Chapter 20 Jessie
Jessie
I’m walking down the path to the main house. I’m groggy and running late for breakfast because the blond in my bed was in no mood for sleep last night. The smell of pancakes wafts out to meet me. The French doors are open and I can hear my dad and Luke’s voices from the kitchen.
“…nothing much. Uh, just reading a lot.”
“And Jess?”
“Oh, you know. He’s been…drawing a bunch. It takes up a lot of time. Each picture takes several hours so...”
“Really? Jess is drawing again? You’re kidding me.” My dad’s voice lilts up noticeably.
I quicken my pace. I can tell Luke’s under interrogation from my dad about what we’ve been doing with our time, which I’ll admit is tricky to answer without getting pornographic, but damn it, what’s he thinking talking about my drawings?
Has he gone completely mad? My dad’s definitely going to ask to see what I’ve been drawing.
My most recent effort featured a full moon lighting a night sky, and the close up of a blond beefcake’s face.
His eyes are screwed shut and his head is thrown back.
His teeth are clenched and the sinews in his neck are straining so hard they’re bulging.
Even if you were a nun who’d lived in a convent your whole life, a quick look at that sketch would leave you in no doubt whatsoever that you’d just seen Luke Bennett’s O face.
“Dude!” I hiss as soon as I get close enough for him to read the message in my eyes. He shoots me one back. It’s a panicked, sorry and, I didn’t know what else to say combined with a stricken, your dad’s asking questions.
“Luke, can you flip these for me? Jess, come with me, I have something I want to show you.”
I follow my dad down the hall that leads to the study. I have that sinking feeling one gets when you’ve been sent to the principal’s office. In my mind, I prepare my defense, which goes something like, I’m sorry, Dad, I just, like, couldn’t help myself.
Obviously, my dad has no reason to think anything untoward is happening between me and Luke. He hasn’t seen the drawings I’ve done, so why would he? I’d be able to piece that together a lot better if it wasn’t for the fact my brain is currently suffering from a catastrophic shortage of caffeine.
When we get to the study, he rummages around in his top drawer and pulls out a stack of pamphlets.
He hands them to me and watches me carefully to see my reaction.
Whatever part of me it is that enjoys not giving people what they want sees me flicking through the first few pamphlets without changing my expression.
I can’t keep it up for long though.
“They’re all in California,” I smile.
“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “for personal reasons, I’ve only looked into schools a few hours from here.”
That makes me expel a tiny snort.
“Art school, huh?”
“I know you’re hell bent on finishing the degree in business management you started in Sydney. And I know you have a bunch of credits already, I just think it’s worth thinking about. Or at least talking about.”
“The drawing is just a hobby, Dad.”
“It’s something you love, Jess, and it’s something you’re really, really good at.”
“I mean, I guess I’m alright, but what kind of career will it give me? What kind of stability? How would I ever make a living out of art?” I repeat my mom’s words to me almost verbatim.
“I’m not saying it won’t be hard. I’m saying that if this is something you want, I support you.
I mean it. I’ll support you for as long as you need if it takes you a while to find your feet.
I know it isn’t easy to break into creative industries but Rach and I both feel this is something we like for you.
We can afford to help and it’s something we’re happy to do if it’s what you want. ”
Hope I had no idea existed flutters to life and takes off at a gallop. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Just think about it. That’s all I’m saying.”
I think about it a lot. I let myself daydream about the type of things I could do.
I have so many ideas I can hardly sleep at night.
Summer feels endless, but in reality, there are only five weeks left until college starts.
That realization jolts me out of the bubble I’ve been in with Luke.
I’ve promised my mom’s side of the family that I’ll drive up to Portland to see them at some point and it’s suddenly dawning on me that if I don’t actively make the trip, I’m going to run out of time to make it happen.
I mention it to my dad at dinner and Luke takes the bait just like I knew he would.
“Road trip?” he says, right on cue. “Can I come?”
I do my best to look hesitant for a moment, and then quickly add, “Sure. That’d be neat. We can take turns with the driving, it’s safer to break long trips up.”
My dad smiles at me and shakes his head in disbelief. He has reached the pinnacle of pride at what a responsible motorist I am.
