Twitterpated (22 page)

Chapter 36

I
STUMBLED INTO MY PARENTS’
kitchen for breakfast Sunday morning. Sandy already sat at the table with a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of her.

“Good morning, sweetie,” my mom said from the stove, where she stood monitoring the progress of another frying pan. “Would you like an omelet or squiggles?” she asked.

“Squiggles?” Sandy echoed.

“That’s what Jessie used to call scrambled eggs,” my dad explained from the doorway. He wandered over to the table and dropped an absentminded kiss on the top of my head before he sat down and disappeared behind the Sunday paper.

“That’s so cute,” Sandy cooed.

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“Be nice, Jessie,” my mom admonished me.

“Yeah. Be nice,” Sandy parroted.

I picked up a fork from the place setting in front of me and rotated it methodically in my fingers.

My dad watched me over the folded corner of the paper for a moment. “You’d better move,” he told Sandy. “I think she’s going to stab you.” He disappeared behind the local section again.

He knew me well.

Sandy grinned but scooted her chair another foot out of reach. “So, Jessie was like this back in the day too?” she asked.

“Only if you ask her to function before she eats,” my mom confirmed.

“Yeah, that’s the same,” Sandy said.

I couldn’t find the words I needed to say, like, “Stop talking about me like I’m not here. I’m cranky because I’m hungry. I’ll be fine once I get food,” so I growled instead.

My mom brought the skillet to the table and slid some scrambled eggs straight onto my plate. “We’d better not wait for an omelet,” she said.

I dug in and, after three mouthfuls, said, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” After letting me finish a few more bites, she took the empty seat beside me. “Are you going to church with us?” she asked.

“Yeah. What time do you guys meet?”

“Nine o’clock. Your dad has meetings after church, but I don’t, so you girls can ride with me if you want, and we’ll come straight home.”

“Sandy won’t—” I was about to say, “be coming with us,” but Sandy cut me off.

“Sounds good, Sister Taylor,” she said. “I’m not in a hurry to get back into Jess’s car anytime soon. Eighteen hours between Friday and yesterday is enough.”

Even leaving within the hour on Friday night and cruising comfortably above the speed limit all the way down, we hadn’t stumbled through my parents’ front door until midafternoon yesterday, bleary-eyed from sleep deprivation and road weariness. Office gossip and iPod disagreements had filled the first ten hours. The last few hours had passed in quiet as we took turns sleeping and driving.

“We’ll be ready,” I said.

“Good girl.” My mom hopped back up and headed for the sink with my empty plate. “There’s something you should probably know before you go to church. I meant to tell you this before you came down for your next trip, but you surprised us with this one.”

I dropped my head to my hands. “I have a feeling I know what’s coming.”

“Jason is back,” she said. “He’s living in his parents’ house while they’re gone.”

Brother Stewart had been called to serve as a mission president in Chile almost a year before.

“I wouldn’t worry,” she said. “They’re in the other ward now. But I thought you should know.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” I got up and hugged her. “More okay than I thought it would be. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Good.” She patted my cheek. “You go on up and shower, honey. You smell like road trip.” We’d spent most of Saturday afternoon catching up on sleep and watching old movies in my parents’ den while they attended a high priest group social at the church. With all my movie-watching and wallowing, showering hadn’t made it on my list of things to do yet.

Sandy grinned. “Yeah, you stink, Jessie. Go wash while I help your mom.”

When she joined my mom at the sink, Mom took the dirty plate Sandy held in her hand and said with a smile, “I think you’re wearing the same road trip perfume. Why don’t you go on ahead too. We have a big hot water heater.”

It was my turn to grin when Sandy looked amused and trailed me out of the kitchen.

“Your mom’s pretty cool,” she said. “I can see why you would want to come home.”

“Yeah, she kind of rocks,” I agreed. “Do you have anything to wear to church?”

“I think I shoved a skirt in my bag somewhere.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour?”

