Chapter 19
Alice
"W here do you want to eat after we look at the house?” Jake asks when he picks me up after my morning class on Wednesday.
I shrug. “Whatever you want is fine.”
He’s wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his tattoos, and it’s tucked into dark jeans. The addition of the belt is what makes me curious. Maybe he’s only trying to look professional for the meeting with the real estate agent, but Jake almost never wears a belt. He’s usually in athletic shorts or sweatpants. Honestly, I have no complaints about the sweatpants, but I also definitely don’t mind this business casual look on him.
“Come on. Don’t do that. Just tell me,” he says.
“Do what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” We’re already bickering, and we’ve only been alone together for like ten seconds.
I’m not in my normal clothes either. Typically, I wear leggings and a sweatshirt to class, but today I debated on my outfit for way too long before deciding on a lavender sundress. Because belts and sundresses scream “not a date,” right?
“Why can’t women ever decide where you want to eat? Is it that hard?”
From the way his eyes crinkle, I know Jake’s only messing with me, but I’m already irritated. After having to sit through yet another class with Ratnick today, my patience is non-existent. “I don’t know what kind of food options will be available where we’re going. How am I supposed to be the one to choose?”
“What do you want, Alice? Do you even know?”
I scoff. I’m not even sure we’re still talking about food. “Far be it from me to speak for my entire gender, but for me personally, it isn’t so much not knowing what I want. It’s more knowing you don’t want to hear the real answer.”
He smiles and raises his eyebrows. “Try me.”
Maybe he really does like it when I get sassy with him. I’m happy to oblige. “It’s like maybe what I really want is a Coke specifically from McDonald’s, but then pizza for the actual meal, which they don’t serve there. So maybe I want to order pizza from Formaggio’s because they are the only ones with dairy-free cheese. But maybe I want something else for dessert. That’s three separate places. And there’s no way that anyone, including me, wants to run to three different restaurants for one meal. I wouldn’t even do that if I were by myself.”
“Okay, so what would you do if you were by yourself?”
“Realistically? Probably eat a coconut yogurt and some grapes. Then pop a bag of popcorn and watch bad reality TV. Maybe follow it up with some refrigerated cookie dough. Have you heard of girl dinner? It’s a real thing. But again, that’s not an option when you are trying to consider someone else.”
“Why not?”
The first answer that pops into my head is because that’s not what people do on a date . But I can’t say that because we both know this is not a date.
“Because you’re twice my size, and if we eat yogurt cups for lunch you’ll be starving in an hour. Besides, you’re probably one of those guys who thinks every meal has to have at least two dead animals in it.” If he can make sweeping generalizations, so can I.
“What are you talking about?” Jake laughs.
“Oh, like you’re not a bacon cheeseburger, meat lovers’ pizza, or surf and turf kind of man?”
He blinks. “What does any of this have to do with you picking a restaurant?”
“Everything. You really don’t get it, do you?”
He turns fully to look at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Please continue to enlighten me.”
“Maybe all I want is a smoothie or a bowl of soup. Maybe I want to try a vegan place, but I know that’s not your first choice and I don’t want to pick something you’re just going to whine about the entire time.”
His smile widens, and he points at me. “There we go. We can work with that.”
Before I know it, Jake is parking in front of a two-story brick colonial with a “for sale” sign in the front yard.
He exits the car and jogs around to open my door, but I’m fully capable of opening it for myself, so I get out before he reaches me.
The agent greets us at the front door.
“Hi, I’m Kevin. Thanks for coming out today. This house would make a wonderful home for a young couple like yourselves.” He ushers us inside. Kevin is also wearing a belt with his khakis, which I take as confirmation that Jake dressed to meet with him and not me.
I open my mouth to insist we’re not a couple, but Jake speaks first.
“Thanks for meeting us, we appreciate it.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me further into the house.
Kevin gives us space to look around. It’s a big house with some cool architectural features, like the thick crown molding and curved stair rail, but it’s outdated and smells musty. They must be getting ready to repaint the dining room, because the chairs are missing and the table is draped with a drop cloth that looks very familiar.
My eyes shift to Jake and he smirks, clearly sharing my fond memories of a similar piece of fabric. I follow him into the bathroom, where he sees some black spots on the ceiling and snaps a few photos to send his uncle.
“Is that mold?” I ask him, as he stands on the edge of the tub to get a closer look.
