Shoot Your Shot

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

Lucy

My fingers pry open the yellowed aluminum blinds as I peer out the window. I search down the long stretch of neighborhood for any sight of Jaylen’s pricey foreign car. The car worth more than most people’s salaries around here stands out as the engine revs rounding the corner to my childhood house.

“Will you get away from that window? I don’t need Kayleigh--Anne from across the street getting sight of you and coming over here trying to sell me essential oils again,” my mom says in a shrill voice as she finishes setting out a variety of potato chips on the living room coffee table. “It’s going to take a lot more than a dab of peppermint to get your brother out of my house.” She brushes her hands down the front of her blouse, patting out the wrinkles.

I drop the blinds back into place with a noisy rustle and step back. Grabbing a chip from the same bowl I used to vomit in as a small child, I chomp like a hamster, waiting nervously for Jaylen to make his way up the driveway. I’m not worried about Jaylen making a bad impression with my family—he’s media trained. I am worried about my mom embarrassing me, or my brother asking Jaylen if he can take his car for a joyride around the block. Between deep breaths, I use my pant leg to clean the potato chip grease off my hands. This is what it feels like to let people into your life, Lucy . It’s uncomfortable, but I like Jaylen enough to endure it.

The doorbell rings and I rush to the front door before my mom can answer it. I slip in front of her, blocking her out of the way.

Jaylen dressed up—even for him. His shirt has a collar and his jeans look starched. Someone has got to hide that iron from him.

The entrance fills with the smell of his best cologne. I give him a hug so I can get a better look at the sides of his head, because I swear he got a fresh fade too. Jaylen wants to make a good first impression.

“Holy shit, you’re Jaylen Jones,” my brother, Lucas, says.

I didn’t know he was standing behind me—he must have crawled out of the depths of his room past all the dirty dishes and empty Doritos bags while I wasn’t looking. His hands are still clawed from the controller he grips twenty hours a day. Lucas squints; all that screen time has done irreversible damage to his corneas.

“You’ll have to excuse my little brother—he’s not fully house-trained,” I say, welcoming Jaylen inside.

I turn to Lucas, scowling. Without hesitation Jaylen extends a hand toward him. Miraculously, Lucas knows what to do with it.

“I can’t believe this. I thought Lucy was lying about you. I owe someone twenty bucks.” Lucas whips out his phone and takes a quick selfie with Jaylen. I try to swipe his phone from him, but he runs back down the hall to his bedroom.

“Amy,” my mom introduces herself, shaking Jaylen’s hand. “It’s really nice to meet you. My daughter tells me you’re the one who hit her in the face with a puck.” My mom is no bigger than me, but I watched her build our back deck from scratch one summer. Her firm shake jostles even the biggest hockey player.

“Mom!” I snap.

“What, I can’t give him a bit of shit? I made that face so forgive me for being protective over it.” My mom grabs me by the chin and gives my head a playful shake. She plants a wet kiss on my cheek that I quickly wipe off.

“I told her she could shoot one at my face so we were even, but she refused,” Jaylen says.

“She must really like you then.” My mom briefly looks over at me to make eye contact. Turning her attention back to Jaylen standing in our entrance, she says, “Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

In the living room, my mom sits down in a weathered chair for an uncharacteristic moment of rest. Scooping her hair up into a messy bun, she leans in toward Jaylen, presumably getting ready to tell him embarrassing stories from my childhood. As the two of them make friendly small talk, my brother reemerges with his phone held up in an extended hand. He’s on FaceTime with someone.

“Guys, I’m not lying! It’s him.” He turns the camera on Jaylen.

This time I’m quicker and I snatch the phone out of his hand, ending the call. “Can you behave? Or do I have to tie you to a tree out back? He’s a regular guy,” I say, ready to slug my brother in the gut for already making this dinner weird.

“Regular guy? Dude, he’s practically leading the league in points. He barely fits through the door frame to our house. Look at him, he’s so handsome he could be on the cover of World’s Hottest People and the entire edition would just be him and Zendaya.” Lucas snatches the phone back from me.

“He’s not wrong. They’ve asked,” Jaylen butts between us to add. I swat him away with my hand. Jaylen has to be nice to my family, but I don’t.

“Lucas, put that damn phone away, or I’ll pull up the old videos from your failed gamer YouTube channel,” my mom says. The threat works; he tucks his phone in his back pocket and slumps down on the couch with a loud huff.

My mom pops up and heads into the kitchen to check on dinner in the oven, and my brother sees his opening. “You play NHL 25 on Xbox?” Lucas asks, peering over me at Jaylen. He raises his hands and twiddles his thumbs as if he’s holding an invisible video game controller.

Jaylen nods and I clue in. They’re trying to dip so they can play video games together.

“Go,” I say, pushing Jaylen off the couch.

“Only for a couple games.” Jaylen leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Lucas gags behind his back.

“Yell for help if Lucas starts being weird,” I whisper. My brother makes an unamused face at me.

Lucas jumps up and the two head down the hall. “You know I was on the cover once,” I overhear Jaylen brag to him. Jaylen must be really loving this ego stroke, and who am I to deny them their fun?

* * *

With dinner almost ready, my mom sends me to grab the boys. As I pass my childhood room, I find Jaylen peering around. I quietly watch him from the entrance. He’s looking at the paintings hung on my wall—the ones from my senior art showcase. I wanted to burn them in some sort of fire ritual after I ruined everything that night, but my mom insisted on holding on to them. She pulled them out of our basement and hung them on the wall before today’s birthday visit.

