Page 5

Four

Jensen

W hen I walk through the automatic doors of the bowling alley, the crashing sound of the pins greets me as I notice my parents in the center lane. My mom throws her hands up and cheers as all ten of the pins crash in a strike.

My dad gives her a high five as I approach them. As soon as they see me coming, they greet me with big smiles and warm hugs.

“You made it,” my mother says excitedly as she wraps her arms around me.

“Of course,” I reply, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

My parents are in a Monday night bowling league and I try to join them as often as I can. My dad is in his late seventies, happy in his retirement, standing just a few inches shorter than me, with light-gray hair and a cropped beard.

“How’s work been, son?” he asks as he runs a towel over the blue marble ball in his hands.

“It’s been good,” I say with a nod. “Had nearly twelve hundred at our last service.”

“That’s wonderful, baby,” my mom says, hugging her arms around my waist.

“Yeah. We can seat up to two thousand, so we’re getting there. I’m proud of how far we’ve come.”

My dad takes his turn to bowl, and I pour myself a drink from their pitcher of soda. My parents are hardworking people. My mom was a high school English teacher for nearly forty years, and my dad is a retired cop. We really are the quintessential American family.

They had me in their thirties after years of trying to conceive, making me an only child, but I have no complaints about my upbringing. They are the best people I know, and they did everything they could to give me a good life.

The door to the alley opens and I turn to see my parents’ longtime best friends, the Kozacks, walk in.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Mr. Kozack says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He’s a burly man with a large belly and a receding hairline.

He and his wife greet my mom with hugs and handshakes. Then I watch their daughter walk in behind them.

Gabrielle Kozack is younger than me by twelve years, meaning she was just a child when our parents became friends. We’ve barely gotten to know each other, although it’s been over a decade. She is only twenty-eight and recently out of a long relationship.

It’s not at all her fault why her presence makes me instantly uncomfortable.

“Jensen, you remember Gabby, right?” my mother asks sweetly.

“Of course.” I reach out a hand to shake hers, but she goes in for a hug first. It’s awkward, but I try to play it off, feeling my mother’s lingering gaze on us as we embrace.

“Good to see you again,” she says while curling some hair behind her ear and avoiding my gaze.

Gabby is a beautiful woman, but she’s also very shy and a little awkward. I never know what to say to her when we’re alone.

Which doesn’t make things better when our parents strike up a conversation with each other, leaving me and Gabby to fend for ourselves.

“You still working at the library?” I ask, taking a sip of my soda.

She nods. “Just a library tech for now. But I’m thinking about going back to school to get my master’s in library science.”

“That’s great,” I say, nodding and not knowing what else to say. Normally, I’m great at small talk. But every time I speak with her, or any woman for that matter, I feel so lost. I wish I could understand the disconnect.

“And you’re still preaching, right?” She picks at a hole in her jeans as she lets her gaze rake over my body.

“Yeah. Over at Redemption Point. You should come sometime.”

Please let’s talk about the church. I could do that for hours.

Her head tilts back and forth with little interest. “Maybe someday,” she says, which means never. “That’s so cool, though,” she adds. “I bet they love you there.”

For the first time tonight, her eyes meet mine, and I think there might be a spark of something. Hoping it’s a real connection, I hold her eye contact for longer than usual.

“I hope so,” I reply slowly, in a deeper timbre.

She definitely notices and licks her lips. I let my eyes scan her features, gauging my attraction with each pass.

Soft lips. Cute nose. Light-blue eyes. Bombshell-blonde hair.

I could see the attraction here. I could imagine myself kissing her lips if I tried hard enough. I imagine what it would feel like to hold her body against mine. To roll on top of her and settle between her thighs.

I could do that easily.

Gabby and I make small talk for a while. Then we make our way to the bar, leaving our parents behind. She orders a spicy margarita, and I get a pint of Guinness. We share some nachos and talk about work, life and dating.

She teases me for my age and I tease her for hers, and before long, it feels more natural than it’s ever felt before.

I can do this.

Then, a song comes on the radio, playing through the speakers of the bowling alley. I mouth the words and tap my hand on the bar.

“I love this song.”

“Oh my gosh, me too!” she says, grabbing my arm. “I am obsessed with Theo Virgil!”

“His new album is incredible,” I reply, which is true. I am a big fan of Theo’s LPs, but this new one, Unholy Ghost , is his best work yet.

“His lyrics are so good,” she says, still holding my arm. “He just has a way of speaking to my soul.”

“Same,” I reply, but when I catch my reactions growing too enthusiastic or excited, I bite my tongue and school myself to keep it under control.

“I have tickets for his show in Phoenix.”

My eyes dart to her face and I freeze. I’ve been wanting to see Theo for so long, but I seem to miss all his shows.

“I’m very jealous,” I reply. I love that we have even more to talk about now. If she’s truly a big Theo fan, this could give us even more to bond over.

