Two Weeks (19 page)

"It's a bit more than that," I say, shrugging. "Did you ever meet my friend Angela? I think we've all gone out drinking a couple of times."

"Yeah, the cute little redhead?" she asks. "And define
a bit more
."

"Well, he knocked Angela up," I say. "That's the truth. And she called me and said they want to stay together and keep the kid. Poof, we're done just like that."

"You're shitting me, right? Ally, that's ridiculous. Weren't you guys about to move in together?"

"That
was
the plan." It's really odd conversing with my boss at the desk where I did all of my high school homework. "Max is begging me for forgiveness, but that ain't gonna happen."

"Well, good for you," she says. "You'll be just fine. If that's what Max did, then Max is an asshole that you absolutely don't need in your life. Somebody should chop off his balls. Make sure he doesn't have any more kids."

I cringe and let out an uncomfortable laugh.

She gives me some advice, and then the conversation shifts to business. I've been working on a contract with a Swedish firm for a new cancer drug, one that's been in the works for years now. I send her some of my contacts so she can take care of the details while I'm out. I forward her some of the back and forth emails I've had with the executives.

I consider coming back early throughout the conversation, wanting to spare her the burden of picking up where I left off with all of this. But she's so insistent that I take some time to myself that I never actually mention it.

And frankly, I don't want to leave right now. Not when I'm just getting started.

We end on a good note, with Marlena telling me how pleased everyone in our department has been with my work. In the weeks prior to the whole family reunion trip, I had been working my ass off, trying to get as much done as I possibly could before I took what was intended to be a tiny break.

So it's nice to hear that somebody took notice of my efforts.

"Well, that's everything I need," Marlena says. "I'll see you when you get back. I won't bother you with work stuff, I promise."

"Marlena," I say, "you can always send me an email."

"We'll see," she says, lifting her mug for an extended sip. "I'm out of coffee though, so I've got to run. Catch you later."

I awkwardly wave goodbye and the call ends. I'm back in my room in Red Lake. For the duration of the call, both worlds were overlapping. Now, I just have this one with Jackson.

My stomach grumbles, so I head to the kitchen and find some Greek yogurt in the fridge. I fill a bowl with it, adding some blueberries and honey. Before I can finish, my mom comes in. "Do you need a hand with anything?" I ask.

"No, no," she says, setting her four packed-to-the-brim reusable bags on the counter. "But we need to talk."

Her words immediately kill my appetite, and it's clear that the last bite of yogurt is going to go to waste.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Is everything okay?"

"I ran into Liz's mom at the grocery store. And she says Liz left on Monday."

And my streak of feeling like a teenager continues!

I quickly realize how much of a total idiot I've been. I violated the most important rule from
Small Town 101
—never expect to keep any secrets because everyone runs into everyone at some point.

"Mom, I'm so sorry," I say. I feel like a rapidly withering plant.

"You don't need to be sorry," she says reassuringly. "I just don't know why you didn't think you could be honest with us."

"It's just... just been awkward with what happened with Max, especially since it happened with my best friend," I say, pausing to take a breath. "I've been spending a lot of time with Jackson Ames. I've been exercising with him and stuff. And it's taking my mind off my problems. He's all alone out there. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea." I trail off, hoping I've said enough to satisfy her curiosity.

"With Jackson, huh? He's a good guy. It's a shame he doesn't come around anymore. Your dad always talks about how much he likes him. He loves talking to him."

"Did something happen between him and Jeff?" I ask calmly.

"I'm not really sure," my mom says. She starts unloading groceries and I jump up to help her. "I don't know the whole story. Jeff hasn't mentioned him in years, anyhow. Your father tried to ask him about it, but he just closed up. Wouldn't say a word."

"Well, we're just kind of
friends
," I say, hoping to quell any suspicions, even though she's not asking me for any details. I put the snack foods into the cupboard and return to the center kitchen island.

"I don't care what you are as long as you're happy." It's so unexpected from her mouth. I guess time has really changed her perspectives on things. "We don't need to know all of your comings and goings—you're an adult."

I'm blown away by her attitude. When I was growing up, my parents tried to shelter me from everything. Every guy was a sleaze, every party would surely get busted by the cops, every drink would result in a drunk driving accident or date rape, people that smoked pot tried to leap from apartment buildings...

And the list goes on.

I'm glad she never found out that Jeff sometimes bought me and my friends booze...

"He's teaching me how to box. He's really good at it." She continues putting items into the fridge as I talk. "It's kind of like self-defense."

"We've heard that he's doing that
professional fighting league
or whatever it's called. He's got quite the name around the state. Your dad put his name into Google and all sorts of stuff came up." The groceries are finally unloaded, so she pours herself a glass of water and leans up against the counter.

"He's got a fight on Saturday that I'm going to. I'm pretty excited."

"Isn't that stuff dangerous, though?" She gives me a skeptical look.

I shrug. "I don't really know. But he's built like a tank. I doubt it's any worse than football."

"True," she says.

We both fall silent, until I'm ready to speak. "I don't want Jeff to know, though. I don't want him to take it the wrong way or something. Just in case something actually did happen between them."

"Sure," she says. "We won't say anything."

"Thanks, mom," I say.

"I think we're going to out of town for a few days this weekend," she says. "Up to your Uncle Dan's cabin. So you'll have the house to yourself."

"That'll be nice," I say, relieved that I won't have to explain anything our similar upcoming plans.

After that, I tell her about the work meeting with Marlena. I know she's really proud of me, so I try to feed her as much good news as I can.

Although she's always been kind of conservative, I've always found her to be somewhat of a closet feminist. As soon as my dad's business took off, he hinted that if she wanted to be a housewife, he would be fine with it because he made more than enough to keep us afloat.

