I expect Marissa to laugh, but instead she sighs, settling back against the headrest. As she does, the mood palpably shifts.
“Well, it’s nice to know there are some responsible men out there,” she says. “Guys who are willing to be the adult in the room. I’m kind of envious. I bet it’s nice to be taken care of by other people.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. I briefly scrolled through this Rocky guy’s Wikipedia page while everyone was using the bathroom at Sheetz. Apparently, he’s some former teen heartthrob turned Hollywood star turned big-shot director who thinks he’s God’s gift to the arts. He also has a rap sheet of extramarital affairs nearly as long as his résumé. It pains me to consider that this was the best Marissa could do for a partner. She deserves so much better. She should be with someone who lifts her up instead of dragging her down.
It’s quarter to nine when I pull into her driveway, and all the lights are off, save for her porch light. I shift the truck into park. The beam of my headlights cuts through the darkness, casting a foggy light against her garage doors. I lean back into my seat, unsure what to do with my hands. I feel like I’m seventeen again, dropping off my date and summoning the balls to make a move before her dad appears in the window.
Is that what I think is going to happen here? That she’s going to lean over the console, bat her eyes, and give me some hint that she wants me to kiss her? The idea is outrageous. Despite the events of the evening, we are not teenagers. Marissa is a grown woman, not my prom date. Not only is she stunning, but she’s also from a different stratosphere of humankind. The guys she’s been with are wealthy and successful, the type who make millions per year and pose for magazines in designer clothes. I’m a townie who buys store-brand pasta and has worn the same pair of work boots for the past five years. In what universe would she ever be interested in someone like me?
And yet I’m sure I wasn’t imagining the way she was looking at me just now in the car. The way her eyes lingered when we exchanged amused smiles. The weighty tether that seems to bind us together.
I shake my head, clearing away the thought. Tonight wasn’t some grand romantic moment. We’re two people who shared amusementover a couple who can’t hold their alcohol, not a pair of lovesick teenagers.
I need to get it together.
“Thanks again for dinner,” she says. “It was just what I needed.”
Her words pinch my heart, and I run a hand over my chest to soothe the ache. What I wouldn’t do to be everything this woman needs.
She leans forward, brushing her lips against my cheek. The scent of her shampoo washes over me, and I go instantly, painfully hard.
“Good night,” she whispers.
I watch the shape of her as she makes her way to the door. Once she closes it behind her, I lean back against the headrest and squeeze my eyes shut hard enough to see stars.
God, I am so fucked.
14JESSE
TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO
Bright spots of sunlight dapple the sidewalk as I trek up Harmony Drive. I sidestep them like they’re pools of lava, careful to protect my feet, which are already burning inside my Adidas slides. The last days of August are always unbearably hot, so I’ll take the shade anywhere I can get it.
The houses in my neighborhood make a horseshoe around the lake, and ours is at the very bottom. My destination, Hog Heaven, is a block away from the entrance. It’s not a far walk to the ice-cream stand, but it’s all uphill, and the air is so sticky today that the journey feels twice as long as usual. I’ve only been walking for five minutes, but beads of sweat are already dripping down my back, and I’m starting to regret the promise I made to my brother.
I can’t back out now, though, or he’s going to snitch on me. Which isn’t fair—it’s not like I hit him in the nuts on purpose. But accident or not, I knew I was screwed when my bat connected with his pitch, and the ball took a line drive to the family jewels. I bent over him as he rolled on the basement floor, clutching his crotch and groaning in agony. If I didn’t do something fast, I was definitely getting grounded, so I promised him ice cream in exchange for his silence. I’d even pay for it with my own allowance.
I feel bad about hurting him, but let’s face it, it’s also a bribe. Mom would kill me if she found out we were playing baseball in the basement again, and Toby promised not to say anything if I brought him back two scoops of mint chocolate chip. That’s one good thing about brothers—you know all their weak spots. And my little brother is easily bought with treats. With today’s weather, though, it’s going to be mint-chocolate-chip soup by the time he gets it.
I’m almost at the top of the street now and my eyes wander to the house coming up on my right. Her house.
There’s a minivan parked in the driveway, and her dad is loading suitcases into the trunk. Marissa’s mom is standing beside him, and even though they’re trying to talk quietly, I can tell by their tone that they’re fighting. Last week, I overheard Marissa tell her friend Emily that they’ve been arguing all summer.
Judging by the scene in the driveway, I guess she’s going home today. Not a huge surprise. Summer’s over. School is starting in two weeks. But knowing today is the last day feels like… well, a baseball to the nuts.
There’s a rustle from the bushes on my right, followed by a whimpering sound. At first, I think it’s an animal, maybe a squirrel stuck in the branches. But when I take a step closer, I see one of her books splayed open outside of the leaves. I squint at the title.Nancy Drew and the Case of the…Something.
Another sob floats through the air, drawing me over to the hedges lining the front of the house. Beneath the brush, I see toenails painted glittery purple, slid into a pair of faded pink flip-flops. As I get closer, I notice she’s got her arms wrapped around her shins, folded in on herself like she’s trying to be as small as possible. Her forehead’s pressed against knobby knees, hair spilling over her arms. Through the slivers of sunlight cutting through the branches, it glistens like my mom’s copper watering can.
She doesn’t see me at first. A soft sound escapes her and something in my chest tightens. Bad as I felt about hurting Toby, there’s something different about seeing Marissa cry. I would do absolutely anything right now to make her feel better.
“Hey.”
At the sound of my voice, her head pops up. Her eyes are swollen, and her cheeks are red and splotchy. The knot in my chest tightens.
“Oh, hi.” She swipes the back of her hand against her eyes, brushing away tears. Then, shifting into a voice that could easily have come from a different, not-crying person, she says, “I didn’t realize anyone could hear me back here. I thought I was being quiet.”
I’m not sure what to do with that. Whenever Toby cries, which is often, he wants to make sure everyone hears him. It’s one of the reasons I’m out here right now, sweating like a farm show pig to appease him. Kids always want their parents to know when they’re upset, don’t they? I wonder why she’s hiding it.
