How to Be a Normal Person (20 page)

“Not in the slightest,” Gus said. “Er. I mean. Yes. It’s a wonderful event that promotes a sense of community.”

“Okay, you want to go, then?” Casey asked. “It’s on Saturday, right? You could close the Emporium early and we can go together.”

“Yes,” Gus said. “I want that. That sounds nice. Yes please.”

“Cool,” Casey said, sitting back in his chair and looking satisfied. “Then it’s a date.”

“Cool,” Gus echoed. Then, “Wait. What?”

“We’re going on a date,” Casey said. “To the Strawberry Festival.”

“
What
? But… that’s not… oh my god… you weren’t supposed to… I was going to ask… why did you just take my picture?”

“I have to document this moment,” Casey said. “The world needs to know that this just occurred.” He started typing furiously. “Hey, followers. Just asked Gustavo out on a date. This is his reaction while saying yes. Winkie face. Blushing face. Heart eyes face. Hashtag took long enough. Hashtag Grumpy Gus has leveled up. Hashtag mountain town adventures. Hashtag what will I wear. Hashtag strawberry festival. Hashtag leave no stoner unturned. And posted.” He put the phone down and looked up at Gus expectantly. “You’re very popular with my followers. They ship us and call us Tibards, for Tiberius and Richards. It’s awesome.”

Gus didn’t really know what to do with that. He didn’t really understand what shipping was. And he thought Tibards sounded like tuberculosis. “That’s bodacious,” he said. “Or whatever the kids say these days. I don’t even know.”

Casey demanded, “We need to hug now.”

And who was Gus to argue with that.

No one, that’s who.

And besides, he was getting really good at hugs now, given that this was their ninth one. He thought about looking up how to give better hugs on the Internet, but he didn’t think normal people did that. Because that was just weird.

He didn’t need it, anyway. From the way Casey held on, he was doing good.

And he was almost able to ignore Lottie behind them while they hugged, giving Gus two thumbs-up and winking.

Almost.

NOW, IT
should be said that Gus had never been on a date before. Not necessarily because he didn’t
want
to go on a date; the opportunity had just never really presented itself. The few interactions with people he’d been attracted to in the past usually led to him fumbling through his words, a red heat of embarrassment washing over him, or a quick sexual one-off that left him feeling slightly hollow and confused as to why it didn’t mean more than it did to him.

Maybe the “hangouts” he’d had with Casey could have been construed as dates, but now that there was an actual Date on the table (capitalized and everything in Gus’s head), there was a feeling that this held monumental importance and he needed to treat it as such.

Sometimes, Gus didn’t understand how he found himself in the situations that he did. Even if he was the common denominator, he obviously was not at fault. There had to be some other cosmic power that lorded over him. That made sense. Well, a lot of things made sense now that he was high.

Anyway.

It had started out good. Great, even. Well, as great as one can expect a locally produced, cheaply funded small-town festival to be. Which is to say not that great.

But they were making the most of it!

Gus did his best not to glare at the people walking by the video store that day. He even went so far as to put up in the window one of the large paper strawberries the chamber of commerce parceled out to all businesses. His happened to be a cartoon strawberry with big eyes and a smiley face with a word balloon saying IT’S TIME TO GET OUR STRAWBERRY ON.

Gus was never the type of person to
get his strawberry on
, whatever the fuck that meant. In fact, in years past, he’d done all he could to avoid getting his strawberry on in any capacity. Anytime part of the town’s Fun Committee would stop by (god, how he hated the person that came up with that term with a fiery passion that burned like a thousand suns), Gus would conveniently be closed and unable to take their meetings.

(Read: he saw them coming, locked the door, and hid behind the sci-fi movie shelves.)

But now.

Now he had a date and when Mrs. Leslie Von Patterson had approached the morning of the festival, her high heels clicking on the cement sidewalk, he swallowed his pride and stood behind the counter, waiting for her to enter. After all, normal people helped to celebrate Strawberry Festivals. And he was almost normal now.