“Yeah. There’s probably a lot more of it under this wallpaper, and on the way in I saw three cracks in the foundation. We’re done here. It’s not worth what they’re asking, and I don’t want my family to get into negotiations with people who didn’t have the integrity to disclose this stuff in the first place.”
I have to admit, it’s pretty hot seeing him in full business mode.
“So that’s it?”
“That’s it. Sorry it wasn’t more exciting. Are you ready for lunch?”
It’s only a short drive before we park in front of a black building with an attached wooden pergola.
“Welcome to Root and Vine.” We’re greeted by a woman wearing a flowy jumpsuit and a long mermaid braid. Her thick, clear-framed glasses overwhelm her face, but in a way that seems like an intentional fashion choice.
“All our foods are locally sourced. Our specials change daily according to what’s fresh. They’re displayed on the chalkboard,” she says as she escorts us to our table and gestures behind us.
The eight-foot-tall chalkboard covers an entire wall. It displays the specials in bright blues and pinks, and invites guests to add their own artwork underneath. There’s a faded stick-figure in the corner, but otherwise no one has taken them up on the offer.
“Oh, I’m definitely hitting that up before we leave,” Jake says as we are seated across from each other in a wooden booth. The hostess nods and leaves us to look over the menus, which advertise this place as “Virginia’s premiere vegan restaurant.”
I brace myself for Jake to complain, but he only says, “Sweet, they have cauliflower wings. What looks good to you?”
“I think I might get a salad so I can order a milkshake. It’s been forever since I’ve been able to have one.”
“Can’t you just order what you actually want and get the milkshake anyway? Why do you have to eat a salad first?”
“Because bodies need vegetables and milkshakes aren't dinner.”
“Says who? Besides, everything here is made out of plants. So, you’re going to be eating vegetables no matter what.”
“Says everyone. Don’t you remember how we felt after eating only cupcakes for days? Those were vegan, too. But they weren’t an actual meal. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day with a stomachache and crashing from a sugar high.”
“I told you, I definitely remember those cupcakes. And I, for one, liked how my body felt during those days. A lot.” The knowing look he gives me makes my ears burn. “You don’t want to just eat sugar? Fine. But you can get a salad anywhere. We came all the way out here. Try to live a little.”
“Don’t food shame me.”
“Sorry. I’m not trying to. I just think we can get a little more creative than lettuce and carrots is all. There are only eight entr é es listed. Let’s order one of everything and share them.”
I stare at him. I’m not sure if he’s serious, but I argue anyway. “There’s no way we’ll ever be able to eat all of that. And I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
“We don’t have to eat it all right now. We can get everything boxed up and take home whatever we don’t eat. Come on. We’re supporting a small business and boosting the local economy.” He tilts his head and bats his eyes at me.
“Fine, you win,” I relent. “But I’m paying for my fair share.”
“I won the minute you agreed to come out with me in public, Ace.” He winks.
“I guess that’s true. You are fortunate I have chosen to grace you with my presence.” I nod dramatically. “But we’re going to need a double order of the cashew cheesecake, because I’m not sharing it.”
“Deal.”
I slide the menu up to hide my smile.
When our server returns, Jake explains his plan to order one of everything else on the menu and two pieces of cheesecake. She seems overwhelmed, but she’s happy to grant the request.
“We’ll take most of it to-go. But could you bring us two milkshakes and an order of cauliflower wings to start with here, please?” Jake asks.
“Sure thing. What flavors?”
I order strawberry and he goes for peanut butter swirl.
“It’s gonna take a while. This is a big order,” she warns.
“That’s totally fine, we’re not in a hurry.” Jake smiles at her, and from the way she stutters trying to thank him, I can see his natural charm has her flustered. Girl, same.
When she shuffles away, Jake takes my hand and pulls me out of our booth toward the chalkboard. He draws a small squiggly line and hands me a piece of chalk.
“Your turn.”
I remember this game from when we were kids. I add a circle to the top to make it look like a balloon. We take turns going back and forth. Each time I add a small line or shape Jake manages to expand it into something amazing. We continue adding to our drawing until it develops into an elaborate carnival scene, complete with a realistic-looking Ferris wheel and an elephant balancing a beach ball on its trunk. When our food is ready, we head back to our table.
By the time our bill arrives, it feels like hardly any time has passed. I look at my phone, and I’m surprised to see we’ve been here for almost two and a half hours.
“We better head out,” I tell him.
Jake nods and starts to put our to-go containers into the bags our server provided.
