While You Were Pretending

Chapter Seven

With it only being the three of us, our presents-under-the-tree situation has never been over-flowing. After our quiet morning here, we go to Dad’s parents for the big family gathering, then I visit with Peyton and her family after dinner. It’s compartmentalized, it’s clean, it’s easy, and I can’t imagine it ever-changing. So, I slip my gifts under the tree with plenty of room left on the skirt.

New book in hand, I shuffle in my wool socks to the armchair next to the fire. I had lied and told Peyton this book was for my mom, but I actually love Jennifer E. Smith after reading The Geography of Me And You, and read reviews that said that The Statistical Probability Of Love At First Sight is her best work. There’s a value in new adult or young adult romance… it’s easy.

Unlike adult romance books, which end up being more like ‘girl p**n’ than literature, new or young adult romance is simpler. There are well-rounded characters that have reasonable story arches, there’s an adorable meet-cute, tension, and the slow burn. It’s realistic, it’s safe, and almost always the happy ending is done within one novel.

I don’t need some Hulk of a dude, who is half-vampire and half-werewolf, following some girl around in the name of protecting her, and they have some hot and steamy scene that doesn’t connect to the plot at all. Or some historical romance that is completely unrealistic, where the man is always rich and the woman is always gorgeous. Where are there always good romantic comedy movies, but never good romantic comedy books?

A few pages in, I hear my phone dig. A few pages later, I pull myself away to look at it.

Hey, Luke? This is Jackie.

Hey! Get back to the hotel okay?

Yep! Same Uber driver and everything.

Had a lot of fun tonight.

You were great at Blockbuster.

Thanks! You too.

Read any good books lately?

I’m thinking of going to Barnes And Noble tomorrow.

Actually, I just picked up a few today.

What kind of things are you looking for?

Not sure lol

Maybe you should come with me?

I stare at my screen.

Peyton is hanging with Charlotte all day, doing a whole #SelfCareSunday thing. Dad’s going over to Granddad’s to help finish the downstairs bathroom renovation before Christmas. Mom has to go to work…. So… yeah.

Yeah? I bet I could be of some help.

Awesome!

Meet me here?

Her hotel is the opposite direction.

Or you could meet me here?

At my place, I mean.

I can drive.

Sure! Noon alright?

Perfect.

*

Waking up to the sound of rain was extremely relaxing but very confusing. Not wanting to misuse the term, but how could the weather be so Bipolar? Was this going to last over the next few days? What about a white Christmas?

Without my permission, my sleepy mind goes to kissing Jackie under the golden blanket of a streetlamp, little wisps of snowflakes floating around us whimsically. Or under the mistletoe, my arms wrapped around her tiny frame, Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes. Or us kissing while she sits on my lap in the armchair next to the fireplace, her delicate hand pressing against my chest.

“f**k,” I groan and rub my face. Maybe romance books had been a bad idea.

Then I grab my phone with a big sigh. The weather says high in the fifties until Thursday. Great. I notice a new text from Jackie and sit up quickly.

Just finished with breakfast.

Sent thirty minutes ago.

At eleven.

This means I have thirty f*****g minutes to get ready.

Just woke up.

Rain made me sleep in.

Noon still okay?

Yep!

Yep, yes, definitely yes.

I so don’t want to leave her waiting. She probably slept great, slept in. Took a shower, took her time getting ready. Ate some breakfast and is now sitting in her hotel room….

Just like being late for class, com’on! Shower, Mordor hot water, sporadic shampoo, then random scrubbing of body wash. Towel to hair, if enough time, blow dry it. Clothes… clothes! Clothes? Fifty degrees… dark jeans, wool socks, Timberland boots are by the front door, mossy green tee, L. L. Bean forest green and brown flannel – not too shabby, not too shabby. Brown leather watch and I’m good to go with enough time to blow dry my hair! Long-ish, thick mop of brown hair messy in a good way, sort of doing that floppy 90’s thing I like.

I had just enough time to eat an apple before the doorbell rings. Core still in hand, I swallow hard and open the door. “Hey!”

