Page 8

Danielle

T he diner is actually a chain restaurant famous for being open 24-hours a day to serve their sub-par waffles, but they have food and caffeine, so bring it on. I order a stack of pancakes with bacon and home fries, hot tea for my caffeine fix, and orange juice because it’s what I would rather drink. Jake orders a ham and cheese omelet with a cup of coffee.

He looks at me from across the booth. “Remember the first time you tried coffee? You spit it out all over the table and told Honey it tasted like there was burnt dish water in the mug she gave you.”

I giggle. “Yeah. She threatened to smack me with her wooden spoon for trash talking her kitchen skills, but she couldn’t stop laughing, so she just handed me a rag and told me to clean up the mess I made.”

Jake smiles and his eyes soften. “You always stuck to tea or hot chocolate after that.”

“Still do.”

“Hey,” he lowers his voice until it is almost a whisper and looks into my eyes as he changes the subject. “What’s going on with us? Why does this feel weird?” He motions one hand back and forth between us. I puff out my cheeks and blow out a slow breath.

“Because it is weird, Jake. I don’t exactly fit into your life here,” I point out. “One minute you don’t want Connor to talk to me because you want me all to yourself, and the next thing I know you’re letting me sit alone on a huge potted plant all night so you can chat up some girl. What time did you get back? And did you even care if I was safe? I’ve hardly spent any time on this campus, I didn’t know where I was.”

“Damn. I’m sorry about that. I did know you were safe. Connor texted me to let me know he walked you home and you went to bed. That’s why I stayed out later. But you’re right. Connor also let me know what a dick I was being to you. I should have been more focused on spending time with you last night.”

“That’s the thing, though. You shouldn’t have. You are supposed to be at those events to mingle with other people in the Greek scene or whatever. That’s the whole point of this weekend, right? Networking and philanthropy. Not hanging out with your boring friend from home.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says while his hands fidget with the salt shaker. “At least the networking and philanthropy parts. Still, D. I am sorry. That wasn’t cool. And you’re not boring.”

“Right.”

I am boring, and honestly, I’m okay with that. I like sitting here at a diner with one close friend, and I hate big parties with tons of strangers like last night. But Jake likes both, and he deserves to have both. I just don’t want to make myself miserable trying to make him happy.

“You’re definitely not boring. And to prove it, I dare you to try this one more time.” He pushes his coffee mug toward me, knowing we never say no to each other’s dares, no matter how dumb they are.

I sigh and try to choke down a sip of the coffee. At least he put three sugars in it.

“Ugh. No way. Still tastes like muddy feet sweat.” I manage not to spit it across the table this time, but I give up pretending I will ever be able to stomach the bitter liquid and switch back to my orange juice. He just chuckles and drinks from the mug as if it’s not the worst drink on the entire planet. After chugging half the glass of juice to cleanse the awful bitter taste from my mouth (which doesn’t work because if there is anything worse than coffee, it’s orange juice and coffee together), I decide last night isn’t worth a fight. “It’s okay. Let’s just forget about it and start over. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says over the edge of the mug. “A lot. I do appreciate you coming this weekend, even if I haven’t done a great job showing it.” Jake sets the coffee down and folds his arms on the top of the table.

I see he means what he said, and my lips turn up at the corners. “All right. You can make it up to me today. Do you think we can lay low again? I like having you to myself.” I place my hand over his arms and pat him gently. He nods his agreement.

“Yeah, sure. Since we were at the bonfire and we’ll be making an appearance at the gala, I won’t take too much heat if we skip the rest of today’s events and stay in.”

The introverted half of my brain is grateful for the chance to recharge.

“Although,” I say, “I am bummed to miss my chance to become the hotdog eating champion of Virginia Tech.”

“Somehow, I’m not buying that.”

When our food finally arrives, I stuff my face full of fluffy, syrupy goodness like a champ. Jake laughs and helps himself to a small piece of my bacon. I retaliate by sticking my fork into his omelet and taking a bite.

“Maybe you had a chance at that contest after all.”

“Told you.”

