Goodbye Earl(43)

“Hey…you’re okay?” Rosemarie asked.

Caroline looked at her and said yes.

“Love you too,” Rosemarie said. Trey had turned around and was already walking away.



Rosemarie went to Leo and they danced to the rest of “Purple Rain,” but it felt like there was a wet rope in her stomach that was only getting heavier. She had faith (didn’t she?) that above their heads, the sky was still lousy with stars and that God was watching. Wasn’t He?





2004


14





Rosemarie and Sparrow were lying out on Rosemarie’s trampoline because that was a thing they did now. Also a thing they did now, ever since the prom after-party: kiss. That was it. Just kiss. When no one else was around, they kissed, even though Sparrow made a point of telling Rosemarie that she wasn’t a lesbian. The last time she said it, Rosemarie parroted her and said she wasn’t one either, and she didn’t even feel bad for the lie, because it wasn’t a lie since she was technically a label-hating bisexual anyway.

That afternoon after school, they’d sun-kissed in the conversation pit, and they’d chocolate-kissed in the kitchen after they shared a pot brownie. Now they were on the trampoline, listening to Fleetwood Mac. Whenever Jerry Garcia brought the tennis ball back to her, Rosemarie would get it from his wet mouth, chuck it to the corner of the yard away from the greenhouse and chicken coop, and do the whole thing again.

“But, like, Leo is your boyfriend, right?” Sparrow asked.

“Not officially.”

“Because Frankie is kind of my boyfriend, but, like, I don’t tell him that we—” She moved her finger between her shoulder and Rosemarie’s. “That you and I kiss,” she ended.

“Right,” Rosemarie said. She was hella stoned and the daylight swam around them in a blinding, yolky haze that made it hard for Rosemarie to focus on anything else. She could smell the sunshine—grapefruit and oranges.

“So please don’t tell anyone that we kiss. Is that…okay?” Sparrow said.

Rosemarie hadn’t told anyone besides the rest of RACK, but that didn’t mean she liked it when Sparrow asked her not to. In fact, she hated it and it made her feel like shit because Rosemarie wasn’t a liar. Being completely honest whenever possible was her thing, but she said okay anyway and was relieved when she heard her parents’ car in the driveway and her big brother’s voice around the corner saying her name.

She hopped down from the trampoline, bouncing Sparrow up in such a funny way it made them both laugh, and for a second, Rosemarie almost forgot Sparrow had just asked her not to tell anyone they kissed. Sparrow kept giggling and she was so cute. Jerry Garcia was at Rosemarie’s bare feet barking like mad because she was holding the tennis ball but not throwing it. Rosemarie tossed the ball before jogging to the fence and saying her brother’s name exactly like he’d said hers. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

“I’m stoned,” she said to him.

“That you are,” her brother, Rune, said as their parents carried cloth bags of groceries into the house. He said it again in a dumb voice; Rosemarie giggled. Sparrow turned the music up—Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham were rasping about how much they loved each other.

“I’m spending the night at Ada’s,” Rosemarie said.

“Are you eating dinner here?” he asked.

“Nope. At Myrtle’s,” Rosemarie said. She turned to holler, “Sparrow, are you ready to go? We should probably go.” She’d walk Sparrow home, then meet the girls at the diner and eat while waiting for Caro to get off work.

“Okay!” Sparrow hollered.

Rosemarie’s mom came out of the house, closing the screen door behind her.

“I never get to see you anymore. You’ll be in Costa Rica soon, but you’re like a ghost already,” her mom said, taking Rosemarie’s face in both hands. “You’re blissed out and beautiful.”

Rosemarie’s summer would start with a mission trip with Goldie First Baptist Church and Leo and his family, since his dad was the pastor there. In the fall she’d head to Seattle to work with some of her parents’ friends at a nonprofit hunger-relief organization, and travel the world with them until the following fall, when she’d start majoring in social work at University of Seattle.

“Our little ghost baby! Don’t go! Don’t goooo!” her dad said from the other side of the kitchen door.

“Y’all stay trippin’,” Rune said. He put his hand on Rosemarie’s head and messed up her hair. “See you later.”

*



After packing her sleepover bag and kissing and hugging her family goodbye with fake dramatics, Rosemarie and Sparrow set off on foot through the neighborhood. When they were almost to Sparrow’s place, she pulled Rosemarie between two houses, instructing her to stop behind the tall, fluffy bushes.

“Um, I love kissing you. It’s fun and you’re really good at it. Plus, your lips taste like peaches. Does Leo tell you that? I love peaches,” Sparrow said.

“Sometimes,” Rosemarie said, floating. Sparrow was holding her hand, tracing the lines on her palm with her index finger. Rosemarie tingled; she always tingled when Sparrow touched her. Sparrow put her hand behind Rosemarie’s head and kissed her. Rosemarie let go, let herself feel how good it was to kiss a girl like this, to let herself be kissed by a girl like this. A girl as cool as Sparrow, a girl as pretty as Sparrow, a girl with a name like Sparrow.