But she refused, too concerned about her professional career. She was on the school board, and she did other things in our little community as well. Plus, she
really
cares about her kids.

Her office area is covered with cards and drawings that her students have warmly addressed to her in fairly broken English. A whole bunch of them share the same message—Mrs. Moore's class is even better than
recess
. Yep, recess.

If that's not a huge accomplishment, I don't know what is.

"Are you going to be staying for dinner? I was thinking of making enchiladas. I need to know how many to make."

When she asks, I'm staring at my phone, about to text Jackson to tell him that I'll be back soon. But my fingers retract from the screen. My mom is being awesome today, so I need to stick around and eat with them. Plus, her enchiladas are great.

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"Great," she says, smiling. It's contagious. I smile back and feel great in a time when I should be curled up in the fetal position, crying myself to sleep every night.

I offer to help with dinner, but my mom refuses, instead encouraging me to go through the old clothes in my closet. She wants to have a garage sale soon. And if stuff doesn't sell, she's going to donate it to the nearest thrift store.

I head back to my room and shoot Jackson a text:

Me: I'll be back after dinner. Trying to fit in some family time. :)

He responds quickly:

Jackson: Okay, no problem. What do you want to do?

I lie on my bed for a second, legs sprawled out, gazing up at the posters of hunks on the ceiling. When I first put them up, they were legitimate crushes. And then as I got older, they became ironic relics that everyone could relate to.

I decide that I'm feeling playful, and a tad bit lascivious. I respond accordingly:

Me: You.

I giggle after sending the message. This is the most fun I've had in years. I never could have acted this way with Max; he would have just insulted my intelligence and told me to act like an adult. The phone trills immediately:

Jackson: You're perfectly nuts.

Before I get started, I also send a text to Liz:

Me: Your mom ran into mine at the grocery store! I got busted since I said I was hanging out with you the last two days. I told her the truth, and she was okay with it! Well, most of the truth. ;)

She responds almost instantly too:

Liz: Oh, shit. I'm so sorry! The small town small talk will kill ya! :) How's that whole thing with the Hulk going, anyway?

Me: Let's just say it was a good idea. :)

Satisfied with the interactions, I roll off my bed and head to the closet. It's filled with old tops, and dresses and custom t-shirts from random student council events. Some things are clearly to be discarded while other things aren't so obvious.

I create three piles, a
yes
, a
no
, and a
maybe
. My sense of fashion has evolved over the years, and now some of these abandoned items are quite relevant and stylish.

After the
maybe
pile becomes unmanageably huge, I have to start transferring more to the
no
. I try on some of the items in the
maybe
pile, realizing that I probably should have been doing that with everything since a lot of it doesn't fit.

I find several cool dresses. They're cute, quite flashy and colorful, some cotton, some polyester. I try on the zaniest of the bunch, a polyester summer dress with a green and white tie dye print. It's clear that my boobs have grown since I originally bought it like eight years ago, but it fits great.

I quickly move it to the
yes
pile. I continue the same routine with the others. I'm so excited to reincorporate all of these forgotten fashion relics into my wardrobe—and then I remember that I flew here and I only brought one suitcase.

Shit.
The
yes
pile is way too big. I'm going to have to leave most of it behind unless I can find another suitcase that my mom is willing to part with temporarily.

But my efforts aren't totally in vain since I already have a lot of stuff to give my mom for the garage sale; the
no
pile is an impressive heap. I accomplished
something.

My mom calls from downstairs to let me know that dinner is ready.

I'm starving. I give up.

***

W
hen dinner and the dishes are done, I head up to my room and throw on my tie-dyed discovery, hoping that Jackson will like it. It's a bit ridiculous, but it's fun and I'm feeling excessively convivial. It doesn't fit as well now since I gorged on incredible homemade enchiladas, but it's good enough. I don't really feel the need to put on much make-up.

I feel like I'm finally able to be exactly who I want to be, at least right now.

I shove my toothbrush and some deodorant into my purse, since I'm going to stay overnight with Jackson. I'm giddy as hell about it. I send him a text to let him know that I'm on my way.

I say my goodbyes and head out to my car. As much as I like going out in Boston, this whole staying-in thing is really nice too.

It's nearly dark as I head out into the county side, and I use my brights whenever I can to ensure that I don't hit a deer. The last thing I need is to mangle my rental car, even if I did pay the extra for insurance.

As I pull into Jackson's driveway, I see a group of rabbits flee, and I'm overwhelmed by how cute they are. They disappear into the tall grass, swallowed one at a time until no trace remains.

I park behind Jackson's truck and shut off the car. I really regret the fact that I ever made fun of the bucolic lifestyle in Red Lake. It's sucking me in, and makes me think I might want to eventually settle down in some quiet place just like this someday.

Jackson surprises me on the back porch. He's sitting there with a beer, grinning.

"Christ, what's with you and these incredible dresses? It's such a shame since it's just gonna end up crumpled up on my floor."

I come to an abrupt stop and put my hands on my hips. "And all along I thought you were some kind of gentleman. I'm so stupid."

"If I offer you a beer, will it make up for it?"

I give him an incredulous look. "Duh. Of course."

He laughs and heads inside to grab me one. I climb the stairs in his absence and sit down next to where he was sitting. The sliding glass door opens, and he approaches me, extra beer in hand.

"Just for you." He hands it to me and I take a sip while he sits back down and immediately scoots close. His skin feels warm against mine. There's a slightly chilly breeze, so it intensifies the sensation. "It's such a clear night. Look at the stars."

I look up, and I'm dazzled by all of the innumerable little sparkling dots sprinkled across the sky. "It's incredible. There are so many."

"They estimate that ants outnumber us 1.4 million to one."

"That's crazy," I say. It seems out of place. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

He clears his throat loudly. "They also say that stars outnumber
ants
thirty million to one."