Chapter Nine
Nine
On the day of the Zefron-a-thon, Mia and Kitty were already at Alex’s when I knocked on his condo door. The High School Musical soundtrack blared from within, and I hugged the box of decorations I’d brought tighter to my chest as I waited.
The music quieted. “Coming!” Greyson’s voice called, and a moment later she opened the door rosy cheeked and out of breath. She wore a Wildcats jersey and had her short hair pushed back in a red-and-white sweatband.
“You look festive,” I said.
Greyson grinned. “Thanks. Marla and Tom took me to this mindfulness workshop for teens while Dad was on charter. It was really weird, but kind of fun, except the incense really bothered my nose and the group leader kept glaring at me during the meditation part. But anyway, we had to come up with a personal motto, and mine was ‘Go big or go home.’ ” She frowned, her brow wrinkling beneath the sweatband.
“She said our mottoes were supposed to be original, not clichés, but I figure everyone has to know it for a reason, right? So I just try to do that, go big or go home that is, though I guess that doesn’t apply right now since I’m already home. ”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Greyson took the box of decorations from my arms and shouted over her shoulder, “Dad, Jo’s here!”
I followed Greyson inside, shutting the door behind me.
Though the girls had spent plenty of time at Alex’s over the last few weeks, I’d never been over myself.
For someone who could French-braid hair (which Nina and I had immediately put to the test), Alex was the typical bachelor dad when it came to interior decorating.
Nothing matched, and there wasn’t a single piece of decor that hadn’t been made by Greyson: a rainbow-colored macaroni sculpture on the shelf beside the TV, a sickly green papier-maché bowl on the coffee table, a large self-portrait hung on one wall (medium: crayon).
On another wall hung a guitar, a banjo, and what I guessed was a mandolin.
Oh, Alex, we need to do something about this, I thought.
But at least his place was clean and smelled nice, like melting sugar and vanilla.
“Nice of you to finally show,” Mia said. She was spread out beside Greyson and Kitty on an oriental rug that took over most of the living room. The red and white of the rug clashed with two lumpy forest-green couches. Was Alex colorblind? But at least the rug matched the color scheme for tonight.
Mia wore the same tie-dyed hoodie she always did, and Kitty had her hair pushed back in a sweatband that matched Greyson’s. All three girls were red-faced and out of breath.
“What have you three been up to?”
“Dance routine,” Kitty said. “Greyson knows the whole dance for ‘Get’cha Head in the Game,’ so she taught us.”
“Fifth-grade talent show,” Greyson said. “Dad knows it, too, I made him learn it with me.”
“It’s pretty impressive,” Mia said.
“Hey, Jo.” I looked toward the kitchen, where Alex stood drying his hands on a checkered dish towel.
Leaving the girls to their dance recovery, I met him in the dining room. “Great place,” I said. Not a lie. Poorly decorated, but twice the size of mine.
“Thanks,” he said. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I’m sure your and Nina’s expertise in theme parties will get it up to par.”
I took a longer look at Alex. It was rare that I saw him in anything but work clothes or his running attire.
He wore the usual plain T-shirt, but instead of his chef pants he’d chosen dark-wash jeans.
The outfit was simple but appealing. At least his fashion sense was better than his decorating skills.
Alex waved for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Hungry? Thirsty?”
“I’m all right.” The kitchen, unlike everything else, was tastefully modern, with a granite island and sleek silver appliances. “What’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the white ramekins Alex had lined up on the counter.
He set down the dish towel and plucked a raspberry from a small metal bowl.
“Crème br?lée. You know, what Zeke makes for everyone in the first High School Musical movie.” He bent over the counter, placing the raspberry on one of the ramekins of crème br?lée.
“We are watching High School Musical, right?”
“All three. The girls tell me you’ve got some impressive Troy Bolton moves.”
Alex plucked another raspberry from the bowl and shook his head. “Fatherhood. It changes a man.”
“I have a feeling you would’ve learned Disney Channel dance routines anyway. I’m sad I missed it, though.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t bust out the choreographed dances until the third date.” He paused, and his smile faded. I thought I saw his cheeks turn pink, but he cleared his throat and bent over the desserts again. “Not that I go on third dates. Or any dates, obviously. Since I don’t date.”
“Obviously,” I said. That hadn’t meant anything. Alex was just a flirt.