She seemed surprised when she tried the door, but quickly schooled it into the sunny, fake smile that all people on the Fun Committee seemed to have to make sure everyone understood they were fun. She pushed her way in, carrying the large cardboard strawberry that Gus knew was coming and dreaded with every fiber of his being. Especially since she was wearing strawberry earrings, a white blouse with little strawberry prints on it, and a red skirt. It was slightly vomit-inducing how into Strawberry Festival she was. And most likely how everyone was going to be.

She said, “Gustavo! How lovely to see you.”

He said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Mrs. Von Patterson’s smile slipped into more of a shark’s grin. “I see you are actively participating this year. My, how things change.”

He nodded stiffly. “I figured it was time to show my support for an event such as the aptly named Strawberry Festival. And what charity are the proceeds being donated to this year?”

“There are two this year,” she said, glancing around the video store, the distaste evident on her face. She hadn’t rented a movie in years, but Gus remembered her propensity for everything eighties fantasy and disliked her for that alone. “It was my turn to choose both of them. The first is for Save the Narwhals.”

“Narwhals,” Gus repeated.

“Yes.”

“The medium-sized toothed whale primarily found in Arctic, Russian, and Greenlandic waters.”

“They look like unicorns,” she breathed.

Gus barely stopped himself from banging his head on the counter. “And the second?”

“Resources for battered women,” she said.

“Oh,” Gus said. “That sounds—”

“Who believe in unicorns,” she rushed to finish.

“—like a misappropriation of charity money. Are you serious?”

“My turn to pick,” she trilled. “I get that once every five years, Gustavo, and this is
my
year to shine. I love unicorns. They’re not real. At least not anymore. Ergo, I find charities that are as close as I can get. Also, I brought you a strawberry that you
will
put up in your window this year, so help me god.”

He folded his arms over his chest and glared. “And if I don’t?”

That shark’s grin widened. “Why wouldn’t you? Word on the street is that you’ve got yourself a date with that tattooed boy of Lottie’s. Surely you want to impress him? Haven’t you watched television? There is no better way to impress a hippie than to save women and narwhals.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “He’s a hip
ster
.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Same thing. Lord knows that’s why California is the way it is. I heard it’s legal there to marry your cousin, even if she’s a goat.”

“I’m not even going to touch that,” Gus said.

“Plus,” Mrs. Von Patterson said, “Pastor Tommy would do it.”

“Ugh,” Gus said. “Playing the dead father card. That was low, even for you.”

“Anything for narwhals,” she said. “Strawberry?”

“Fine,” Gus grumbled. “I’ll put one up.”

“I knew you would see it my way,” she said. “Also, we have levels of donations this year. If you donate a thousand dollars, you can adopt your very own narwhal. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“That sounds awful,” Gus said. “I wouldn’t even know where to keep it.”

“Ha,” she said. “I like it when you attempt humor. It makes me feel better about myself. Also, we’re setting up booths in front of your store so you’ll probably need to close early today. And good job getting in the strawberry spirit by wearing red. Have a strawberry day! Toodles!”

He looked down as the door closed behind her. Sure enough, he was wearing the red Hawaiian shirt. Either it was a coincidence or his subconscious was a bastard.

And Gustavo Tiberius didn’t believe in coincidences.

(Pastor Tommy did. Pastor Tommy believed in a lot of things. He believed in coincidences because he thought they showed the universe had a sense of humor. He believed in Bigfoot, because no one had been able to say it
didn’t
exist. He believed in the power of the dream catcher he kept above his bed to chase away nightmares. He believed 87 percent of the people on
House Hunters International
were complete and utter morons, “because
really
? They
really
decided to pick the shack in the woods over the chateau on the sea cliff? What the hell is wrong with them, oh my god, this show has to be
fake
, I don’t know why I’ve been watching it for the last five hours.” He believed in the Strawberry Festival because he thought it brought the community together (granted, he also believed in the Fall Festival, the Winter Carnival, the Halloween Extravaganza, the Christmas Pageant, New Year’s Eve Spectacular and Hey, Hey It’s Arbor Day! where a group of people went into the forest to plant trees and sing old Grateful Dead songs). And three days before the last time he went into the hospital and thirteen days before he died, he said, “I believe in you, Gus. I believe that you’ll take care of things after I’m gone. I believe that you’ll be strong and brave and that you’ll be so good. I wish I could be here to see everything you’ll accomplish, but just know that wherever I am and wherever you are, I’ll always believe in you.” Gus’s hands had shook and his voice had gone away but he’d nodded, and for Pastor Tommy, that had been enough. For Pastor Tommy, Gus had
always
been enough.)