Gilded hair in a wide and loose top-knot, strategic wisps fall around her gorgeous face. The no-makeup makeup look is stunning on her, just enough to emphasize her natural beauty. Her eyes are kind, her smile soft, “Hi!”

I step back, “Com’on in.”

She only takes a step in though and looks down, “Shoes off?”

How considerate. All I can see are ties peeking out from under her skinny jeans. “No, no – it’s fine. We have all wood floors.”

Her hand finds the closest wall, “I have heels, it’s alright.” Her boots, which look sort of old-timey like Oxfords, have a hidden zipper. Pink socks with little roses on them slip out, how cute.

The door closed; we stand in the entryway. She has her hands cups in front of her waist, looking around curiously. “I haven’t been here in ages… gosh, what was it? Your thirteenth birthday?”

I nod. “Ah, do you want anything to drink? To eat?” But she already had breakfast, way to go.

She wanders into the living room instead. “I always loved the way your mother decorated for Christmas….” She looks over her shoulder, chin brushing her fuzzy, lavender sweater. “It’s always so… personal, so homey.” Looking back to the tree, she reaches to delicately cup a childhood ornament. “Misses Helen always has everything just so. Artificial tree, white string lights, every ornament in a particular color scheme – would be perfect for a magazine.”

Standing next to her, I brush my arm against hers. “Not your style?”

The ornament slips from her fingers, the same hand reaching to her necklace. “Oh gosh, no! You should see my room at home – or room at school, I have so much junk,” she giggles, “my friend, Julie, calls my taste eclectic. I spend way too much money on Polaroid film or developing disposable cameras… plus plants and vintage or antique books.”

I try to imagine her room before the divorce. Probably typical of any girl’s room… beginners books and stuffed animals from when she was little, then series books and mementos of friendships and favorite activities as she got older. Then I remembered how she got obsessed with pressing flowers and leaves in her biggest, heaviest books she had. “Do you still press flowers?”

She turns to me, looking utterly surprised. “You remember that?”

I still have summer leaves she’d pressed and framed for me, “Yes, of course.”

Jackie has her rose gold iPhone in her hand, her fingers gliding quickly. “I do! I do still press flowers and leaves, look!” She shows me an Etsy, “I actually sell them now.”

I take her phone carefully and scroll a little. Double-sided glass with gold or silver frames, some with chains. Lots of flowers or petals and leaves from trees or plants. I look into her excited eyes, “These are beautiful.”

Her smile is a bit coy. “Thank you!” After I hand the phone back to her, she asks “So… bookstore?”

*

Passed the double doors, a wave of heat hits our faces. Not that it was particularly cold out, but the rain had been unpleasant. Jackie is one of those girls with everything she could possibly need in her purse, but the umbrella was rather small.

“Want anything from the café?” she asks, already heading towards the Starbucks.

“Not sure,” which is true, seeing as I never go to Starbucks because of being a #PoorCollegeStudent.

Just before the counter, she pulls out a glass bottle. She unscrews the silver lid and puts the bottle on the counter, and I can see the Starbucks logo. “Good afternoon.”

“Hi, what can I get ya?”

“Strawberry refresher, please.” Then she looks over to me, “Think of anything?”

“S-same, uh… medium, I guess.”

The cashier looks between us. “Do you have a membership card?”

“I have the phone number,” and then she rattles off a phone number that I don’t recognize.

After the transaction is over, we are directed to the end of the counter. There’s a collection of different Starbucks cups and mugs and glasses. “So, it’s refillable, then?”

“Mhm! I have a weird thing about plastic – not just the whole sustainability thing, but with water or soda I can taste the plastic. And,” she holds the word, “they do a discount if you have a cup from them.”

“Let me guess, you hate Dasani?”

She laughs, “Oh gosh, yeah! That thick, blue plastic? Gross. Have you ever had Voss water?”

We pick up our drinks and meander into the history and religion sections. “I haven’t, good stuff?”

