Page 7 of You Started It

CHAPTER SEVEN

Saturday, and it’s Seniors’ Night at Wonderland. I tossed and turned last night in bed, unable to get any sleep. My mind raced with thoughts of Ben and Olivia and what happened between them over the summer, imagining the moment when Ben decided he’d stopped loving me and wanted to be with her. Then my disagreement with Mom played out over and over in my head, making me angrier each time. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, there’s the weird physical reactions I’ve been experiencing around Axel.

His lips are curves and peaks like a roller coaster. I bet his kisses feel like one too.

Stop it!

Axel is basically everything I’m not. He’s also kind of annoying. But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that sometimes I like spending time with him. What’s even more worrisome is that I occasionally miss Axel when he’s not around, and even find myself looking for excuses to text him.

What Axel is is a distraction, and that’s not always a bad thing. When I’m around him I’m less sad about Ben. He talked me off the ledge yesterday with Mom. And, most important of all, he’s helping me get Ben back. Even if he always manages to change the subject when I bring up a contract. Which is why I’ve spent all morning in my room typing one up. I’m going to bring it with me to Wonderland and have him sign it tonight. On our first official fake-date.

Working on the contract has also been a good way to avoid my mother. We haven’t spoken since yesterday’s tiff, but Saturdays are her busiest days, which means it’s probably safe for me to come out of my room and make lunch.

I bring my laptop with me, figuring I can finalize the details of the contract while enjoying my meal. Eli’s at work and the house is mostly quiet, except for the music from Mom’s salon thumping through the floor.

Phil Collins really loves a dramatic musical transition.

Eli’s kitchen is pretty small, but quaint. There’s a round table by the sliding glass door that leads to his deck and backyard. A bunch of fresh groceries are laid out on the small island in preparation for tonight’s dinner with the Camerons. It almost looks as if the kitchen has been staged for a photoshoot or something, with the bright produce contrasting against the black granite counters. Eli has an eye for design, and his dark wood cabinets and black-and-white tiled floors give the space sort of a homey yet stylish feel.

The home I grew up in was a bungalow. We had a big piece of land, since the farther north you go, the less expensive housing is. The layout was pretty spaced out, so when Mom and Dad fought, I’d just go to my room at the other end of the house and hide. Made their shouts more of a whisper. But they still felt like a sharp stab to my heart.

At first, they used to fight about little things, like dividing up tasks and blaming each other for not doing their share. But then the subject matter got more serious. Dad felt stifled. Mom felt underappreciated. Dad said Mom didn’t acknowledge how hard it was for him to work a corporate job when his heart wasn’t in it. Mom said he refused to grow up and accept his responsibilities.

As I got older, I started to see that the reasons for their arguments ran deeper. Dad felt trapped by fatherhood. Mom felt like I didn’t love her enough. Dad was unhappy, and Mom regretted ever marrying Dad and having me.

“Jamie?” Mom’s voice sounds from the kitchen entry. I grip my butter knife while spreading Nutella on my bread. “Is that what you’re having for lunch? Not very healthy.”

I exhale and use my knife to collect more Nutella to spread on a second slice before slapping the pieces together. I turn and lick my finger. “If you don’t want me to eat Nutella, then don’t buy it.”

“I don’t buy it. Eli does.” She enters the kitchen and cleans up after me while I bring my sandwich to the table.

“Don’t you have clients?” I ask, while waking my laptop up. She pours a glass of water and places it next to me.

“At least stay hydrated. And no, I’m done for the day. Took the afternoon off to prep dinner. I’m making steak Neptune and need time to get it ready.”

“What’s the special occasion?” Their son finally getting rid of that annoying girlfriend? I bite into my sandwich in an effort to keep my angry words at bay.

“Eli wants to put his new dining table to use,” she says while washing her hands.

“This was his idea?”

“Hey, Jamie, we’re not conspiring against you.” Mom wipes her hands dry on her jeans before opening the fridge. She grabs some ingredients and places them on the island, moving the fresh produce to the counter by the sink. Back at the island, Mom pulls out a huge piece of red meat from the butcher paper. “I know all of this can’t be easy on you, but the Camerons are our friends, and we can’t dictate who Eli invites into his own home.” The doorbell rings and Mom shrugs, holding up her dirty hands. “Would you get that?”