“Sure. But you need to learn to do your makeup faster.” My jaw dropped as she said this, moving past me to the guest bedroom down the hall. Sandy was the mirror jockey in our condo. Scowling at this latest jab from her, I hit the shower to finish waking up. Since I skipped a hair washing (I’d scrubbed it thoroughly before heading off to see Ben), I made it down to the living room ten minutes early in a simple gray merino wool wrap dress and black tights with black high-heeled Mary Janes. As I finished off my dad’s discarded business section from the paper, Sandy made an appearance in a tweed pencil skirt and a chocolate brown turtleneck. On me, it would have looked frumpy. On her, it looked sharp.

“How long have you been sitting here?” she demanded.

“Half an hour,” I said.

“Then you got ready in negative five minutes because we weren’t even upstairs that long.” She squinted at me. “You even did your makeup,” she said. “I went as fast as I could, and you still beat me.”

“I had to fight four sisters for bathroom time growing up here,” I said. “Must be my genetic memory powering me through.”

She sniffed, took a seat beside me, and sorted through the rest of the paper. My dad wandered in after a moment, looking vaguely distracted, a distinguishing trait of professors everywhere. When he saw me, he smiled and gestured me over for a hug.

“Sorry we didn’t have time to talk yesterday. Maybe we can visit after dinner?”

Because of the social the night before and the fact that I’d been too travel-weary and emotionally strung out, we hadn’t dug into the reasons behind my sudden appearance anyway. I felt slightly more human and coherent now.

“Sure, Dad,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

He arched an eyebrow at that. “Well, you showed up with almost no notice, so it must be kind of a big deal,” he replied.

“It’s not. Sorry I worried you.”

He sighed but said only, “I’ll see you at church.” No sooner had the garage door closed behind him than my mom appeared, dressed in a neat black skirt and red silk blouse.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Ready,” I said. But then Sandy’s cell phone shrilled from upstairs.

“Sorry,” she said, looking embarrassed. “Let me go get that. I’ll be right back.” She bounced up the stairs and down the hall. Instead of bouncing right back down, I heard the low hum of conversation. It went on for at least five minutes. My mom shifted anxiously, but good manners kept her from commenting on Sandy’s detour.

I didn’t mind though. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like being at church. Parading through the hallways of my childhood chapel smacked of regression, and I dreaded the questions from well-meaning members who’d known me as a kid. I’d bet on at least ten “Are you dating anyone?” inquiries, and that didn’t even count Relief Society. For a couple of years, the breakup with Jason had given me immunity as people held their questions out of pity. After that, though, they clearly expected to hear any day that I had moved on and was engaged to be married, like Jason was six months after our ugly beach scene. I didn’t begrudge their expectations; they only wanted me to be happy. But some of the older ladies grew more comfortable every year with ignoring the social niceties and had no problem wading into everyone’s business, especially mine when I showed up in my home ward only twice a year.

I followed my mom out to the car when Sandy reappeared, apologizing for the delay. I didn’t want to give Sandy a reason to bolt by describing the hordes of nosy old biddies that would descend on me as soon as I set foot in the meetinghouse, so I said nothing and eyed the clock in the dashboard. I had a shot at making it in time for the welcome from the bishopric but no chit chat if I dragged my feet from the car to the chapel.

I sat back and sighed. This would be one long Sunday.

* * *

I waited for the Gospel Doctrine teacher to wind down. Brother Stevens was a nice man and had an encyclopedic knowledge of the scriptures. Those two things together didn’t necessarily add up to a riveting lesson. In fact, his encyclopedia tendencies had taken over and had turned our New Testament lesson into a bit of a Middle Eastern travelogue. Finally deciding I couldn’t sit still any longer, I abandoned Sandy to my mother and headed out for a sip of water. It’s not like I was getting much out of the lesson anyway.

Since there were a few minutes left before the bell officially rang for the third block, the halls stood relatively empty. I took my sweet time wandering back to the cultural hall, reading the bulletin boards lining the corridor. Pictures of youth activities and Scout outings papered one; another bristled with announcements and fliers from the activities committee. I paused in front of the one belonging to the singles ward. The institute class schedule hung on a fancy piece of CES cardstock and was illustrated with a group of clean-cut young men and women all raising their hands enthusiastically to participate in whatever the teacher asked.