Twenty minutes after Mrs. Von Patterson had disappeared to wherever Fun Committee members went when they weren’t spreading misery and cheer, people began to gather on the sidewalk outside of his doorway, setting up tables and booths.

Gus glared at them.

They waved back, laughing at his strawberry in the window, the one with the sordid tale.

By the time the We Three Queens strolled in (decked out in brand-new matching red leather jackets that proclaimed them Strawberry Queens), Gus could barely see across the street between all the booths. He would most certainly not be renting any movies today, aside from those the We Three Queens selected. He was strangely conflicted about that. On one hand, nobody would be experiencing the joy of cinema. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have to deal with people.

He decided to take it as a win.

“Happy Strawberry Festival Day,” Bertha said.

“The most strawberry day of them all,” Bernice said.

“Cadet!” Betty said. “Message for today!”

Gus sighed because he no longer questioned the inspirational calendar. “It said that the seeds we plant today will blossom into the fruits of our labor tomorrow.”

“Spooky,” Bertha said. “Because of what today is.”

“And also because Gus is a fruit,” Bernice said.

“Jesus Christ,” Gus muttered.

“Well,” Betty said, “be that as it may, it’s good advice to follow. And given that you are going on your first official date with Casey, it’s time that you plant your seed in him so you can pick his laborious fruit tomorrow.”

“That was quite unfortunate phrasing,” Bernice said as Gus began a good sputter that would last just under two minutes.

“Indeed,” Bertha said. “Especially given their romance.”

“Quite,” Betty said. “I should have thought ahead before I spoke. I feel badly that I might have put undue pressure on Gus’s expectations in relation to his future with Casey.”

“Anyone could have made that mistake,” Bernice said, patting her sister-lover on the arm. “Just as long as Gus understands that he should not expect sexual exploits from Casey, they should be just fine.”

“My life,” Gus said as he held his head in his hands. “My
life
.”

The door opened again as Gus continued to moan. He didn’t look up until he heard Casey say, “You all right, man? The Queens break you?”

He was sure his face was red when he looked up, if the sound Casey made was any indication. “No,” he said. “I’m—” and then his words died in his throat as he
really
looked at Casey.

He was wearing dark red skinny jeans, a white V-neck shirt that clung to his arms and chest, and a red and black vest cinched tight just above his hips. His hair was messier than usual, half hanging on his shoulders and around his face. His beard had gotten longer since Gus had known him, the end of which was almost in line with his clavicles.

In other words, he was by far the hottest thing Gus had ever seen in his life.

And for some unknown reason, Gus had a
date
with him.

Casey grinned at him as if he could read Gus’s mind. “Strawberries, man,” he said. “Gotta get in the spirit, ya know?”

Gus could only nod, having
just
enough awareness to keep from drooling. He really wanted to hug Casey right now, but wasn’t sure if he had the balls to ask for it yet. Any hugging they’d done in the past had always been initiated by Casey. Gus never said no, but he didn’t know how to be the one to start.

But when he figured it out, he was going to hug him so hard.

When he focused back in on the conversation, he heard Casey telling Bertha that she needed to take their picture so they could commemorate this day, man. “That way Gus will always remember the awesomeness that is Strawberry Festival.”

Gus thought to remind him that there was positively nothing awesome about Strawberry Festival and he did not want yet
another
picture of him ending up online, but for some reason, he decided to let it go. Just this once, of course. Because he could.

(But that would be it. He didn’t want any more pictures of himself on the Internet, as Casey’s fans had started “shipping them hard”—whatever the fuck that meant—and Casey said they were writing stories online about the two of them. Gus hadn’t believed him until he accidentally stumbled across one—meaning he’d searched for it—and it started out okay, but then Gus read a line in the story where his character told Casey, “I want to sit on your face and have you tongue-fuck my asshole” while he scowled and glared, and Gus knew that the Internet was a terrifying place filled with way too many horny people that should be focused on more important things like narwhals and battered women who believed in unicorns.)