“Best water I’ve ever tasted. It’s Norwegian and the big bottles are glass. If there’s a World Market around here, we can totally get some.” After a long drink, she asks, “So, where’s the young adult section?”

I point ahead, “On the other side of this wall.”

“It’s totally a guilty pleasure, but I love teen romances. Or early college.”

“New adult.”

“Right!”

“Realistic?” I guess because she said ‘college’.

“Yes. In high school, I was obsessed with the fantasy worlds or supernatural characters, but more recently I’ve been into teen romance.” She makes a face, as if embarrassed. “They’re actually so good!”

I lead her to where I’d picked out my books. They still have another copy of The Statistical Probability Of Love At First Sight. I slide it out and hand it to her, “I finished this last night, it’s really cute.”

Her brows raise. “Really?”

I look back to the shelves and pull out The Unexpected Everything by Morgan Matson and P. S. I Like You by Kasie West, “These are great, too.”

She holds the three books in her hands, “Yeah? You’ve read them all?”

“Yep. Now,” I point to the Morgan Matson book, “Technically her books have a chronological order, but it’s an expanded universe so it doesn’t matter too much. That’s just my favorite out of all of them.”

Her eyes drift to the shelves, “How many are there?”

“Five I think… starting with Amy And Roger’s Epic Detour that brings the readers to the one town they all take place in. And Save The Date is the last one, that came out last year.”

She nods thoughtfully, “Any other books you suggest?”

“Not sure… we could walk around.”

And we do, heading out of the young adult into mangas, comic books, video games lore, and the Star Wars expanded universe. I eye the Disney cannon Star Wars books, making sure I already have them all. I notice Jackie by World of Warcraft, “You play?”

“My ex did. When you’re together for so long… I played a little bit but jumping into such a big game was a little overwhelming. He suggested I read the books, understand the lore better….”

“Did it help?”

“Oh… yeah,” but she continues down the aisle, “Do you play?”

“No, but my best friend does.”

She peeks over her shoulder. “Peyton does?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “No… I don’t know that she’s ever elected to play video games. I meant, my best friend Charlie.”

Now facing me, she continues around the end of the bookcases, heading into westerns and romance. “Right, the girlfriend title out-ranking best friend.”

I purposefully don’t comment.

She notices and looks at me. But when I stare at her blankly, she lifts a shoulder. “So, how’s your break been so far? Happy to see your family?”

“So far, so good. Yeah, I’d gotten a little homesick at school. What about you…? Kind of a big deal you’re here this year.”

She slows, taking a deep breath. “Family’s important. It’s impossible to make everyone happy. Since it’s my second year at school… it’s given me some much-needed distance, it’s helped me have a more accurate perspective. It’s difficult with such a large family so far apart.”

“Physically and emotionally,” I comment.

Her laugh is breathy, almost sarcastic, “Yes.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m doing my best.”

Something in her tone of voice makes my heart hurt. It reminds me of my mom when she'd said the same phrase when talking about holidays without her folks. A sort of inflection that says ‘I’m not sure where I belong’ or ‘if I belong’. “I don’t know if you remember, but my grandma died when my mom was little. Then my granddad died before my parents met….

“My mom and granddad had moved to Chicago for the research hospital but then, after long enough, he said he was done. Soon after he passed away. Leaving my mom alone. When my parents got together, Mom says she fell in love with his family just as much as she’d fallen in love with him.

“So, I get it… I get how important family can be this time of yeah Sure, my dad’s side is big and loud and welcoming, but I’m still half my mom. It can still be really quiet around the house. It can still be hard to figure out where I fit – where I belong.”

She holds the books against her chest, her gaze evading mine. “Conflicting sides, pulling us in different directions. I’m…” she sighs, “I’m doing my best.”

I hold my palm on her shoulder, rubbing it slightly. “I know you are.”

Her eyes the color of a winter sky look into mine. A connection is made in this empty aisle of the bookstore. The sense of belonging is so powerful, so wanted, we find it in each other. If things were so complicated, I might have even kissed her.