Sugar and Spice

Ground Crew Headquarters: Jay

I watched the way the sun hit the salt crystals drying on her skin. She looked like she was vibrating, not just from the cold, but from the shock of having fun. It was a look that didn’t belong in a “straight line” house. I knew that as soon as she went back, she’d have to hide it.

“You’re shaking,” I noted, my own legs feeling heavy as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of my system.

“It’s… residual kinetic energy,” she grinned, though her teeth were chattering. She looked toward the shore, then back at me. “I should probably head back soon. My dad’s gonna wanna know where I was all day.”

I didn’t want her to go back yet. I wanted to see if I could keep the light in her eyes for a little longer before the red pen dimmed it again.

“The ocean takes a lot out of you,” I said slowly, paddling a little closer until our boards bumped with a soft thud. “And I’m pretty sure ‘starving’ isn’t part of a successful science experiment. My place is right around the corner. It’s not much, but I’ve got a porch that stays still and enough supplies for a decent lunch.”

Mallory hesitated. I could see the internal calculator running. The travel time, the risk factor, the unplanned deviation from her schedule. She mouthed the words ‘porch that stays still,’ and her eyes went wide with the revelation. “A stilt house?” she asked, a small, curious smile tugging at her mouth. “Like… actually over the water?”

“Total violation of architectural strength,” I promised, grinning. “It’s leaning a little to the left, the floor creaks in three different languages, but the view is consistent. There’s also a strict ‘No Spreadsheets Allowed’ rule.”

She looked at the white strip of beach again, then back at me. “I suppose I do need to refuel,” she murmured. “For the sake of physics.”

“Exactly. Purely a matter of biological maintenance.”

We caught a final, lazy swell back to the shore. I watched her ride it on her belly, her hair a wild, salt-matted mess, and I realized I’d never seen anything more beautiful. When we reached the sand, I helped her carry Old Reliable back to our cars. The parking lot was starting to fill up now, tourists with coolers and screaming kids, but they felt like they were in another dimension.

“Follow me,” I said, tossing the boards into the Honda. “It’s about five minutes down the coast road. If you hit the marsh, you’ve gone too far.”

I drove slow, watching her blue Subaru in the rear view mirror. I felt a weird tightening in my chest. I’d never brought a girl like Mallory home. My life was a series of temporary stops, a collection of things I could pack into a bag in ten minutes. As I pulled onto the gravel drive and saw the weathered wood of the house standing tall on its pilings, I hoped she wouldn’t see the rust or the peeling paint.

I hoped she’d just see the welcome quiet.

I hopped out as she pulled in behind me. The smell of the marsh was thick here, damp earth and marsh grass.

I leaned the boards against the side of the stairs while she got out of her car. She was wearing the sundress again, but she was still barefoot, sand clinging to her ankles. “Welcome to Ground Crew Headquarters,” I grinned, gesturing up the stairs.

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at the house. “It’s beautiful, Jay,” she whispered. “It doesn’t look like a museum at all.”

“Trust me,” I laughed, leading the way up. “Nothing here is only for display. Everything is meant to be used.”

The door was already open, and the smell of my mom’s candles drifted out, mixed with something else. Something heavier and savory. I led Mallory inside, trying not to think about the stack of surf magazines on the coffee table or the basket of laundry that was abandoned in a chair. I just watched her, and the way she walked to the glass door and looked out at the endless green marsh.”

“Stay there, and I’ll go see what’s happening in the kitchen,” I instructed as I stepped through a doorway. My mom was at the stove, checking a loaf of cornbread with a toothpick for doneness. “Something smells good,” I told her, walking over and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Meatloaf,” she answered, smiling. “How was the beach?”

“Perfect,” I breathed, smiling. “I might’ve brought home a mermaid.”

My mom paused, the oven mitt still in her hand, and looked at me with an expression that was way too knowing for just one sentence. “A mermaid, huh?”

“Well, a scientist, actually,” I laughed. “She’ll probably want to analyze the chemical composition of your cornbread.”

“I like her already,” she whispered, shooing me back towards the living room. “Go. Make her feel at home. I’ll bring out the plates.”

I walked back into the living room. Mallory hadn’t moved from the glass door. Her forehead was pressed to the pane while she watched a crane pick its way through the tall grass. The midday sun was streaming in, catching the gold in her light brown hair and making the salt on her shoulders glisten.

“My mom’s making meatloaf,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s a family secret. If I tell you the ingredients, I have to leave you out in the marsh.”

She turned around, her eyes slightly glazed, like she was waking up from a dream. “It’s so quiet here, Jay. I can’t hear the street, or the neighbors.”

“The only neighbors are the birds,” I said, gesturing at the crane as I walked over to her. “The marsh doesn’t have a schedule. It just exists. Sometimes the tide is in, sometimes it’s out. But it never checks its watch.”

She looked down at her bare, sandy feet on the wood floor, then back at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house where the floorboards weren’t polished. My mom would kill me if I walked in like this.” She gestured.

“Polished is overrated. Character is in the scuffs.”

I watched as she slowly reached out, her fingers tracing a long scratch in the wood near the door. I couldn’t even remember what that was from, or if it was here before us. She looked fascinated, like she was looking at a rare artifact.

“You’re doing it again,” I murmured.

“Doing what?”

“Analyzing. Just breathe, Mal. You can let the experiment go. You passed.”

She let out a long, shaky breath, and the tension finally started to ease out of her shoulders. She looked at the abandoned laundry, the surf magazines, and the messy life of a guy that didn’t care about straight lines. Then she looked back at me, and the “Scientist” was finally gone.

“I think,” she started, her voice barely a whisper, “this is the first time I’ve been in a room where I wasn’t being graded on something.”

“Grade: A plus for standing up on a longboard,” I teased with a grin, though my chest felt tight. “Let’s eat before my mom has a chance to show you my baby pictures.”