It seems like things are back to normal, at least for now. For the rest of the day, things between us slide easily back into best friend territory as we hang out at his house. It’s easy to be myself and laugh with Jake. I fill him in on the lives of everyone from home. He asks about Honey and, surprisingly, even Alice. I tell him about going to a Blue Crabs game with Alice and some friends from work, but omit the part about how I was personally invited by the new shortstop. He tells me that he only has a few exams to take at the beginning of next week, then he will be home for a few days.

“We should play a round of Truth or Dare for real,” I say when I’ve reached the end of my stories about North Bay. We are both lying on Jake’s bed, facing in opposite directions. His head is on the pillow, mine is at the foot of the bed.

He lets out a playful scoff. “You’re such a girl.”

I am a girl, but that’s never kept him from playing this particular game with me. “Uh-huh. First of all, you started this with the coffee. You only have yourself to blame. Second, sounds to me like you’re still afraid of my dares.”

“Damn straight. You’re the one who dared me to write a check for a thousand dollars made out to Captain Fartpants in my mom’s checkbook. I was grounded for three weeks.”

“I still don’t believe that punishment fit the crime. It’s not like Captain Fartpants was ever going to cash it. All she had to do was void it and the problem was solved. You would think she’d be impressed that her twelve-year-old son knew how to write a check in the first place.”

He smiles and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Truth or Dare, Dan-Dan?”

“I dare you to stop calling me Dan-Dan.”

“In your dreams. That’s not how this works.”

“It’s not even your turn. You already gave me a dare.”

“This is a new round. Do you want to play or not?”

“Ugh. Okay. Truth. I’m not taking my chances with more coffee.”

“I take back what I said about you not being boring.” He teases before asking, “How serious did things get with Steve?”

“I don’t know what to say about that,” I tell him. It’s only been six months, but it feels like a lifetime since Steve and I were together. “I guess it was pretty serious? He tended to make everything about him, but he was nice enough and I was comfortable with him. I could have seen myself getting married, one day. But I probably wasn’t as upset as I should have been when it ended.” It was kind of a relief that it was over, if I’m being honest. I don’t know if I ever really loved Steve, but it hurt to have yet another person in my life walk away from me.

“There are no rules about how to feel after a breakup. No one is saying you should have been shattered. I’m glad you weren’t.” He pats my leg. “But it’s interesting that you just said you could have seen yourself getting married, and not necessarily that you were picturing marrying him .”

“I think you’re right.” I never thought about it like that, but it’s probably true. Whenever I think about the future, I picture things like buying a house, staying in North Bay, or having kids. None of it is specific to Steve. Or anyone, really. The guy in my fantasy future is just sort of a vague outline of a person, like a dream where you know what is happening but you can’t make out the details of a person’s face.

“Of course I’m right. I know you.”

Something twists inside my chest and I swallow. Deep in the pit of my stomach I know it’s because it has always been impossible to picture myself with anyone but Jake. Weirdly, though, it’s also impossible to picture myself with Jake. It’s not clear that he is the one in that dream, but a big part of me just always assumed it couldn’t really be anyone else. At least not until recently.

“My turn. I also pick Truth. No way I’m taking heat for Captain Fartpants again.” He sits up.

I laugh and shift toward him, which causes my shirt to lift just an inch. He takes one finger and boops the sliver of exposed skin, and I swat his hand away playfully. I should have thought about what to ask before suggesting this game. Now I am here without a plan. There are so many things I want to ask Jake. Like how many people he’s brought back to this bed I’m lying on with him, if he ever thinks about me in that way, or if he is as scared to open that door as I am. I know it’s none of my business how many other partners there have been, but there is still a growing weight on my chest as the questions on my mind get heavier. I decide to ditch that line of thinking entirely.

“What’s your favorite memory?”

He scoots down and grabs the pillow from the top of the bed. He repositions it by my head, then lies back onto it, just a few inches away from me. “Are you sure you want to know?” Jake asks the ceiling.

“That sounds ominous, but now you for sure have to tell me.”

“I think the honest answer is your grandpa’s funeral.” He glances sideways to see my reaction, but his response has made me more curious than sad. I nod to show him it’s okay to continue.

