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Lo pulls her new-to-her 2009 Toyota Camry into our driveway and puts it in park. She leans back in the seat and sighs contentedly. If anyone deserves this, it’s her.
Jameson walks out of our front door and comes to inspect her car. He walks around it, checking the tires. He pops the hood to check the engine and all of the fluids. He looks like the quintessential dad, checking his kid’s car, and the visual makes my heart ache. This is exactly what Daddy would be doing if he were here. And Lo would be rolling her eyes at him, just as she’s doing with Jameson right now.
He’ll be a good dad someday, I think, as he questions Lo about whether or not she knows how to change a tire. She begrudgingly admits that she does not, and Jameson chooses to remedy that this instant. Lo looks up to the sky and groans.
“It’s my birthday! Can’t we do this another time?” she protests, looking to me for backup.
“No. What if you get a flat away from home before ‘another time’ rolls around? Do you not remember how we met?” he lifts an eyebrow and asks. He does have a point. I scooch over to where he starts his demonstration because I shamefully don’t know how to change a tire either. Don’t judge Daddy too harshly. He did show me once, but I was distracted by the cute boys across the street playing basketball in their driveway.
Jameson walks her (us) through all of the steps, and Lo asks questions like the good student she is. I’m surprised she’s able to concentrate on anything he’s saying or doing. The only thing I’m seeing are those biceps. When they both stand up, I’m surprised to realize that I still don’t know how to change a tire. I guess I could Google it, if I get desperate enough.
Lo turns to go inside, but Jameson stops her, asking where she’s going.
“Uhh, inside…” she says, pointing up at the sky that looks like it’s going to pour any second now.
“No, no, no. You have to show me that you can do it,” he says.
“What do you mean?” Lo asks.
“Change the tire,” he says. Lo looks at me with wide eyes and clenched jaw, begging me to shut this man down. I shrug my shoulders and back away from them. I actually agree with Jameson. Look at my situation. Twenty-six years old, and I can’t change a tire. It’s unacceptable. Also, this gives me one more chance to try to pay attention.
“I cannot believe you’re making me do this on my birthday of all days,” she grumbles, but she gets to work changing the tire. She struggles to get some of the lugnuts off, and she’s a bit sweaty, but she does get the tire changed back. She stands up and whoops excitedly, giving Jameson a high five.
I watch as Lo talks to Jameson with a huge smile of success on her face. She waves her hands around and shows off her almost non-existent muscles. Jameson watches on like a doting big brother. He looks up to me from his crouched position with a crooked smile as he gathers up his tools.
A drop of rain lands on my nose. I’ve been waiting for the rain to start all day. I’m glad it waited a while. I move to walk to the house, but Lo’s voice stops me.
“We’re going to order pizza and watch a movie. Do you want to join us?” she asks, and my heart stops beating. What does she think she’s doing, inviting a grown man to eat dinner with us? I want to banish her to her room with no dinner. Who cares if it’s her birthday? I can’t rescind her offer, though, so that would leave me stuck with him alone. On one hand it wouldn’t be so bad, because he’s fun and I like him. On the other hand, it would be horrible, because he’s gorgeous and I really like him.
Jameson watches me, unsure about what to do. I can’t be rude, so I face him and assure him that I would love it if he joined us. Lie, lie, lie. But am I lying to him or myself?
The pizza has been ordered, Lo is choosing a movie to watch, and Jameson is watching the rain pour outside, probably wishing he could go home since Lo is only considering unbearable chick flicks to watch. Mean Girls seems to be her top pick for now.
“Remember being a kid and making blanket forts on rainy days like this?” he asks out of nowhere.
Lo and I both look at him and say, “No.”
He turns away from the window with a look of disgust on his face. “What do you mean ‘no’? You mean neither of you have ever made a blanket fort?”
We both shake our heads, and Jameson’s eyes grow even wider.
“Like, never?” he asks as if he cannot believe what he’s hearing.
“Never, Jameson,” I say. We lived in a small, two-bedroom house. There wasn’t much room for stuff like that. After mom left us, Daddy was always very busy trying to provide for us. He worked full-time as a music teacher, he cooked, he cleaned, he helped us with homework—he did it all. Even if there had been space for something like a blanket fort, I doubt that’s what he would have spent his time doing. Daddy took us to do stuff like the zoo, aquarium, or children’s museum. Things that got us out of the house.
I give Jameson a questioning look. It’s just a blanket fort. What’s the big deal? He’s acting like we’ve missed some key component of our childhood.
“We have to remedy this very real tragedy,” he says and starts moving all of our kitchen chairs into the living room. “Where are your blankets? Bring me all of the blankets you own!”
Lo hops up and runs to the hall closet. She comes back with blankets draped over her head and both arms, but still Jameson says, “Not enough! We need more!” I’ve never seen him like this. I laugh and go to my room to grab the blankets from my bed. When I come back, he and Lo are busy turning the couch around to use the back as part of the frame.
The doorbell rings, and Lo runs to open the door for her friend Amy. As soon as Amy walks in and sees what’s going down, she squeals, “Blanket fort! Yes!” She throws off her rain jacket and kicks off her shoes as fast as lightning and runs over to join the building process. I guess it is a big childhood experience.
We finish draping blankets over the chairs and then we get to work making the inside of the fort comfy with blankets and pillows. I climb inside and get comfortable against the back of the couch. The fort is huge and cozy, and now that I’m sitting in here, I can imagine how magical this would feel as a child.
Jameson climbs in and reclines beside me. His arm pressed against mine will be seared into my memory for eternity. I look at his long legs stretched out in front of him, and the difference between my legs and his is hilarious. His are long and muscular, while mine resemble limp spaghetti noodles.
Lo grabs the pizza from the delivery boy while Jameson and I sit in tense silence in the fort. Lo and Amy eat in record time and then decide they want to meet up with some other friends at the coffee shop. I assure Lo repeatedly that it’s fine. It’s her big day, and she should get to hang out with friends if that’s what she wants to do. Even if I am feeling particularly anxious about Jameson.
