Chapter 22 Jessa #2
I laugh too, at the old turn of phrase, at how she jokes but makes it not mean, at how relieved I am that I don’t have to hide from her or my feelings anymore.
And soon as I’m laughing, I’m crying, too.
She pulls me back in for a hug, one hand stroking my hair, and I cry for what feels forever because something awful is draining out of me right now, something like hate and anger and shame and all the horrible things I have ever told myself about myself.
And she’s there protecting me, absorbing all that emotion, and there’s no judgment and I’m not scared that a week from now this will become ammunition against me. I’m not scared at all.
“It’s been really lonely,” I choke out between sobs.
“I know,” she says quietly, her hand soft and comforting in my hair. “I know you’ve had a really hard path. But I wanna walk it with you—if you let me.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She’s smiling at me, and I know I must look wretched but she doesn’t seem to care, because she loves something deeper than everything I try to paint on each day, and that feels really good.
I could stay here in this weirdly bright black-and-white-tiled and fluorescent-lit bathroom, but a movie must have let out, because two kids come in shrieking and sticky-looking, followed by a harried mother, hands full of discarded coats and a giant movie popcorn tub.
“Wanna get out of here?” Bird asks, sly smile on her face. I want to kiss her, but my nose needs blowing and I grab a couple of brown paper towels and let her lead me out of the bathroom.
I’m in a trance, forgetting everything but Bird as she holds my hand, guides me out of the garish neon lobby, into the lot, my appropriated chair empty and alone as the doors to the store opened early, the store clerk tired of the waiting masses and ready to start their evening, Dade’s game purchased by another nerd.
We’re in the car, she’s driving, putting in Tori Amos, and we sing together as she drives us around the city, no real plan but to be together.
We stop to make out by the park, lonely playground structures watching our illicit embrace.
We sing until I’m hoarse. Crying out lyrics so much louder than they’re meant to be.
She uses my phone to call her mom to tell her she got a ride home, and I get her back way later than promised, our laughter a constant, our hands squeezed together like holding on to a lifeline.
She sneaks off in the yellowed shine of my headlights, curves and movements sparking something in my heart, something new and happy, something that feels like I belong to something bigger than just me.
Something beautiful—all from one little Bird.
I show up at Dade’s the next morning, tail between my legs. He’s downstairs, painting a miniature ’67 Chevy Impala a deep black, the chrome already sprayed and his lower-level room reeking acridly from the chemicals.
“Aren’t you supposed to do that outside?”
“Are you supposed to be my mom? Oh wait, never mind, you’re actually here.” He finishes an area, leans far back in his chair, and stretches, then shoves out a hand. “All right, gimme, let’s get this started.”
He looks at me finally and realizes there’s no GameStop bag. “Uh, Jessa, where’s the game?”
“I…” I want to talk to him, I want to tell him about Bird, but I know he’ll tell Kayla and I don’t want to share before Bird does. I don’t want to fuck anything up. “I got your cash,” I say, and hold out the twenties he gave me. “They were out.”
He eyes me, and I know he sees the lie. “I saw you at the movie, you know,” he says, and stands up, leading me out back and sparking a cigarette. “I thought you hated Titanic.”
“I thought you did too, but you were there.” Real smooth.
“I went because Kayla wanted me there. I saw Bird too. Did you go for her?”
I don’t want her secrets spilled. I can’t trust Dade. I can’t trust anyone but her right now, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling because I was there for Bird. More than any hope of a Dade-La explosion, I was there to be with her.
“No, I just…”
“Jessa, I want to ask something, and if I’m just paranoid, then tell me to fuck off.”
“You can probably preemptively fuck off.”
“Come on, it’s serious. I’ve been thinking.”
“Now that is extremely serious. Why on earth would you think?”
He gives me a stink eye that shuts me up.
“Look, these past few weeks, it seems like you and Bird are planning a lot of stuff for all of us, and while I appreciate it, they kinda suck. I just… are you doing these things because Bird wants them? Or, and I may be an idiot to think this, are you fucking with me and Kayla?”
Heat and shame hit me hard, flushing up my face, stealing my voice, blanking out my mind. Dade isn’t stupid. He put shit together. He’s right… and wrong.
“Jessa, you know you shouldn’t chase straight girls.”
“She’s not…” I stop myself, almost exposing us. There’s only one choice. “I… well… I thought if you did more challenging stuff with Kayla, you might realize she isn’t right for you.”
He nods, takes a last drag, grinds the butt out in an ashtray, lights another. He hasn’t said a word. I want to say more, but nothing will really fix the mess I just admitted to.
He lets out a soft exhale of frustration. “You’re fucking with me and Kayla. I thought I was being paranoid, but you are. Why?”
I have a million reasons, but all of them seem too stupid to bring up now. Especially after the most epically amazing evening of my life. Especially when he’s looking at me with some kind of disappointment and a lot of anger, it all seems really fucking stupid.
I’m trying to protect you.
I’m trying to save you.
I’m trying to save our friendship.
I’m trying to save our future.
“I… I don’t know. I guess I was just hoping that maybe you’d see that Kayla isn’t…”
“Don’t make this about Kayla,” he grumbles, and takes a long pull off his cigarette, blowing out a cloud that dissipates slowly.
I can’t help but feel we are dissipating now, not even falling to pieces but just blending into the atmosphere.
“You are doing this to me, not her, and it’s messing with my life. ”
“Your life has become nothing but Kayla.”
“Jesus, Jessa! It’s not about Kayla! I’m in a relationship.
They take time, effort, and I can’t sit around and watch movies with you or play at journalism when I’m trying to build this into something.
For fuck’s sake, I think I actually love this woman, and here you are constantly shitting on her and literally screwing with us because you’re what, jealous?
! I mean, you planned shit to mess us up, what is that? ”
“It’s not jealousy….”
“It’s something, Jessa, and it’s not okay. None of this is okay.”
And he’s right, in a way. I haven’t been kind to Kayla, I have been fucking with his relationship, and the way he says it, I really feel like a jerk.
“I’m sorry, Dade.” Have I been doing the wrong thing the whole time?
“Was Bird in on this crap too?”
“No. Just me.” There’s one lie I can tell without it seeming lame.
He looks out at the trees beyond us, the bright reds and yellows of fall almost gone. Bare, dead-looking branches clawing upward. “I think we need a break, Jessa. I think I need to focus on Kayla and give you some time to figure yourself out.”
The statement hits me like a punch. I don’t know where to go with it, don’t know what to say to make it stop. I’m in the house I built and it’s burning because of the very fire I started.
“How long?”
“I don’t fucking know, Jessa,” he says.
“What about today? Are we still hanging out today?” It’s desperate and sad, but I hope for a second that I can have even an afternoon to try and show why I’m still a good friend after so much fuckery.
“You gotta give me time, Jessa,” he says, and walks back inside.
I don’t have a damned thing left to say.