“I remember that day. We were so young. I didn’t really understand what was happening.” My mom and I lived in our camper and traveled the country together. I never got to spend much time with her dad, other than when we would visit for holidays. I only remember him offering me mints from his pockets. I didn’t like how hard they were to chew. But everyone in North Bay says Pop was a sweet, quiet man who was devoted to Honey and always did whatever he could to help his neighbors. Edna Plum has told me stories about how he would bring her all the vegetables from his garden when she first started the restaurant as a way of showing support. I was too young to realize how much I would miss my grandpa, or at least the idea of him being in my life.

“I was so excited to see someone else my age.” I can hear the nostalgia in Jake’s voice. “I don’t know if you remember, but we got in trouble for playing hide and seek at the funeral parlor, so my dad offered to take us back to our house during the wake and give the adults a more peaceful place to mourn.”

I pick up the story for him. “And then he took us out onto your pier and showed us the crabs hanging onto the pilings. He let me try to dip them with the net. I think it was the first time I went crabbing.”

Jake laughs. “That net was bigger than you were, and you almost fell into the water in your church clothes.”

“Your dad pulled me back in time.”

“I wanted to catch you myself.” His eyes lock with mine. “But I knew I wasn’t strong enough.”

Silence hangs between us, stretching a few seconds into an eternity. He’s not just talking about that day anymore. Jake is talking about right now. He’s admitting that he is curious what it would be like to make a move, but scared to go there with me. Well, same.

Although…is it?

Shouldn’t there have been more of a spark when he touched my belly a minute ago? Should I be wriggling, and clenching, and feeling too warm lying this close to him?

Because I’m not.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about that, but I do.

Briefly, my mind wonders how my body would react if Mike were the one next to me right now, and heat spreads through me, telling me I would feel very differently about it. A new wave of guilt hits me along with that knowledge. There is no romance handbook. If one did exist, I’m sure it would say not to think about another man while you are lying in bed with your close friend who seems to be moments away from confessing his feelings for you. I truly thought that if the day ever came I would jump at the chance to be with Jake, but maybe I was wrong. Or maybe we’re just too late.

I can feel the words we don’t know how to say to each other bubbling under the surface and threatening to erupt and destroy everything. Judging by the way he clears his throat and pops up from the bed so quickly, he can read my expression just as well as I can read his. It’s a confession he doesn’t want to make, and the truth is I don’t think I want to hear it either.

“Okay. Enough heavy. Let’s get ourselves dolled up for this shindig.” I try to lighten the mood by using a retro radio announcer’s voice. Because that isn’t awkward at all.

He chuckles and says, “Remind me why I invited you again, you dork? I’ll change in here so you can have the bathroom.” Just like that, the tension is gone and my best friend is back.

Smiling my relief at him, I take my duffle bag and duck out of his room. Once I close the bathroom door behind me, I set my bag on the counter and get started. My curling iron is tangled in its cord, so I spend a minute untwisting it and plug it in to heat while I dig my dress out from the bottom of the bag. After searching the phrase affordable fancy dress, I found one online for twenty-three dollars and ordered it the day after Jake invited me. Alice told me to bring a garment bag for it, but the idea of carrying an extra bag as tall as I am into Jake’s house for a dress that cost less than our breakfast at the diner felt embarrassing. Thankfully, the slinky black sequined material didn’t wrinkle and it looks fine. I tear the tag off with my teeth, put it on, and give myself a once-over in the mirror. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

This dress was labeled “bodycon” and it is definitely hugging my curves in all the right ways. I love that it has long sleeves so I won’t be freezing all night. I can wear a regular bra with it, and the sweetheart neckline is giving me some killer cleavage. Plus, it has pockets. Once my curling iron is hot, I use it to roll loose waves around the barrel and let them fall down my back and over my shoulders. A quick swipe of mascara, some smoky eyeshadow, and a touch of the red lipstick I swiped from Honey’s dresser, and I’m done. This is as good as it’s going to get. I unplug the curling iron and let it cool on the sink while I stuff the rest of my things back into my bag. The final touch is my trusty black heels, which I retrieve from the side pocket of my duffle.

I exit the bathroom and almost bump into Jake in the hall.

“Wow.” His breath is heavy and his eyes are scanning my body in a way that tells me he is looking at everything . I just laugh awkwardly.