As we pack up our food, I’m surprised at how reluctant I am to leave. I’m glad we still have more time in the car together, which is a far cry from how I felt about the long drive to the bakery just a few weeks ago.
I’m so full and content as Jake pulls back onto the highway that when my phone rings, I just want to ignore it. Even when I see my dad’s name, my first inclination is to let it go to voicemail like I usually do. But I pick it up.
“Yeah, Dad? What do you need?”
I hear him wheeze on the other end of the line, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Dad?” I repeat. “Dad. Answer me. What’s going on?”
Still nothing.
Jake looks at me from the driver’s seat. Concern creases his brow.
“Something’s wrong. Can I use your phone?” Only half the words leave my mouth before he hands it to me.
“0421,” he tells me his passcode.
I put my own phone on my thigh and try three times to correctly punch the numbers into his with my shaking hands, but I can’t do it, and Jake’s phone locks me out.
“It’s okay,” he assures me softly. You can still hit the emergency call icon.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” I snap at him before offering a quick, “Sorry. I know this isn’t your fault.”
Jake nods. His eyes are soft.
My heart pounds harder with each moment that passes without a response on the other end of my line. I press the emergency button on Jake’s phone and switch mine to speaker. “Dad, stay on the phone with me. I’m driving home with a friend, but we are still pretty far away. I’m calling an ambulance to come check on you.”
He grunts, then coughs, and I listen until I hear him take a shaky breath.
A little wave of relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived while I think about all the things that could be wrong. Is he having a heart attack or a stroke? Or maybe he fell and hit his head. All the maybes and what-ifs pile on top of each other until they form a solid ball of dread deep in my gut.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
I swallow. Then I try to stop from shaking as I put the phone to my ear and tell the operator everything I know so far, which isn’t much.
Jake sets a hand on my knee while the dispatcher says she is sending an ambulance. She instructs me to stay on the line and to try to keep my dad calm until the first responders arrive.
“Okay,” I speak into both phones, not sure who I’m saying it to. “Dad, the ambulance is on the way.”
My stomach lurches. I know it can take a long time for them to get out to rural areas like ours.
Jake motions for me to hand his phone back. He doesn’t hang up with the dispatcher, but he sends off a quick series of texts. I want to yell at him to keep his eyes on the road, but I’m too overwhelmed by the fog of anxiety surrounding me to argue. In fact, I’m having trouble saying much of anything. A lump clogs my throat and tears well in my eyes as I suck in short, shallow breaths.
Jake finishes his texts and places his phone back in my lap. “Mr. Caulfield,” he says, “this is Jake Gibson. I’m here with Alice. We’ll meet you at the hospital. We’ve already called for help, and they’re coming, but it will take a while to get to you. In the meantime, my roommate and a few members of the baseball team are going to stop by, okay?” He turns to me and lowers his voice slightly. “At least they’re trained in First Aid and CPR. They’ll be right there.”
“How?” I finally find my voice.
“I knew Jordan was around, so I texted him. He said he’s with some of the guys, and they’re going to head over to see what’s going on. They’re close. He’ll get back to us with an update in a few minutes. Breathe, Ace.”
I reach over and touch Jake’s arm. “Thank you.”
He nods and takes my hand, linking his fingers with mine. “Of course.” His firm grip is grounding.
I did not have holding hands with Jake while we rush toward my dad’s medical emergency on my bingo card for this year, but here we are.
“Any minute now, Mr. Gibson. Hang in there.” Jake continues to talk to my dad through the speaker as though they are old friends, even though Dad isn’t saying anything back to him.
Finally, we hear some shuffling.
“We’re here,” Jordan’s voice lets us know he’s arrived. “He’s sitting on the ground on the front porch. I don’t see any visible injuries, but Ashley’s going to check him out.”
Jake explains that their pitcher’s girlfriend happens to be a nurse. She’s there with them to look him over.
“I’m going to hang up now and video call you right back so you can see him,” Jordan says. When he does, I see Dad sitting with his back against our front door. He’s looking pale, and Ashley has her fingers on his neck while she looks at her watch.
After she stops counting, Ashley turns to the camera. “We’ll stay right here with him until the ambulance arrives,” she reassures me.
“Thanks, guys,” Jake says. “We know he’s in good hands.”
I nod and wipe my eyes.
But the relief doesn’t last long before a landslide of guilt and regret hits. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left my dad alone.
Jake squeezes my hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
Igive him a small half-smile, but my heart sinks. He doesn’t know that.