I stared for a while. At the university here, while I worked on my undergraduate degree, I had attended institute diligently, volunteering to help with activities and making lots of friends to fill the time until Jason came back. I wondered if the students in the brochure’s idyllic picture had any idea that the future wasn’t always as bright and shiny as their faces. I hadn’t when I’d sat in their places after high school. Back then, I’d thought things went how you planned them.

In the middle of my mental tirade, I heard a soft voice call, “Jessie?”

I froze. I hadn’t heard that voice in four years, but I knew it immediately. I turned to face Jason. He held a blonde girl about three years old on his waist, his arm crooked to secure her, his other hand anchoring a baby carrier under a blue blanket.

“Hi, Jason.” Of course. Like I needed this. The universe seemed bent on forcing me into a nervous breakdown. Nausea churned in my stomach, and the sensation of stepping outside of myself for a split second disoriented me. I swallowed down the sick feeling and struggled to focus.

“Hi. Wow. How amazing to see you,” he said. “Are you visiting your parents?”

“Yes. For the weekend,” I answered, trying not to let my discomfort show. Which meant I probably looked as awkward as I felt.

I gestured to the children. “Are these yours?” I asked. Duh.

“Yeah, yeah. This is Maddie, and my boy is Hunter,” he said, nodding down toward the sleeping infant.

“Congratulations,” I said. I hadn’t heard about his kids, but then, I had made it clear that I didn’t want to keep up with him after my mom had delivered one of her Jason updates a few years ago.

“Jason?” A pretty blonde drew even with him in the hallway and reached over to take the little girl from his arms. He turned to her and smiled, and I could see his affection in that simple expression.

“Sweetie, this is Jessie,” he said, gesturing toward me. “Jessie, this is my wife, Stacie.” She looked delighted to hear my name.

The strange detachment returned as I stepped forward to accept her handshake. Was this the sister missionary from his mission? The one he’d dumped me for? How was I supposed to act? I fell back on manners. My mom would be proud.

“Nice to meet you, Stacie,” I said. It was like I was observing myself on film in a scene titled, “Girl meets ex-boyfriend and his wife.”

“No, I’m thrilled to meet
you
!” she cried. “Ever since we moved here last fall, I’ve gotten a chance to meet the characters from all of Jason’s childhood stories, but I thought you were long gone. I can’t believe I’m meeting Jessie, star of ninety percent of those stories.”

Okay. I wanted to hate her. But I couldn’t. She meant it. I relaxed a fraction, and my nausea subsided.

“Take those with a grain of salt,” I cautioned her.

Whoa. Adult conversation with someone I had once held responsible for bringing my life arc to a grinding halt. Not bad.

She laughed. “Oh, no. He gives you full credit for being the voice of reason. I think you’re the only reason he didn’t break his neck at least a half dozen different times.”

“Hey!” he protested. “I wasn’t that wild.”

At his wife’s skeptical glance, he grinned. “All right. Maybe five times she saved me.”

She smiled back at him. Their easy rapport sent a pang through my bubble of detachment. I shifted uncomfortably, searching for something to say so I wasn’t standing there with a big social smile papering over my confusion. “So you’re back here.”

“It was time,” he said. “I finished up my business degree back east, and now I can take over for my dad.”

“Maddie, this is Jessie,” Stacie said. “Can you say hi?”

Maddie ducked her head but gave me a tiny wave. A real smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. She was pretty cute. “Jessie story?” she whispered loudly in her mother’s ear.

Jason laughed. “Yes, honey. This is Jessie from my stories.”

“Where Twoy?” she asked. Troy was Jason’s other childhood friend.

“Troy’s in Utah, I think,” Stacie answered.

“Meet Twoy?” Maddie asked.

As simple as that, I had been reduced to nothing more than a story, like a hundred others her dad had told. Interchangeable with Troy, his affable sidekick through our school days.

The bell startled me, and people surged into the hall. Jason looked over his shoulder to the chapel, wincing. “We were almost on time today,” he said. “We better go before they close the doors for prayer. It’s good to see you, Jessie.”

“Yeah, you too,” I answered automatically. I watched as he carefully transferred the weight of the carrier to his other hand and headed toward sacrament meeting. Stacie smiled and turned to follow him, but after a couple of steps, she spun around and hurried back.