“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.” He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a black button-up shirt and a thin silver tie. I reach out to straighten it for him. “Should we get going?”

“In a minute.” He tugs me toward him gently until my body is pressed against his, our hands clasped at my hip. “Come here for a second. I really do appreciate that you came this weekend. You look beautiful.” As I look up at his face he tucks my hair behind my ear. Jake looks at my mouth, then into my eyes. Neither of us blink. For a second, I think he wants to kiss me, but instead he lets go of my hand and wraps his arms behind me, pulling me closer into a hug. I can smell his cologne with my cheek pressed against his shoulder, and there is a faint hint of mint on his breath. I tilt my head up toward his face and our eyes lock together again. We are both still, frozen with the knowledge that if something is going to change between us then tonight will be the night. But in this moment neither one of us has the courage to make that leap. After a beat, I pat his chest and pull away.

When we arrive at the hotel hosting the gala, there are signs directing us toward Ballroom C. Jake leads the way and I follow slightly behind, a bit wobbly in my heels because I haven’t had a reason to wear them for over a year. At the end of a long hallway an arched doorway opens to reveal a large space decorated with ornate wallpaper and oversized chandeliers. There is a buffet of food extending along the entire left wall and round tables adorned with pristine white cloths take up most of the space. The center of the room has been left empty for use as a dance floor, but no one is dancing yet. A small table in the corner is surrounded by speakers and Connor is standing behind it, plugging in his phone. Jake tilts his head in that direction and tells me Connor volunteered to DJ, which in this case just meant making a playlist and pressing pause when it’s time for someone to speak to the crowd.

We find an empty table and I put my purse down to save our seats. A guy I don’t recognize comes up to us and ignores my presence as he speaks to Jake. “There you are, man. Where have you been all day? Derrick is looking for you.”

Jake turns to me. “I’m sorry, I need to go deal with this. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing. Can’t keep Derrick waiting, whoever that is. I’m going to scope out the buffet.”

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise. I need to talk to a few of the guys first.”

I smile at him, but inside my heart tightens. I hope this won’t be a repeat of last night, but if it is, at least this time there is food. I refuse to spend another night hungry and alone in a crowd of strangers, so the first thing I’m going to do is make myself a plate.

The line for the buffet moves quickly. I’m balancing a dinner roll on top of my overflowing pile of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans when I hear a low, familiar voice behind me.

“Save some room for dessert. There’s a candy station over there. I heard a rumor they might have M&M’s.”

“Mike.” My voice squeaks in surprise. My shoulder brushes against him as I turn, and I inhale sharply at the surge of electricity the contact sends through me. That seems to happen every time I touch him. I have to concentrate and make sure not to drop the plate in my hand. On their journey to his face, my eyes have no choice but to roam up his muscular body, which looks like it can barely be contained by the suit jacket he is wearing, and it makes my breath catch in my throat. Unlike most of the men in the room, he is not wearing a tie, just a dark tee shirt under his jacket. I can’t explain why I think that is as hot as I do. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m here with my teammate, Rodriguez." I remember his friend from open mic night and the crab feast. The one with the little boy on his shoulders. “We’re here to represent the team and present this year’s donation to Planting Hope.”

It’s the name of the charity Jake’s fraternity is supporting with their philanthropy events. I didn’t realize there were other community organizations here for the cause, but it’s nice that the Blue Crabs are helping to raise money, too.

“Oh. I’m here with my friend Jake.” I hesitate before adding, “As his date.”

Mike nods, but I can see a shift in his eyes. The playful heat that was there a second ago is replaced by something else. Resignation maybe? He reaches past me to grab a fork from the buffet table.

“Cool. Well, it was great running into you. Have fun tonight.”

“You too.” I smile and offer him an awkward side-hug while trying to avoid getting my mashed potatoes on his suit. Once Mike disappears into the crowd, I find my seat again. It isn’t long until Jake sets his plate on the table and pulls up the chair next to mine.

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” His tone is casual, but in a way that feels forced.

“His name is Mike Miller. He’s on the Blue Crabs baseball team. Rookie shortstop from Idaho. I met him when they had their team dinner at the restaurant a while ago, and I guess we’re friends now. He’s here as a team representative.”