Luke’s face shines with excitement for the rest of dinner. He has so many questions about Portland and routes and where we’re going to stop over that I have to whisper, “be cool,” as we pack the dishwasher after the meal. He rolls his eyes at me and does the exact opposite.
We leave mid-week, hoping to miss the weekend traffic. Rachel packs us an almighty cold box of fruit and sandwiches for the road. Despite that, we’ve been in the car for less than three hours when Luke needs reinforcements.
We stop at a gas station, and while he fills up the car I head into the convenience store and buy everything I can find that looks halfway healthy, and a fair bit that doesn’t.
“Jeez, did you buy half the store?” he says when I get in the car.
“Yeah, had to ‘cause my man’s hungry,” I drop my voice down and draw the word out. It's not at all like me to act like this. The open road and the fact I’m in a confined space with Luke must be frying my brain, because as if that’s not enough, I add, “he gots to eat.”
Luke gives me the chuckle I was expecting and then some. It’s his turn at the wheel. He sets off, keeping his eyes on the road. As he drives, his lips are peeled back into the biggest, dumbest grin I’ve seen on him yet.
“Stop smiling like that,” I say after four or five miles.
“Can’t.”
“Try.”
“Can’t, ‘cause you called me your man.”
“Oh Jesus,” I groan. “Can’t you at least pretend to have a smattering of chill?”
“Tried that. Can’t. I have subzero chill when it comes to you.”
We stop over for the night in a place called Weed.
We dropped a pin in it on the map simply because childishly, we both think the name is funny.
We stay in the cheapest, most terrible motel either of us have ever set foot in.
It’s dark and dingy and the carpet has some stains on it that don’t bear thinking about.
We turn the lights out early and set to making a room that’s already borderline unhygienic well and truly filthy.
By the time we check out in the morning, I’m absolutely certain we’ve succeeded in our quest.
It’s a long drive, but the scenery is unreal.
We drive through miles and miles of national forest. My senses are inundated with the sight of trees and leaves.
Streaks of emerald and jade fan out beside us as we drive.
It’s so beautiful I start thinking that maybe, just maybe, I have what it takes to move off the grid someday, you know, live off the land, tend to a small herd of goats, or some shit like that.
By the time we drive into Portland I’m feeling vaguely carsick, and the quick surge of excitement I feel when we hit five lanes of traffic reminds me that a move to the country is probably not on the cards for me.
We pull up to my gran’s place to find her waiting on the stoop, arm raised, and face deeply creased into a smile that rapidly gives way to tears of joy.
She pulls me into a never-ending hug and then walks me down a hallway that feels like a portal to my childhood.
Her house is like a museum. Nothing has changed since my earliest memories of the place.
The art on the walls is unchanged and unmoved.
The furniture is the same, high gloss mahogany wood side tables, matching coffee table, dining table and chairs.
One of the chairs still bears the mark of the time Drix put chewing gum in his back pocket instead of spitting it out like he was told to.
It squelched out when he sat down, and neither love nor money were able to get the stain out of the blush velvet seat.
My emotions hurtle towards me and fork into two.
On the one hand I’m so happy to be here and find everything the same.
It’s a relief that makes me feel grounded and comforted that things in my childhood memories really did happen.
On the other, it’s a stark reminder of how much has happened since the last time I was here.
Not just how much has happened, how much I’ve changed since then.
The space seems smaller. So does my gran.
In my memories of her, her presence filled the whole room.
Looking at her now, I’m served a painful reminder that the years have a way of making their mark on everyone who stands up to face them.
“You’re in the blue room, Jess. Luke, you’re in the yellow room just down the hall,” she says.
Luke’s shoulders droop and he eyes me sadly. I try to tell him with my eyes that we’ll make a plan, but I don’t know if he gets the message. I get his message, though. I get it loud and clear; we can’t hide forever.
By the time my head hits the pillow I feel content and slightly too full, in a familiar, to-be-expected way.
No one’s ever had a meal at my gran’s and not over-eaten.
The house is old and the walls are solid.
I don’t hear a sound, though I’m sure Luke must be crashing around in his room getting ready for bed.
He’s probably wandering around his room in his boxer briefs if he’s not naked.