Two Weeks (14 page)

The omelet is gone not long after that, and I load my plate into the dishwasher. My mom takes a step toward the window and looks at the thermometer mounted on the outside of the window. "Y'know what? Maybe we should get out there right now since it's only going to get hotter. Is that okay with you?"

I'm in a great mood, so I tell her okay. She reminds me of the fact that garden work is usually dirty, so I go into my room and find an old pair of workout shorts and a raggedy t-shirt in my dresser. I'm thrilled that they still fit after almost a decade of idly sitting in a drawer.

I assumed I was skinnier back then—but I guess I was wrong. I'm skinnier now.

My phone is sitting out, and so I grab it and shoot a text to Jackson, wanting to keep him in the loop:

Me: I'm not going to be able to work out today. Too sore. :( I'll be over later.

The phone dings before I leave the bedroom, and so I check the response:

Jackson: Want to have dinner then? And then maybe a movie that we actually watch? ;)

I send him an enthusiastic
yes
and then reconvene with my mom in the kitchen.

We head out to the garden together, and when we get outside, I'm thankful about the decision to start early. It's so hot already. My mom hands me an extra pair of work gloves and I put them on, instantly noticing my fingers sweating beneath the heavy material.

The garden is in the back corner of the yard, a chunk of the property that my dad so graciously donated for the purpose. There are five roughly twelve foot long rows, separated by a layer of straw in each.

I help her with some weeding first, and then I help her plant some spaghetti squash plants that she got from the farmer's market. She has an area reserved for them since they won't be ready until later in the season.

Then, I help her pick cucumber beetles off the cucumber plants. She's trying to avoid pesticides, but she's debating spraying the cucumbers with something non-organic because of the ongoing infestation. They are causing some major damage to the leaves and it's clearly causing her a great deal of distress.

But all of that aside, I enjoy the bonding. And then she brings up Liz.

"That's so nice of Liz to stick around," she says, still picking at the beetles and crushing them angrily between her gloved fingers. It's kind of like a really slow, deliberate act of mass murder. "It's good to have friends like that."

"Yeah, I'm lucky," I say, reflexively continuing the facade.

"You should invite her over for dinner before she leaves." She's still angrily plucking and crushing as she says it.

I gulp. "I'll see if she will."

"That Max really is a piece of work, huh?" She changes the subject and I'm actually glad to talk about it.

"He's a real jerk. I should have seen it coming."

"Well, don't blame yourself," she says. "You're young and pretty. And smart. And successful. You'll find someone better."

"I hope so," I say. "I think I'll probably just focus on my career when I get back. Keep my mind off the guy stuff. Move up in the company."

She smiles. "That's my girl. Whenever things got tough with your father, I always buried myself in work. My job never let me down."

"I never saw you guys fight," I say. "What are you talking about?"

Although she's physically lost in the repetitive movements of her work, she's still mentally with me. "We definitely had our disagreements over the years. We just didn't want to fight around you and Jeff. Didn't want you to grow up in that sort of hostile environment."

I shake my head in slight bewilderment. Sweat is trickling down my brow and falling into the soil. It's so hot right now that I feel like I might be cooking inside—and I'm almost well-done.

"I guess I never knew," I say. My parents always seemed so happy growing up that I hadn't even considered the possibility that they fought in private. It felt like a tremendous oversight on my part to not think that my parents were human and had disagreements like everyone else.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she says. "We're fine. It was never a big deal. We're just glad that you're home."

"I'm glad to be home too." I fall silent again as I consider telling her that Liz actually left yesterday and that when I go to "eat dinner with her" tonight, it will actually be with Jackson. But once again, the words won't come out.

"Shit," my mom says."It's too hot out here. We're done, honey."

I start laughing uncontrollably. "What's with all the swearing lately, mom? It's so funny to me."

"I've got plenty of tricks up my sleeves," she says. "Let's get inside before we die of heatstroke. Give me your gloves."