Then her eyes meet mine, and they widen. “Well, I was going to sell them. My friend had to cancel because of her anniversary, and I don’t want to go alone.”

Is she inviting me to go to Phoenix with her?

When I don’t respond, she continues. “You should go with me!”

“To Phoenix?”

“Yes! Flights are cheap there, and it would be such a blast.”

Instantly, I start thinking about plane rides and hotel rooms, and anxiety builds inside me.

But for Theo Virgil tickets…

“Oh, and did I mention they include backstage passes?” She gives a coy smile as she brings the straw of her drink to her lips.

My jaw drops. “You’re joking with me.”

She shakes her head slowly.

“Yes, let’s do it,” I say without hesitation. “When is it?”

“Next Tuesday night. But we could do one night in Phoenix and fly back Wednesday.”

“I’ll buy the tickets now,” I say, picking up my phone. Gabby starts to giggle excitedly, and it’s a sweet sound. Bubbly and warm.

She really could be perfect for me. I just have to get over my hang-ups.

Again, for backstage Theo Virgil tickets, I’d do just about anything.

I book the plane tickets quickly on my phone and she works on getting us a hotel room, picking a nice one near the venue. We settle on a single room with two queen beds and agree that for just one night, we can share.

I don’t miss the excited energy written all over her face as she books it. Judging by the way she leans in, touches my arm, and smiles flirtatiously at me, it’s clear that Gabby is interested in more.

So am I.

So am I, so am I, so am I.

If I say it enough in my head, it will make it true, right?

Our parents head over shortly after their game, and I notice my mom’s eager expression as she takes in just how well Gabby and I are getting along. She’s been hounding me to find a nice girl and settle down for a while anyway, so I know that’s what she’s wishing for now.

And if I did it with her best friend’s daughter, she’d be on cloud nine.

“Jensen is going to go with me to Phoenix next week for the Theo Virgil concert!” she says excitedly to her parents.

My mom’s eyes light up. She’s watching me with an enthusiastic smirk, excitedly wringing her hands.

“That’s wonderful!” Gabby’s mom says. “You two will have a great time.”

As the six of us leave the bowling alley together, I sense my mother hovering behind Gabby and me, but when I move to say goodbye to her, she gives us space.

“I’ll see you next week, then,” Gabby says while staring up into my eyes.

“I can’t wait.”

Gabby moves in for a hug, and I start to panic, afraid she’s coming in for a kiss. To my relief, she’s not and we just share a quick, platonic embrace.

Leaving her at her car, I walk over to my own, where my mother is waiting.

“Well, that sounds like fun for you two,” she says with mischief in her eyes.

“Yeah,” I stammer.

“Gabby is such a nice girl. I think she’s perfect for you, Jens.”

I clear my throat. We’re getting dangerously close to uncomfortable topics of conversation. I don’t want to upset her. All I want is to make my parents proud, so I put on a brave face and remember to breathe.

This is how it’s meant to be. It’s not too late to change.

Old mantras come back, echoing through my mind like habits.

Growth is possible. God makes everything possible.

“She is a nice girl,” I say with false confidence.

“I’d love to see you two together,” she murmurs innocently. “A mother could dream.”

“She’s a lot younger than me. That doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it bother me? Gabby is in need of guidance. She needs someone to take care of her, and you could do that. You two would make a lovely couple.”

“Enough, Mom,” I say with humor in my tone.

“I know, I know. I won’t meddle.”

When she touches my arm, the love in her words and her touch is apparent. How could I suspect my mother of anything less?

“I just want you to be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

I pull her into a hug and kiss the side of her head. “Not at all, Mom. But you don’t have to worry. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good, baby.”

As she pulls away, she pats my arm and stares into my eyes. I catch something in her expression that sours the warmth in my stomach. It’s like she’s acknowledging the elephant in the room with her eyes. The thing we don’t acknowledge anymore.

She stares a moment too long. A little too serious. A little too concerned.

But instead of talking about it or giving this awkward thing room to breathe and grow, we shove it in a drawer and slam it shut. We don’t need to look at it, or remember it, or think about it.

Why would we when we can just move on and pretend it doesn’t exist?

With that, I say goodbye to my mother, opening her door so she can climb into the passenger seat. My dad waves to me before I slam her door shut and send them off.

When they’re gone, I take a deep breath. And when I’m alone, I don’t open the drawer. I don’t take out that nagging truth or memories from the past. I don’t revisit any of that. I just keep it out of sight and get into my car.

Next week, I’ll go on that trip with Gabby. Maybe we’ll have a few drinks at the concert and end up making out before the end of the show. Maybe we’ll catch a cab back to the hotel together and end up having wild, uninhibited sex in one of those queen beds. Maybe we’ll cuddle and talk about our future and make plans to see each other again.

Maybe it will all end up okay. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The more I play out the scenario in my head, the more it feels like someone else’s life.

Because it certainly doesn’t feel like mine.