Dead wrong.
I still haven’t heard from my mom. It’s Sunday today. It was Wednesday the last time we spoke. She’s gone a day or two without talking to me lots of times, it’s kind of her thing, but she’s never taken it this far.
“Maybe things have worked themselves out,” says Luke. “Maybe things with Neil are fine and she’s out having fun.”
He’s totally sincere when he says it. Completely and utterly sincere. So sincere that when I hear the words and feel his hand on the small of my back, I lean into it. I let myself believe it. I let the fist that’s been clenched in my chest release. I take big, long breaths and flood my lungs with fresh air. It goes straight to my head. It makes me feel dizzy and giddy, and when I move closer to Luke, I find him right there with me, leaning in too. His hands are on my face, so are his lips, he kisses me lightly all over my face. Tiny, featherlight kisses that tickle. He does it until I’m laughing and squirming.
“I love you,” he whispers against my cheek. His face is pressed against mine. It’s warm and when he nuzzles to get closer a hint of stubble scours the side of my face. Just like that I can’t tell if I want to climb inside him, or if I want him to climb inside me.
“Boys! Pizza’s here,” calls Rachel from the kitchen window.
“Ugh,” I groan.
Luke whoops and spins round, grabbing my hands and placing them firmly on his sides. He bobs from side to side down the path to the main house. He drags me along. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. It’s not like I actively participate or anything.
Fine. I say par-tay once.
Jesus. Chill.
You’d have a lapse in judgement too, if you had that ass bouncing around in front of your face.
“Nice one, Jess!” exclaims Rachel, making a beeline for us and joining our conga with worrisome gusto. The combination of her enthusiasm and Luke’s proves too much for me. I start laughing uncontrollably. I’m mainly laughing at how ridiculous the whole situation is. Obviously. It’s just that my brain can’t tell the difference. Serotonin is serotonin, you know? By the time we get to the media room, the heady smell of pepperoni and melted cheese does nothing but pour gasoline on the mood.
“Admit it!” cries Rachel. “We know how to party, Jessie Lewis.”
“God,” I laugh, “you really are three happy idiots.”
“Oh, wewerethree happy idiots.” Her eyes burn with mischief. “And now we’refourhappy idiots.”
“What’ll it be?” asks my dad, phone in hand, ready to let Siri do her worst.
Something strange and unfamiliar takes me over. I don’t skip a beat. “Slice, slice, baby,” I sing to the tune of Vanilla Ice’sIce, Ice, Baby.
My dad looks dumbstruck. His mouth gapes open and he actually clutches his chest. Never in history has a parent taken such pride in something so ridiculous.
Though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, my dad and Rachel hit a new level of terrible dance moves. This time it looks like something distantly, and sordidly, related to a breakdance. I don’t have time to let the full force of my judgement hit me, because Luke’s dancing too. He’s expending the type of energy most people would struggle to get through in an entire work week. He’s moving in a way I suspect would make it dangerous to get too close to him, lest I come within striking distance of a wayward arm or leg.
He watches me the whole time. His eyes are soft and inviting, they saycome on, it’s funoryou’re safe here, I can’t tell which. Either way, I start dancing, and I don’t mean dancing the way I practiced in front of the mirror as a teen to make sure I didn’t humiliate myself at my first school dance. I mean moving like no one’s watching. I give myself over to the beat. It flows through my shoulders and hips. It shakes parts of me I didn’t know knew how to shake.
It’s a catchy tune, okay?
And dammit, itisfun
Afterwards, we huddle onto the sofa and eat pizza and watch Maverick. I’ve seen the movie before, but I don’t mind ‘cause I spent most of the time imagining Luke in a pilot’s uniform.
My phone vibrates in my pocket about two thirds of the way in. I check the screen and get to my feet when I see the user ID.
“I have to take this,” I say.
“Do you want us to wait for you?” asks Rach.
“No, no. Keep watching. I’ve seen it before.”
24
Luke
Jessie’sfacetellsmeeverything I need to know about how the call went. His brows are knitted together and the sinews in his neck are tense. His mouth is arranged in a thin line and I can tell it’s costing him to keep it like that.