I rise from my seat and head to the front door. As soon as I’m done with lunch I’m going back to my room and finishing this contract so I can focus on making myself look as irresistible as possible tonight. I turn the knob and open the door to find Ben on the other side, carrying a silver platter.

“Hey,” he says, as my stomach somersaults onto itself. His floppy hair partially covers his eyes. I kind of want to brush it away but fight the urge. “My mom told me to bring this over.”

I take the platter from him and swallow, unsure of what to say or how to act. “Thanks.”

We stand there, quiet, both seemingly studying the grains in Eli’s wood floor.

“You have a little…” He points to the space next to his lips.

“Oh.” I feel around my face before wiping off the Nutella residue.

“Looking forward to tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah. Can’t wait to ride some…rides,” I say, fully aware of how foolish I sound.

He laughs. “I never thought I’d see Jamie T-F on a roller coaster. You don’t even go one number over the speed limit while driving.”

“That’s because I adhere to the laws of our town. Besides, Axel’s adventurous and he’s influenced me to break out of my old and stiff ways.”

“I didn’t think your ways were old and stiff,” he says, a small smile edging its way onto his perfect lips. God, I miss kissing those lips. The lips he now uses to kiss Olivia Chen. I want so badly to make a smart remark about how if he truly felt those things about me, he wouldn’t have dumped me for someone else, but less is more. I need to remind him of all the good parts of me.

A car horn beeps in the near distance. I glance over Ben’s shoulder to see that obnoxious baby-blue BMW. “I’ve got to go. Olivia’s waiting,” he says. “See you later.”

I raise my hand to wave but instead bring the platter up and almost smack him in the face with it. I clear my throat as I bring it down. A poor attempt to distract him from my loser move. “Later.”

After watching him get into Olivia’s car, I stop short of slamming the door and make my way back to the kitchen. I place the platter on the island and toss the second half of my sandwich in the compost, having completely lost my appetite.

“Was that Ben?” Mom asks, slicing the meat slab into steaks.

“Yes. It was Ben.”

“Judging by the fact that I didn’t hear a screaming match, I take it you and he are now cordial?”

“Glad to see you think so highly of me,” I say.

“I didn’t want to say anything last night, since you were already upset,” Mom says, moving Eli’s sharp knife through the meat, “but I think you’re moving on a tad too quickly from Ben.”

“No. You’ve made yourself pretty clear.” I stand on the other side of the island, leering down at her.

“So then you’re serious about this boy?”

My eyes flit to the floor. It’s harder to lie to someone when you look directly at them. “Yeah.”

“It isn’t healthy to jump from one relationship to the next. And I don’t like that you brought him into your bedroom.”

“You let Ben come into my room.”

She gathers up the scraps of meat and tosses them into the compost before looking up at me. “No. I didn’t. But you don’t listen. And I trust Ben a heck of a lot more than I trust this Axel person. To be honest, I have a hard time seeing what you like about him.”

“You don’t even know him.” The truth is, I don’t really know him either, but I feel myself growing defensive regardless.

She turns on the faucet with her elbow and begins washing her hands. “I know enough. His parents are Arabs. That means he’s probably a mama’s boy who has never picked a dirty sock up off the floor. I wouldn’t be surprised if his mother still cuts his steak up for him into tiny little pieces.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask. Her hands have now formed a soapy lather while my heart pounds against my chest in fast, heavy beats.

“I just don’t think you should get involved with an Arab boy. They’re chauvinistic and old-school.”

“I’m an Arab.”

“You’re half,” she says as she dries her hands with a paper towel.

“Don’t diminish my identity,” I respond, taking Axel’s words from the first night we DM’d to heart. “Are you telling me that you don’t want me to date Axel because he’s an Arab?”

“You don’t know Arab guys. Look at my father. He was furious with me when I got pregnant. He wouldn’t know what a feminist was if I smacked him in the face with Gloria Steinem and her fabulous hair.”

“What about Amo Eli? He’s an Arab man.”

“That’s different. He’s my brother and he’s gay, and,” she says, her voice rising slightly, “he barely has a relationship with our parents.”

“I don’t choose who I’m going to date based on their background. That’s racist, Mother.”

“It’s not racist. I just want you to be informed about what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Maybe I want to be informed,” I say, my hands gripping the ledge of the island. “Maybe I want to surround myself with Axel’s big, loud, Arab family and connect with my roots. Maybe I don’t want to grow up to be a self-hating Arab.”