I stand up and toss my gloves over to her. My hands feel cool outside of the gloves, but not for long.

We walk toward the house, trying to hide beneath the shade of the monstrous oak tree in our backyard. The walk seems a lot farther than it really is, especially with the heat.

As soon as we get into the kitchen, my mom fills two glasses with iced tea. "Thanks for helping," she says. "I would have died out there alone."

"Me too," I say. The central air is genuinely a life saver.

"Are you going to be here for dinner tonight?" she asks, fanning herself with a random piece of mail.

"I don't think so." It's all I say. I tense up as I await her next question, fearing that I'll just continue lying. But it doesn't come.

"Okay," she says. She's playing with her phone. "Shit! It's one-hundred and two degrees out there! We're crazy!"

I laugh again at the unexpected profanity. "You're just on a roll, huh?"

It's a good day.

***

Jackson

Earlier that morning...

I
'm incredibly hungry when I wake up. My stomach is growling like I haven't eaten in weeks, but it's clear that hunger for food isn't the only hunger—I'm hungry for companionship. It would be a lie to say that I'm okay with the fact that Ally is gone when I step into the living room.

It takes a few moments of adjustment to accept what I see. I wonder where she's gone, and why she left. None of her behavior felt malicious, just vague—and I want to know
why
.

After downing my protein shake and readjusting my attitude, I begin my exercise routine. My morning run goes off without a hitch. It's hot and I'm super sweaty, but my energy levels are optimal. I spray myself with more water than I drink. I wonder the whole time if Ally will be joining me for sparring.

I check my phone as I get back inside—still nothing. I'm a little anxious, but certain that everything is okay. In and out of the fridge I go, collecting items to make my breakfast. After about the tenth time, I finally discover her note and finally, I'm okay.

I understand the strangeness of the situation, the strangeness of trying to omit the details, yet also function as a full-fledged adult in the very same home you grew up in.

If she stays overnight with me, there is an obvious, glaring suggestion that we're sleeping together in more way than one. And she
just
broke up with her boyfriend on top of that.

It's a little awkward.

And with the unresolved tension between Jeff and me—tension by the way, that Ally has no idea about—it seems like things could get very messy very fast if my relationship with Ally is misconstrued.

But all of that aside, I want this. I really do.

And that truth is all that matters.

After downing my plate of cheesy eggs, bacon, and toast, I shoot her a text to figure out if I can begin the rest of my workout. She responds almost immediately.

Predictably, she's too sore, and I laugh as I read her response. I invite her to dinner, uncertain of what I'll even cook. Still, it sounds like a nice thing to do—and it's uncontroversial.

She accepts my proposal and so I open the fridge yet again; there's basically nothing there we could eat, other than my stockpile of four dozen eggs.

I'll have to make a supply run after I finish working out.

In my peripheral vision, I notice the couch where she slept and go straighten it up. As I fold the blankets, I smell her in them, that rich, floral aroma that reminds me of frolicking in endless summer wheat fields as the sun sets. Laundry detergent commercial material.

I pack the blankets away in the closet; something tells me that if she stays over again, we'll be sharing the same set of blankets. I don't think the thought is overly ambitious, and although I feel somewhat sleazy for thinking it at all, I don't think I'm being ridiculous.

I feel very good. And that reminds me—why the hell was I so neurotic about cleanliness last night? It blows my mind in retrospect.

As I train, I find that I'm replete with happiness in a way I haven't experienced in years. I focus more on body weight exercises today along with the usual cardio.

I circle the bag for what seems like a long time, and every punch feels so smooth, so inspired.

I practice combos on the bag, fluid chains of punches and kicks. My body feels indestructible and nothing seems to tire me out. I'm so ecstatic about Ally coming over that I don't know what to do with myself.

After completing my routine, I take a quick shower and then head into town.

There's only one grocery store, Keller's Market, in Red Lake, so you're more or less guaranteed to run into people you know there. And given my desire to remain under the radar, that can be kind of unpleasant sometimes.

