Sugar and Spice

I’m the Variable: Jay

I stood on the porch long after the taillights of Mallory’s Subaru had vanished into the shadows of the coastal oaks. The silence of the marsh usually felt like a warm blanket. Now, it suddenly felt a little too heavy.

I’d spent my whole life being the one who left. I was the hot guy who stayed just long enough to learn the break, clear a few hundred tables, and move on before anyone could start relying on me. Watching her drive away though — back to that world of LED lights and clinical expectations — made my chest feel like someone had tightened a cinch around it.

“She’s a special one, Jay,” my mom said from behind me, her voice soft, punctuated by the clack of the screen door shutting behind her. I didn’t turn around, I didn’t have to. She walked over and leaned against the railing next to me. The smell of her cedar wood perfume mingled with the damp night air.

“She’s… complicated,” I corrected, looking down at my hands.

“She’s not complicated,” my mom said. “She’s just been taught that the only way to be valuable is to be part of the machine. You brought a person out of her today. I could see it in the way she looked at the floors. Like she was surprised things were allowed to be imperfect.”

“Her dad is a piece of work,” I muttered. “He treats her like she’s some kind of science or math problem. He’s got her convinced that if she stops moving for even a second, everything is going to collapse.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her eyes searching mine. “Are you just another distraction on her timeline? Or are you going to be the reason she finally stops looking at the clock?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. I thought about the way she’d looked on that first wave, and the sheer, terrifying joy on her face. I thought about the way she’d leaned into me in the sand, and the way her hand felt in mine.

“I’m the variable, mom. That’s what she calls me.”

“Variables change the outcome, Jay.” She squeezed my shoulder and headed back inside. Right before she opened the door, she paused, “Don’t let her go back into that cage without reminding her that she knows how to fly now.”

I stayed out there for another hour, watching the moon reflect off the black water of the marsh. I felt a restlessness I couldn’t explain. Tomorrow was Thursday. The calm before the storm. The tourists were going to be hungrier, the shifts were going to be longer, and the pressure on Mallory was going to be at an all-time high.

I went back inside, and grabbed my phone off the kitchen counter as I headed to my room. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over her name in my contacts. I didn’t want to be the reason she got in trouble. I didn’t want to be the “distraction” her father warned her about.

But I also didn’t want her to forget the quiet and the calm.

I typed out a short message, my heart doing a weird skip that had nothing to do with science or math: The marsh says goodnight. Don’t let the straight lines win tonight, Scientist. See you at the grind.

I hit send and tossed the phone onto my bed. I stripped off my shirt and laid down, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly overhead. I’d spent my life avoiding anchors, but as I closed my eyes, all I could think about was the way Mallory looked in the morning light, and how much I wanted to be the thing that kept her from drifting away to a city that wouldn’t know how to love her.

I woke up before the sun was even fully up. I found the phone buried in my sheets. The screen illuminated the dark room, and my breath hitched. There was a notification waiting for me, sent just before midnight, last night.

Mallory had replied: I’m hiding the marsh in my desk drawer. Lines are blurred. See you tomorrow.

A slow, stupid grin spread across my face. I stared at the words “Lines are blurred” until they burned into my retinas. She was fighting it. She was looking for the broken bars in the cage.

I rolled out of bed, feeling a surge of energy that usually required at least three shots of espresso to achieve. I dressed quickly, grabbed a banana, and kissed my mom on the cheek as she was starting the kettle.

“You look dangerous,” she teased, eyeing the spring in my step.

“Just ready for my shift,” I smiled, grabbing my keys.

“Right,” she smiled knowingly. “Try not to break too many hearts — or plates — today.”

The drive to Stella Cucina felt shorter than usual. The morning air was already thick and humid. By the time I pulled into the lot, the “calm” was officially over.

A massive delivery truck was idling near the back door, the driver arguing with Eli. Three tourists were already standing by the front doors, peering through the glass even though we didn’t open for another hour and a half.

I walked through the back entrance, and immediately felt the static in the air. The kitchen staff was moving at double speed.

Geri was on the phone, her voice tight and clipped. “I don’t care if the shipment is delayed. We’re in peak. We’re expecting three hundred this morning, alone.” She slammed the receiver down, then turned to see me. “Jay, good. You’re early. I’ll clock you in now if you can start on the silver. Milagros is in a mood, and the ice machine is acting up. It’s going to be a blood bath.”

“Copy that,” I said, grabbing a polishing cloth.

I set up station at the back of the dining room. Ten minutes later, the back doorbell rang, and Mallory walked in.

She was back in her armor. Crisp black button down, black slacks, pristine apron, and sleek ponytail. She clocked in at the nearby computer, and scanned the dining room. When her eyes landed on me, her “Perfect Employee” mask slipped for just a fraction of a second. She touched her collarbone, right where her sunburn had started yesterday.

I winked at her, and she quickly looked away, a faint blush creeping up her neck.

The weekend explosion arrived a day early. The noise was back, the signal was loud, and I was afraid the bridge to Kingsport was being built at lightning speed.