Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
A S IT TURNS OUT, WE HAVE THREE BEDS. THERE’S one set of bunk beds and a twin bed next to it, with enough room for one person to stand between them. At the very end of the room is a large dresser with three drawers, and on top of it is a television from back when they invented televisions. Dan and I are standing at the threshold.
“Home sweet home,” he says. “I was totally going to take the other room with the queen-size bed and make you stay in this used-bed warehouse. I guess this serves me right.”
I take two steps forward and sit on the twin bed. “I claim this one.”
He’s looking at me with the shadow of a smile on his face. “It is so weird that you’re here, and even weirder that you’re Janey Jakes.” He looks at the little TV and back at me. “I’m having a sleepover with Janey Jakes.”
“I’m the poor man’s Hailey Soul,” I say and shrug. I want him to think I’m kidding.
Dan looks at me for a beat before saying, “I don’t think so.” It’s a kind thing to say.
He throws his stuff on the bottom bunk and looks around. “The bathroom’s next door, definitely lock the door. No one has any boundaries around here.” He unzips his duffel bag and pulls out a sweatshirt. “I’m going to go hang out for a while.”
“Didn’t they go to bed?”
“Yes, they’re in bed or gone, which is exactly why I’m going to go hang out.”
“You have a lot of brothers,” I say.
“I do. It’s hard to get any peace and quiet. So I’m going to . . .” He motions to the door.
“Okay,” I say. This may be part of his arrogance, but I respect how Dan takes the quiet time he needs.
He doesn’t make any move to leave though. He’s just looking at me.
“I don’t hate the part where Noah comes back from the war and sees his dad—everyone cries at that point,” I say.
His smile is wide and bright, like I’ve just shown him a photo of his favorite thing. “I mean, he sells the house so Noah can buy the old Windsor plantation. How cool was that guy?”
I feel a tiny tug on my heart for that dad. I don’t like this tug, so I deepen my voice and deliver my best Sam Shepard imitation: “I’m gonna live with you, dummy. Gonna help you fix it up.”
Dan doesn’t ask why I can recite a line from a movie I hate. Instead he laughs a real laugh and locks his eyes on mine like he did the first day. I like the sound of his laugh and the way his eyes dance around my face before settling on my eyes. This is an odd thing for me to notice about a person I wanted to punch in the neck as recently as this morning, but something’s different. It could be that we’re on the same inane quest. It could be that I’ve seen his people and none of them seem like they purchase bespoke anything. It’s fine, and even fun, to carelessly make Dan laugh, breaking all dating rules, because that ship has sailed.
“Well, thank you. That almost feels like a peace offering,” he says and turns to go. “You probably know how to get a glass of water and stuff?”
“I can figure that out.”
“Okay,” he says and stands there for a beat. He’s going to say something else, but then he shakes his head and closes the door.
It’s hard for an only child to imagine growing up with all of those people vying for attention and space. And food. Tonight wasn’t a party; it was just his family sitting around the table exchanging good-hearted insults. I try to picture doing that every day for eighteen years. I try to imagine coming home to my very own people. I feel the ghost of a million laughs in this room.
I lock the door and change into my pajamas. If I’d known I’d be sharing a room, I’d have brought a full-length pajama set, maybe the crisp blue ones that feel like a man’s shirt. They’re practically business pajamas and would have been perfect for this trip. Instead I grabbed the short pink set that my mom gave me for Valentine’s Day. The top has little conversation hearts for buttons, and “Hug Me” in this setting feels all wrong.
When my teeth are brushed and I’m under the covers, I text my mom: Arrived safely, sorry I forgot to text. Love you!
She does not reply, which is fine but odd. She’s in Santa Barbara, not on the moon.
I close my eyes and try to picture Dan, Aidan, and Connor watching Pop Rocks on that little TV. I imagine them all lusting after Hailey and laughing at our carefully scripted predicaments. It’s no wonder Hailey’s still on top; she grew up believing that’s where she belonged. I used to spend a lot of time imagining what that would feel like, walking around in her skin and feeling the power of that adoration. I used to read her lines into the mirror at home, trying to channel my inner Hailey. “Oh, as if I’d ever be caught dead at that party,” I’d say with a hair toss.
I am a witch and I’ve conjured her, because my phone dings with a text. Hailey: Any luck tracking Jack down? The idea of us seeing him again is hilarious
Above this text is our conversation where she told me to contact Angelica. Above that is Happy birthday!, followed by Thank you! over and over again. Years of it. It’s crazy that Jack’s rise from the ashes has us talking twice in a week.
Me: Not yet.
Hailey: I hope you find him. I hope this album hasn’t turned him into a dick, he was such a sweet guy
Barf, no. Me: Yeah, the sweetest
I call Clem and get her at her shift at the bar. “Sorry,” I say. “This was a crazy time to call.”
“Cover for me for five minutes?” she says to someone. I hear a door open and close, and it’s the kindest silence. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing really. I mean, I’m in Dan’s childhood bedroom and his brothers immediately recognized me as Janey Jakes and Hailey texted and I feel like I’m being dragged back in time.”
“That’s got to be weird. Are they all hot?”
“All of them.”
“Married?”
“All but the oldest, Brian. And Dan.”
“Interesting.”
“Not interesting. I don’t know why I’m calling. I just needed a little courage.”
“You’re going to see Jack, and you’re just going to be easy, jokey Actual Jane. Repeat after me: ‘Nice sideburns, Elvis.’”
“Come on.” Jack does sport a ridiculous set of pork- chop sideburns these days.
“You can’t seem nervous if you’re busting on him. Say it.”
“Nice sideburns, Elvis.” I’m not as convincing as she was, but I do feel a little more confident.
When we’ve hung up, I pull the quilt over my head and open Instagram before I can really think it through. I find Jack and send him a message: Hey it’s Jane Jackson from Jump-Start Love Song. Remember that? Ha! I’m in Long Island for the music festival and wanted to talk with you quickly about a movie I’m making with Clearwater Studios. Let me know if you have time to talk.
I delete “if” and replace it with “when.” That’s what decision-makers do.
Send.
I pull down the covers and look around the room, half expecting someone to say, What have you done?