But if I don't eat, I'm going to have bigger problems than social anxiety, that's for sure.

I head in and get a couple of NY-strip steaks from the meat counter, the finest ones they've got. They know me pretty well here, so I always end up with the best cuts in the display case. I grab a bag of fingerling potatoes and some broccoli, and then stop in the dairy section to get some cheese to make a sauce for the broccoli. And then I grab some salad greens and head to check-out.

I pass the wine on my way there and snatch up two bottles of white.

Of course, the only register that's open is manned by a guy from my graduating class, Chris Gentry. We never even talked in high school, so I was kind of frustrated when he sent me a Facebook friend request a few years ago.

I never accepted it.

We have
nothing
in common, other than our proximity to home.

He's got his own place in Red Lake, a dinky little apartment that he shares with his wife and three young kids. I try not to be judgmental, but he's so buddy-buddy sometimes that I get pissed off and can't stop the caustic thoughts from coming.

I try to avoid him as much as I can, but sometimes that just isn't possible.

"Hey,
Juggernaut
," he says with an ingratiating tone, smiling and grinning as he throws out his hand for a combination high-five/handshake. I automatically go through the motions with him.

I
hate
when he calls me by my stage name, but it's my fault for mentioning that I fight at all. He wound up being more computer savvy than I expected and uncovered the rest of the details himself.

I underestimated him.

"Hi, Chris," I say, unloading my items onto the conveyer belt.

"You got any fights coming up, man? I'd like to come out with some of the guys."

I shake my head and decide to lie. "No. I'm just training right now." I don't need a bunch of drunken former classmates shouting "
Get 'em, Juggernaut!
" all night. I cringe at the thought of seeing Chris and his posse in the audience.

"Man, you don't need to train at all! You could beat the shit out of anybody!"

He's driving me nuts. "Have you ever fought in a professional MMA fight, Chris?" I ask chidingly. "Just because you're tough doesn't mean that the other guy isn't tougher than you. Or a better fighter."

Chris laughs, even though I'm basically insulting him in hopes that he'll shut up. He doesn't understand that I'm peeved by his behavior. "Yeah, I ain't into the pro stuff," he says apologetically.

I notice he hasn't even started scanning my items because of his incessant chatting. Things move pretty slowly in Red Lake, so he's probably able to get away with this sort of thing on a regular basis without any sort of repercussion.

"Can we keep things moving here, Chris? I've gotta be somewhere soon."

"Oh, shit, sure, buddy." He looks down at my items and starts scanning them one by one. I fall silent again. "Man, somebody's having a hell of a meal tonight," he says. It's clear that this is taking yet another turn that it ought not take. "You getting laid tonight or something? I saw you talkin' with Ally Moore the other night. She's hot, man. Couldn't help myself from taking a nice long look at that cute little ass of hers the other night. Isn't she married or some shit?"

I imagine him and his Friday night drinking buddies staring at Ally all night, violating her with their eyes, imagining all of the awful things they'd do to her and joking about it. I can see her face, a look of disturbed confusion as she tries to figure out what they're saying.

And I don't want her to know.

I want to punch out his teeth, but I restrain myself and grab his shoulder and give him a firm shake. "
Enough
, Chris," I say. "I'm
not
your fuckin' bro and I don't need you talking like that."

"Whoa, geez, buddy, didn't mean to piss you off or anything." He looks totally shocked, and I'm glad to see his fear. "Is she your girl now or something?"

"Just because we both live here doesn't mean we have anything in common beyond that," I say, ignoring his question. I'm fuming inside. If he had actually said something like around Ally, I would have definitely punched him.

But here, I let it go.

"Is there a problem?" someone asks from behind me. "Chris, are you causing issues again?" It's the store manager, and he appears pissed.

I'm suddenly filled with pulsing vitriol. This is my big chance. I can end all of this bullshit forever. Chris can see it in my eyes. He knows that I've got the upper hand.
The customer is always right—
and I'm both the customer
and
right.