Silence fell between us, and I rested my elbows on the counter to watch him work.
He always made the same face when he was really into a dish: scrunched eyebrows, mouth quirked on one side.
It was fascinating how he cooked with such intensity, as if garnishing raspberries on these desserts were equivalent to disarming a bomb.
Despite Nina’s and Mia’s teasing, everything had been perfectly normal between me and Alex.
I’d learned more about him in our time carpooling than I had about most people I’d known for years.
His parents were vegetarians, but he wasn’t.
Even though he was “roadschooled,” he’d made friends everywhere he went, though his best friends had been his older brother and sister.
He would’ve liked more stability but was grateful for all the unique experiences his parents’ lifestyle had provided.
He’d gotten into running because it required no equipment and was the easiest sport to keep up with while traveling the country.
You took the term cross-country literally, huh?
I’d said, making him laugh. We never ran out of things to say, but sometimes we’d fall quiet, and the silences were comfortable too.
It reminded me of the feeling I’d had when I met Nina.
Right away she’d fit into my life, filling a Nina-shaped hole I hadn’t known existed (though I hadn’t had quite as many dreams about kissing her).
When I’d met Shitty Peter, there was romance from the beginning.
Like Alex, I’d met him in a bar. But while Alex was .
. . just Alex, even from that first night, Shitty Peter had been like a mystery to puzzle out.
Before we got together there had been weeks of tension and anxiety.
He wouldn’t call or text for days, and then we’d talk all night and into the morning.
It was confusing, but the kind of heart-pounding, sleep-deprived love you saw in movies.
There was none of that with Alex. The only anxiety I’d felt around him had been caused by Mia’s and Nina’s overactive imaginations.
Did he flirt with me? Sure. But he flirted with Nina too.
Did I think about our kiss from time to time?
Maybe. But who wouldn’t think about a nice kiss?
It wasn’t like I’d done a lot of kissing lately.
I looked around Alex’s kitchen. On the far counter I noticed a spread of different foods: shrimp and avocado over cucumber slices, tiny sliders stuck with toothpicks, prosciutto-wrapped breadsticks, and the fanciest nachos I’d ever seen.
“You really went all out, huh? I would’ve been happy with popcorn.”
“We’ve got popcorn, too, don’t worry. I make an excellent butter sauce.
” Alex arranged the last of the raspberries and shrugged.
“Grey says I overdo things, but I can’t help it.
You should see Thanksgiving when it’s just the two of us.
We end up having Thanksgiving dinner for two weeks straight.
Turkey sandwiches, turkey gumbo, turkey and stuffing tacos, turkey cake. ”
“Turkey cake?”
“All right, that one was a joke.”
“Go big or go home,” I said.
Alex smiled. “You’ve been spending time with Greyson, I see.” He took a mixing bowl from the counter and two spoons from a drawer. “Try it.”
He passed me a spoon. I had to lean against his shoulder to reach into the bowl. And it was comforting, the warm solidity of him, like I couldn’t fall over if I tried. Alex watched me taste the custard with an annoyingly cocky smile on his face.
“So?” he asked when I pulled the spoon from my mouth.
I wrinkled my nose. “Are you sure you want my honest opinion?”
His smile faded, and he looked down into the bowl. “Did I miss something?”
“I doubt it,” I said, and reached for another spoonful. “This tastes like heaven on a spoon.”
Alex pulled the bowl up and out of my reach. “That was mean. I’m cutting you off.”
“Hey!” I jumped and tried to grab the bowl from him, but he held it above his head.
“You can’t get me addicted and then take it away.
” I took my spoon and prodded him in the stomach.
Alex, laughing, tried to back away from me and scooted around the island, but I cornered him by the stove and threatened him with my spoon again, laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
Someone cleared their throat behind us, and we turned to the entrance to the kitchen, where Kitty, Mia, and Greyson stood with amused looks on their faces.
I darted away from Alex, who lowered the mixing bowl from above his head.
Kitty and Greyson giggled, and Mia gave me a knowing look that reminded me of Nina.
Clearly, I wasn’t doing myself any favors in the convince-the-teen-nieces-I’m-single-and-not-ready-to-mingle department.
“Can we help you?” Alex said.
Greyson twisted the hem of her shirt in her hands. “Dad, can I please have the key to the mailbox? Kitty’s . . .” Her eyes darted to me. “Thing is here.”