Jaylen leans in, getting a closer look at three paintings that hang in a row in my room. The series is titled Finding Home . The first is a painting of my childhood trailer, which we lived in until my dad left us homeless. The second, the shelter we stayed at while my mom got back on her feet. The third, this house, which she bought and fixed up on her own so no one could ever take it from us. These paintings were the most vulnerable I had ever been with my art, and I haven’t had any interest in opening myself up like that since.

“Looking for something?” I say.

Jaylen startles, turning to find me standing in the doorway. “Sorry. I used the bathroom and when I passed by your room—I couldn’t help myself. Did you paint these?” He tucks his hands into his pockets and turns his attention back to my art. Approaching, I stand beside him, staring at the reminder of the worst day of my life.

“I did. They were for my senior art showcase. I was supposed to be a painter, but that obviously didn’t work out. I haven’t really looked at these since that night,” I say.

We stand side by side in a time capsule of my childhood. My walls are still decorated in the black-and-white-checkered pattern I hand painted in high school. The green bedding, the posters on my walls, and all the old sketchbooks stashed in every drawer in the room remain preserved.

It feels weird being in here with Jaylen. If we had met in high school, we would have hated each other. Although, I guess we’ve always been this different. I lean into Jaylen, and he wraps his arm around me.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks softly.

“There’s not much to say. I was supposed to meet a bunch of important people in the industry that night, but my dad showed up drunk and caused a big scene. I never made it to the introductions. I was so mad at him that I stopped painting for years, until I got that commission at the rink. Probably for the best I gave it up anyway. Tattooing is the future I want.” I sit down on my bed, curling my legs up into my chest to comfort myself from the painful memory.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s painful when your career doesn’t pan out the way you envisioned.” Jaylen sits next to me.

“It’s all in the past now. I finished up the last mural at the rink and my focus is fully back on tattooing. I know an apprenticeship is close.”

“You’re really talented. Whatever you choose to do, I love looking at it.” Jaylen rests his hand on the small of my back.

I stare across the room at the painting of my first home. I can almost smell the stale beer and burnt Hamburger Helper. It’s hard to believe so much chaos could fit in such a tiny space.

“It’s really serendipitous seeing these paintings tonight… I heard from my dad for the first time in years last week. He wants to meet up for lunch.” I grab an old stuffed bear and begin to pick at its matted fur.

I never talk about my dad with anyone. I can’t even mention his name around my mom, or she’ll break out into hives. Maya and Cooper don’t know the full extent of my family history, and Lucas wouldn’t understand—his dad’s a different brand of deadbeat. Jaylen’s dad, on the other hand, sounds perfect. They’re close and really love each other. Maybe Jaylen can help me figure out what I’m doing wrong.

“Coming from someone who really regrets blocking an important person out of their life until it was too late, you should go and hear what he has to say,” Jaylen says, gently rubbing my back.

“You think?” I slump forward even more. I’d fold myself up into oblivion if it meant not having to think about the unresolved conflict festering between the two of us, but what do I know about a healthy father-child relationship?

“I can go with you if you want.”

I lean my body against him, anchoring myself to his side. It’s the only thing holding me back from running out of here and not stopping until I’m back at his apartment, safe from any old memory looming in this room. Jaylen’s lips press gently into my temple for a kiss, and I decide I can brave the rest of the evening.

“I got you something for your birthday.” Jaylen gets up and reaches into his pocket.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I toss my bear to the side and scoot to the edge of the bed eagerly.

“That’s what everyone says, but no one means it.”

I close my eyes and hold out my hands. Jaylen plops a small velvet box into my palm and my heart drops into my ass. I open my eyes and they bulge out of my head like I’m waiting for the optician to blow a puff of air into my eyeball.

“Don’t worry, it’s not that type of box. I would never propose to you in your childhood bedroom. I would do it in the middle of a live stadium sporting event in front of seventy thousand people so you would be too embarrassed to say no,” Jaylen says. Jokingly, I hope.

“How romantic,” I say sarcastically. “This isn’t smelling salts, is it?” I add, eyeing the black box.

“Open it.” Jaylen nudges my arm.

I slowly tilt open the lid. Resting on a bed of velvet is a gold thirteen pendant attached to a gold box chain. It looks exactly like the thirteen we stole from the tattoo shop that night together. Jaylen’s jersey number. My flash tattoo. Our stolen sign.

For the first time, I don’t know what to say to him. I have no clever or cute rebuttal, no sarcastic quip; I just sit with my mouth open looking at the most thoughtful present a partner has ever given me.

“You hate it! It’s totally lame, isn’t it?” Jaylen reaches for the box, but I pull it into my chest, guarding it with my tight grip.

“I love it, Jay,” I say, turning away from him to get another look.

“I hope it’s as lucky for you as it’s been for me. It really changed my life. I can’t imagine not having it. The thirteen sign we stole, of course,” he says.

Jaylen takes the necklace from the box as I gather my hair up off my neck and turn my back toward him. His arms wrap around my chest as he lays the necklace against the skin of my collarbone. His hand tickles my nape when he fumbles with the clasp.

His present isn’t lame. It’s a bit cocky, a bit romantic, and a bit awkward. It’s one hundred percent Jaylen and it’s perfect.