moles. "What do they do, anyway?"

The two rounded the last corner. Catherine knew her mother would call her about supper soon. She slowed, and looked at Marco.

"Why are you here?"

He stopped walking, and he seemed shaken.

"Marco, why are you here?"

He stammered a bit, and then said "You know how, when you have something to say, and you're not sure if or how or when or why you should say it but it's something you've got to say anyway and you don't have any clue if you're going to do it right, and yet--you know what I mean?"

She nodded.

"Ok. Let me do this right. Cath, I really like you. I really do. If you'd caught me last year, this would be the point at which I would ask you to go to a movie with me next Saturday with the intent of movies every week and maybe meeting your folks and inviting all our friends to a picnic in a park and possibly, but not necessarily letting you see my room and asking, but not expecting to see your room and finally you know, going steady and proms and futures and all that crap."

She felt like she was choking on an ice cube, and the cold was spreading through her chest, and it just wouldn't melt, and she was going to die there because she was stupid and choked on an ice cube.

Marco continued. "I would do all that again today, except I have just gotten out of . . . ugh." He grunted. The look on his face was displeasure to see, and Catherine knew that he didn't want to say the next words, but he knew he had to, and that just complicated things. If he were horrible, he wouldn't say them, and she could leave with a clean conscience because he would be horrible then and that would be fine. But he wasn't horrible and she knew it. Marco cleared his throat. "I just . . . this summer, I fell in love with a girl. Not like, head over heels or anything, but I knew I loved her just the same. And she . . . she was . . . " He pursed his lips and frowned like he was two years old and trying to figure out how to argue his way out of a spanking.

"Marco?" Catherine said, low and soft.

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

"Good." Marco replied. "That makes it easier to do it. Here's the thing. She cheated on me. Then she told me about it in front of my older brother, just because she knew it would hurt me the most to do that. I wish I could say she's just a bitch who tried to hurt me, but I still can't." Marco took a raggedy breath. "I still can't. I have no idea what happened still. I'm trying to figure it out."

"So?" Catherine didn't know what to think, so she didn't. She just waited for Marco to speak.

"So. I can't ask you out. I can't ask to drag you into this. I can't ask you to date a broken man."

The two stood overlong. The tree above them dropped blood-red tear-shaped leaves that floated around and between them as they stood there. Catherine's mind churned through every option. Say it's ok? Forgive him? Leave him standing on a windy corner because the past is still more important to him than a future? Cry? She found reasons for and against every choice. She argued both sides with herself, mind yelling at conscience, awareness shouting at perception. She didn't come to a clear choice. She wanted to be with him because he was fascinating, and they clicked so well, and he was so beautiful, and he liked her. She wanted to run from him because he wouldn't put her first, and he was still hurt, and she was afraid that he was afraid. Nothing was right. Nothing was perfect like she wanted it to be.

Marco sniffed like he was holding back tears. Catherine pulled up her new plaid umbrella and they stood and listened to the leaves scudding across the ribs of the umbrella.

Catherine looked up. "Marco?" He opened his eyes. They were full of tears. "We don't have to decide anything today, ok? I won't go anywhere yet." Marco pulled Catherine into a hug that squeezed the breath out of her.

"Thank you." He whispered it without whispering it. She barely heard it over the sound of leaves and sunlight.

Marco kissed her cheek, picked up his backpack, and walked away.

Catherine assumed Marco had as good as asked her out, and now it was her choice of what to do. She didn't know, but it didn't bother her. She finally realized Marco wasn't perfect, but she was learning something she thought was more important. He was honest.

She stood in the leaves until her mother called her for supper, and she left the tree to empty itself to the sidewalk, crying blood-red tear-leaves until there were none left.