“Huh,” is Jake’s only response before turning his attention to the food. Maybe I should have told him about meeting Mike and the fact that he invited me to his game when I was sharing my other news from home. I’m still not sure Jake would have wanted to know, especially after seeing how he reacted to Connor checking me out. He probably wouldn’t love knowing there was a professional athlete buying me candy or that I was also texting with Mike before I came to visit him. I follow his lead and pick up my fork, and we sit in awkward silence eating our dinner. Strangers come and go in the other empty seats at our table. I’m not sure what to say. Jake isn’t doing anything specific, but I can tell he is feeling weirdly possessive, just like he did when Connor greeted me at their house. He’s not my boyfriend, he has no right, yet I can’t blame him because I felt the same low-key jealousy when he was talking to that red head last night.

Except it’s not really the same, is it?

He invited me on what could reasonably be assumed to be a date, then went out of his way to ditch me and talk to another woman for almost an hour. All I did with both Connor and Mike this week was make polite conversation for a few minutes. Now I’m angry all over again at the double standard. I don’t like what Jake and I are bringing out in each other this weekend. Folding my arms and leaning back in my chair, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, suddenly hyper-aware of how uncomfortable I have become. It’s hot and my dress is too tight, the music is loud, and my shoes are pinching my toes. I don’t want to be in this stuffy ballroom anymore.

An older woman with sleek gray hair pulled into a tight up-do and wearing a conservative black dress approaches Connor’s table, and the music fades. She taps the microphone and waits for the room to settle before she thanks everyone for coming and gives a short speech about Planting Hope’s mission to reduce food waste and eliminate food insecurity. Then one-by-one, she calls several community organizations to the front of the room to present oversized novelty checks in a photo-op for publicity. Mike and Rodriguez are wearing their Blue Crabs baseball hats with their suits as they pose for the camera. He looks in my direction and our eyes connect in a way that sends a bolt of heat through my body and makes me squirm in my chair. Now I feel guilty again on top of everything else, but the moment is brief and he turns away to smile for the flashing cameras. Those of us in the audience clap politely as the music resumes.

“Let’s dance.” Jake’s voice pulls me out of my brooding thoughts, and before I can think to protest, he is leading me to the section of carpeted floor where a few other couples have gathered. Maybe my moodiness isn’t fair to him. He can’t help the way he’s feeling, if he even is being jealous. I suppose I could be projecting it onto him tonight. Unlike his little hissy fit about Connor, Jake hasn’t really said anything other than asking who Mike was. It’s a perfectly reasonable question.

When we are in the middle of the floor, flanked by other dancers, Jake puts his hand on my waist and leans closer to whisper into my ear. “I’m not sure why you’re mad at me this time, but I’m sure I deserve it. Let’s try to have fun. Truce?”

I exhale a laugh and a small smirk forms on my lips in response. I give him some strong side-eye, but relent and start moving my hips to the catchy beat of the Miley Cyrus song blasting from Connor’s playlist. I like dancing with Jake. Always have. He’s not one of those guys who just stands there swaying back and forth. Jake can actually dance. He has rhythm and he’s not afraid to look silly. It reminds me of all the times we would dance on his parents’ covered porch while his dad blasted an old Beach Boys record in the living room. To this day, I don’t think I could find Kokomo on a map, but we sang our little hearts out about it. As we flail our bodies with the music blasting in this ballroom, the tension between us disappears. He’s my Jake again.

We dance to two more songs before the music slows and the air between us changes to something thicker. I take one step closer and rest my head on his shoulder. His hands settle on my hips, and he bends to lay his cheek on the top of my head. We stay like that for a moment, before he uses one hand to lift my chin.

“Can we try this?” His face is just an inch from mine when he whispers the question, seeking my permission.

I know if I don’t kiss him, I will always wonder what could have happened between us.

“Okay.”

Jake moves his hand to the back of my head and I close my eyes while he kisses me softly, just once. His kiss is tender and chaste. It’s nice, but nice is all it is. There is no spark. Then he puts his hands back on my waist and we continue to dance. We turn in slow circles, and I spot Mike, watching me from across the room while I dance in Jake’s arms.