“Jamie.” My mom’s face hardens. I went low and definitely hit a nerve while I was down there.

“What?”

“I am not…I just wanted to…” She picks up her knife and begins chopping vegetables. “I was trying to spare you from having to learn the hard way like me.”

A sharp pang twists through my lower abdomen. Not again. I’m already stressed enough about tonight as it is. I don’t need to add another fight with Mom to the list of stressors. Or another stomach attack. Instead of snapping back with the harsh words I want to say, I’m going to be the bigger person here and let this go.

“I have to get ready,” I say, running a hand over my stomach. Mom nods in understanding as some of the tension leaves the room like a slow-leaking balloon.

“Make sure to use the bathroom before you go tonight. And try not to eat anything too greasy. You know how your body reacts.” Her eyes flit to my hand, still absentmindedly rubbing my stomach. “And Jamie,” she starts.

“Yeah,” I say, exhaling a deep breath.

“Promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said.”

“I always do,” I say as I pick up my laptop and make my way to my room.

If Amo Eli and Mom thought my room was a disaster before, they’d have an aneurysm at the sight of it now. But the stakes are high. If I’m going to get Ben’s attention, I need to stand out. I’d never admit to this juvenile/typical teenaged-girl behavior to another living soul, but I studied Olivia’s Insta trying to figure out her style. Not to copy it but to elevate it. Tonight, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I stay within Ben’s sight line. With one last satisfied look in my bedroom mirror, I head downstairs.

My hope for a swift getaway is derailed by Amo Eli, who comes out of his dining room with napkin rings.

“Gold or silver?” he asks, holding them up.

“Silver. To match the Camerons’ platter Ben dropped off earlier.”

“Ooh, do I hear some snarky undertones in your response?”

I glance around. Mom’s in the kitchen and the Camerons haven’t arrived yet. I lean in and say in a quiet but disappointed tone, “How could you invite Ben’s parents over?”

“Because they’re our friends.” He responds as if I asked both the simplest and stupidest question ever.

“Blood is thicker than neighbors,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.

“And I’ve known Benjamin’s mom since before you were born, so you can see how this complicates things. Listen, Jam-e,” he says, with that fake Arab accent again. “Benjamin’s mom was there for me in high school. She was also there for me after your mom took off to marry your dad. Her son breaking up with my niece isn’t going to destroy a decades-old friendship. Sorry, babe.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No. It doesn’t. And I can respect that. But I hope you can return that respect to me. So,” he says, releasing a breath, “you and your mom fighting again?” He cocks his head to the kitchen. “She’s been in a mood all afternoon.”

“She’s always in a mood,” I say, looking away from my uncle’s discerning brows. “She’s racist against Axel.”

“Oh.” Eli’s shoulders slump. “She doesn’t like that he’s an Arab?”

“Nope.”

“She has some messed-up stuff she needs to work through, but then again, don’t we all?” He runs a hand over his freshly shaved face as he looks past me at the front door. “Is Axel meeting you here?”

“His bike is kind of broken so I’m going to pick him up.”

Amo nods as I slip on my shoes.

“I see Axel’s having an effect not only on removing those permanent scowls but also on your fashion sense. Don’t worry. Axel told me that you two are together, but I called it the first time I saw you with him at Shawarma Sitty.”

“Called what?”

“That you’d end up together. It’s cute. You’re like a million tropes balled into one fiery couple.”

“Anyway,” I reply, breathing in and exhaling out slowly. “Axel and I are just seeing what happens.” Again, my gaze falls to the ground. I didn’t realize how much lying would be involved in fake-dating. “And by the way,” I say, pointing to my clothes. “This isn’t Axel’s influence. I drove myself to the mall and bought these boxy jeans and crop top.” Putting yet another dent in my bank account, along with the fifty-dollar entry fee to Wonderland. I grab a cardigan and throw it over my top.

“Well, I think you look dope. Hey.” He grins. “Did you know dope means ‘very cool’ and ‘marijuana’?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Did you know it also means to smear or cover a surface with a thick liquid-like varnish?” I ask, with an exaggerated smile.

“I did not know that.”

“My title of Homographs Queen remains intact,” I say with an assertive nod. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too,” Amo Eli calls as I walk out the front door.

Fun. Not many homographs for that word, but tonight I plan to create my own version of it.