Her smile lights up her whole face. The cement sidewalk between us. My heart.
“Sure. That sounds fun. Give me a minute to grab my camera. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“I’ll be here.”
Ivy
Jon is waiting for me at the curb, right where I left him. I sling my camera bag over my head and give a dorky wave as I jog down the steps. Cassidy couldn’t believe it when I told her I’d just had breakfast with Jon and that we were going to work on a class project today.
“He’s totally hot and I’m thrilled for you,” she said, “but don’t let him break your heart. I was talking to this girl, Tina, last night while you guys were dancing. She was at the Hardware with another guy, but she said she and Jon have regular booty calls.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to fall in love with him. We’re just working on a project together.”
What I didn’t tell her was that I like how I feel when I’m with him. I’m not scared or panicked or confused or wimpy. When I’m with him, my jumbled-up parts aren’t the jagged pieces they usually are. And talking about the accident with him didn’t give me a headache. You know how being around toxic people adds to your insecurities and makes you feel bad about yourself? (If not, lucky you.) Well, Jon is the opposite of that for me.
Now I’m at the curb, eyeing his bike. I was fine riding on the back of his motorcycle across town, but I’m not sure about driving along a winding two-lane road way above the ocean. One wrong shift of my weight and—
“So I was thinking… What if we take my car instead?”
He pats the bike between his legs. “This make you nervous?”
I can’t tell if he means to be suggestive or if I’m just taking it that way, but my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “My camera stuff is…is kind of bulky and it might rain. I really don’t mind driving.”
“Sure, no problem. Where’s your car?”
“Over in Lot C.”
The one good thing about my car having been in the shop getting fixed is that it’s clean now. They washed it and vacuumed the carpets.
Soon, we’re winding through campus and Jon’s driving. “That way you can look for good places to take pictures without worrying about the road.” I just think he likes to be the one behind the wheel.
We stop at Coffee Addicts to get something for the road. Since we just ate, I assume we’re only ordering drinks, but Jon gets a mocha with whipped cream and a muffin. I must have an incredulous look on my face or something, because he feels the need to explain himself. “If you don’t grab the lemon-blueberry ones when they have them, all day, you’ll be wishing you had.”
“They’re that good?” I ask.
“Here, have a bite.” He breaks off a piece and offers it to me, but I puff up my cheeks, indicating I’m still stuffed from breakfast. He laughs and pops it into his mouth.
We climb back into my car and head down the road. I’m sipping on my sugar-free Red Bull Italian soda. Raspberry. My favorite.
“See? Aren’t you glad we took my car? You wouldn’t have been able to get anything to eat if we’d taken the motorcycle.”
“True.” He takes a bite of his muffin, then glances at the crumbs in his lap. “Oh, crap. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting it to be so crumbly.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Can you hold onto this for a sec?”
“Sure.” I stretch out my hand, thinking he means the muffin.
“No. Steer.”
Take the wheel? While we’re driving? I glance nervously at the road in front of us. It’s empty, and we’re not going very fast, but…
Without waiting for a yes, he starts picking the crumbs from his lap.
My heart slams in my chest. I grab the wheel and white-knuckle it, keeping my eyes glued to the road. Don’t cross the yellow line in the center. Don’t hit the white line on the shoulder.
I make minor jerky adjustments to keep it in the center of the lane. Not too far right. Or left. Keep it straight down the middle. Crap. That’s too far over.
It takes me a moment to realize the car is slowing down. I glance at Jon. His hand is on the bottom of the wheel. Has it been there this whole time? There’s a rigid expression on his face as he pulls to the side of the road and stops the car. Without a word, he gets out, brushes off the rest of the crumbs, then gets back inside.
“There.” His tone is clipped. He’s pissed, or at least irritated.
Even though I didn’t say anything—at least I don’t remember that I did—it’s obvious he noticed my overreaction. I sit back in my seat, readjust my shoulder strap, and stare out the windshield. A piece of paper, buffeted by the wind, flits past the front of my car. I track it to the warehouse parking lot to my right, where it lodges against the side of the building.
“Ivy?”
I look over at him. He’s frowning. My first thought is to apologize. I’ve made him mad. It’s my fault.
He puts a finger to my lips. “That was stupid of me. I’m sorry.”
I’m confused. He’s sorry?
“Not long after you tell me about the car accident that almost took your life, I’m telling you to hold the wheel while I brush crumbs off my lap. I just wasn’t thinking.”
He’s pissed, but at himself? I wasn’t expecting that. I give him a little smile. “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
With College View behind us, we head toward the coast, Douglas fir trees a blur on either side of the road. The radio reception is terrible, so we’ve got my phone plugged in and I’m scrolling through my playlists.
“Tell me about your family. Any brothers or sisters?” Over breakfast, he asked so many questions about me and yet I still don’t know that much about him.
He grips the steering wheel with a casualness that makes my POS car seem cooler than it is. “I was an only child—it was just me and my mom, although I wouldn’t be surprised to learn I’ve got some half-siblings out there somewhere.”
Was? I wonder what happened to his parents. “Why do you think you could have a half brother or sister? Wouldn’t you know if you did?”
He stares straight ahead. “When your dad fucks around as much as mine does, anything’s possible.”
Present tense. So his dad is alive. I wonder if he cheated on his mom before she died or if he started fucking around a lot afterward?
From the way Jon said it, I’m guessing it happened before she died. I sit back, not sure how to respond. My dad can be a jerk, but I’m pretty sure he’s never done anything like that. I can’t imagine how Jon must feel. Betrayed? Angry? Unimportant?
“I don’t know him anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”
I glance over, trying to decide whether or not he means it, but his expression is unreadable. “He sounds like a major douche bag.”
“He is.”
“And who needs that in your life, anyway?”
“Exactly.”
I close my eyes and imagine us driving away and never coming back, far from the toxic people in our lives. Sipping strawberry daiquiris on a beach somewhere. Holding hands as we play in the surf.
We exit the highway and pull into a cute little beach community. All the houses are decorated with fishing nets, glass balls, and buoys. At the end of the road, Jon pulls into the driveway of a small gray house with white shutters. As we walk to the front door, I notice that the flowerbeds on either side of the walk are filled with crushed white oyster shells. Jon knocks. It takes a few moments until we hear footsteps inside.
The door swings open, revealing a slim, white-haired woman wearing a red gingham apron. Her whole face lights up. “Jon! And you brought a young lady with you. Bless your heart.”