I take deep breaths, my heart still beating fast from the exertion of our previous dances. Breathing in Jake feels both new and old, like I’ve been doing it all my life, and now it carries a weight I don’t know if I’m ready to accept. Or, more honestly, I do know and I’m disappointed that this is not what I always thought it would be if this moment ever came. It feels like I am letting both of us down.

Jake can tell I’m getting lost in my head.

“Truth?” he whispers. “What are you thinking right now?”

I swallow, because I don’t know how to tell him. The truth is that his hand on my dress isn’t lighting my skin on fire underneath the material, and there’s another man in this room with us who doesn’t even have to touch me to make me feel that way. A man who is still looking at me. At us.

“Jake.” The tension hangs heavy in the air between us. We both know what I’m going to say, but neither one of us wants me to say it. I have to swallow and look away from him to make myself push out the words. “I think we are trying to force something that’s not here. I love you, you know that. But romantically? This is not going to work. We each deserve someone who will be all-in, and we can’t do that for each other right now.”

Honestly, I’m as surprised as I am disappointed. I’m having a hard time believing the spark is not there. I do love him. I always will. But this doesn’t feel right. It’s like a puzzle piece found its way into the wrong box, but we are still trying to force it to fit in a space where it was never designed to be.

He inhales for a long time, shoulders rising until he finally says, “I know.”

“You do?” A tear escapes my left eye and I sniffle. Jake reaches out and brushes it away with his thumb.

“Yeah. I do. Don’t cry.” He kisses the top of my head. “We shouldn’t try to force this. You’ve been unhappy all weekend.”

“That’s not really because of you. I’m sorry. I think I need to leave. I’m going to head back home tonight.” I give him a brief hug then pull away.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take you back to my place.”

“No.” I shake my head firmly. I need to do this without him. “I appreciate it, but I think I need the time alone, and you’re supposed to be at this event. I’ve kept you away from enough of your responsibilities this weekend. I’ll call you later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please. I just need a little time.”

Jake is hesitant, but he reaches into his pocket. “Here, at least take my keys. You can leave them on my dresser. I’ll go back later with Connor.” Jake hugs me goodbye and kisses the top of my head one more time. He looks torn about whether it is the right thing to do, but respects my request. He puts his keys and valet ticket in my hand and watches me turn and walk out of the hotel. I manage to hold in my tears until I am in the privacy of the car.

Thirty minutes later, I’m back at his house gathering my things. It’s getting late, but I do want to go home tonight. The idea of sharing a bed with Jake again is just too much, and I am not going to kick him out of his own room. He hasn’t done anything wrong. My phone buzzes. Thinking it will be Jake trying to convince me to stay, I sigh and take it out of my purse, preparing myself for the conversation I don’t want to have. But the silly Bat Signal graphic I uploaded as the contact photo stares up at me. It’s not Jake. It’s a text from Mike. Relief washes over me and the knot in my stomach loosens a bit, only to be replaced by some brand-new butterflies.

Mike: Hey

Me: Hi

Mike: Your friend started hitting the bar pretty hard after you left. That have anything to do with me?

The direct tone of his text catches me by surprise, but I think I like it. I don’t want to play games, so I answer him honestly.

Me: Maybe, but it’s not your fault. It’s been a weird weekend.

Him: How so? You okay? You left in a pretty big hurry. Did he do something? Want me to hold him down so you can kick his ass?

That makes me laugh. I feel a pang of guilt about the way I left and the fact that I only came here for Jake, yet my chest is fluttering every time a new text pops up from Mike.

Me: Not really. He’s harmless. It’s just odd being here. Doesn’t feel like the right fit.

Him: I can definitely relate to that.

Me: Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to deal with my drama.

Him: You seemed upset when you bailed.

He noticed the moment I left. What else did he see? He could have been watching me kiss Jake. Yet, it hasn’t stopped him from texting.

Me: I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking on me. You’re sweet.

Him: Can’t say I hear that very often.

Me: Really? That’s surprising.

Of course Mike’s sweet. He’s also super easy to look at, but I’m going to keep that information to myself for now.