Absorbed

Chapter Thirteen

A t seven the next morning, Stacey leapt out of bed. She was eager to see Jessie at work and finalize the details of their date. Crunching into her buttered toast, she watched the clock, willing time to move faster. She had a clear vision of their date in her mind: holding hands while lying on the hood of her car, she would wish on a shooting star, then they would kiss. She’d struggled to fall asleep the night before, imagining the details. Now that it was finally morning, all she wanted was to see him again.

I should have offered him a ride, she thought, as she drove, turning from her street onto Jessie’s. It would be too weird to knock on his door now, right? She drove slowly and saw no signs of life out front. That would definitely be weird. Stacey pressed hard on the gas pedal and sped in the direction of the pool. She could pick him up if she saw him skateboarding along the way. She arrived at an empty parking lot at 7:50, wondering if she’d made the right decision.

Within five minutes, Bob’s blue Pathfinder pulled into the parking lot followed by Melissa’s red convertible Mercedes. Great. A whole day with Miss Self-Absorbed. Stacey willed herself to get out of the car. She dragged her feet as Bob unlocked the doors and flipped on the facility lights while Melissa chattered on and on about ASU.

“So, I’ll need a few days off to go to orientation weekend in August,” she said.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bob replied, swinging his heavy lanyard of keys as he walked out the back door to the pool and chemical room.

“I call hosing the deck,” Melissa announced to Stacey, following Bob out the door.

“Cool,” Stacey muttered over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the clock. She stood beside her locker, hoping to catch Jessie alone.

At exactly eight o’clock, Jessie pulled the front door open slowly, as if it weighed a ton. His eyes were red and his eyelids heavy. Stacey pulled all her hair over one shoulder and leaned against the plywood locker door beside his, staring at him and smiling as he entered the guard shack and crossed the room.

He walked straight to his locker and set his towel and wallet inside without acknowledging her.

“Good morning!” Stacey sang out as he closed the locker door. Her voice came out unusually high and chipper.

Jessie turned toward her, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He nodded while yawning, but said nothing. He flopped down onto the couch, leaned his head back, drowsy.

Stacey shrunk back.

The door from the pool deck swung open. Bob said, “Off your butts. Time to clean.” He held the door open, a garbage bag and trash grabber in his other hand. “Someone must have climbed the fence. They left quite a mess.”

“Get out here!” Melissa barked across the pool behind him. “I’m not doing this by myself!”

Jessie leaned his elbows onto his knees and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Stacey chewed the inside of her cheek, then walked out the door, accepting the bag and grabber from Bob’s outstretched hands. Melissa watched her, then turned, tossing her ponytail behind her, strutting toward the bleachers with her grabber held aloft like a wand.

Littered beneath the benches were Pbr cans, chip bags, candy and ice cream wrappers. In the already hot morning sun, spilled beer and melted chocolate sludge were dried in sticky puddles onto the benches and pool deck. A corner of the shallow-end pool cover was pushed back and it sagged down into the water. More trash hovered at the bottom of the pool, while the rim was lined with black residue and burnt firecracker wicks.

“Who did this?” Stacey asked no one in particular. She reached between the benches to grab a can. It spilled as she pulled it out. The sour smell of beer hit her nose at the same time it splashed off the hot concrete.

Bob and Jessie came up beside her carrying buckets of soapy water.

“Neighbors called the police when they heard fireworks at about 1 a.m.” Bob said. “Whoever it was jumped the fence and ran off as the police pulled up.” He began scrubbing the bench with a sponge.

Melissa was beneath the bleachers. “Morons!” she bellowed.

“Totally worth it,” Jessie muttered as he walked to the edge of the pool. He knelt down to scrub the burn marks.

Stacey squinted in his direction.

“It happens every summer,” Bob said. “At some point the city will pony up for motion lights, cameras, and alarms.”

“Will somebody turn some music on, please?” Melissa whined.

“Stacey? You’re our resident DJ, right?” Bob lifted his eyebrows in her direction.

Stacey dropped her garbage bag and trash grabber. Standing at her locker, she flipped through her CD catalog, but couldn’t stop her thoughts from spinning. Why the hell is Jessie giving me the cold shoulder?

She flipped past the albums of mellow music and classic rock that Bob approved of.

Does Jessie want to cancel our date? Or did he forget?

Her hand hovered over the Violent Femmes album, all the curse words in “Blister in the Sun” forming a rant in her head. Bob would have a conniption fit if she played that. She popped The Combat Rock CD into the stereo and turned the volume past Bob’s red marker line at seven, up to 8.5, the loudest she could get away with.

“Surprising choice, Chapman,” Bob said as she rejoined the group. She picked up her trash bag.

Right before the second song ended, Stacey stripped down to her bathing suit. Jessie didn’t look up from scrubbing burn marks off the concrete. She dropped her trash bag next to him, then got into the pool. Standing waist deep in the water, she plucked random pieces of garbage from the bottom of the pool with the grabber and dropped them in the bag she’d set next to him.

“Should I Stay or Should I Go” came over the speakers. Stacey started humming.

Jessie lifted his eyes to meet hers. Stacey raised one eyebrow. He smirked and nodded.

Stacey’s brain surged with excitement. Does that mean…we’re on? She flicked water at him.

Jessie locked eyes with her, his smirk fading, and gently shook his head. His blonde locks swept across his lashes. She couldn’t tell what he meant.

Over his shoulder, Stacey could see Bob and Melissa’s backs were turned. She looked at Jessie again and lifted her hands up, shrugging, as she mouthed “What’s up?”

Jessie looked down, focusing his attention on scrubbing the stain.

Stacey turned away, dragging her feet across the shallow end. A million thoughts swam through her head.

Did I do something wrong? Or make too big a deal of our kiss? Maybe there’s still time to call Gabe back.

She couldn’t care less about cleaning the bottom of the pool, but spent the next thirty minutes making sure it was spotless to avoid looking back at Jessie.

Over the next few hours, as swimmers trickled in, Jessie kept to himself. He barely acknowledged Stacey or Melissa as they shifted between lifeguard chairs. No games. No conversations over the megaphones. No mention of the date she’d been anticipating the past day and a half. Stacey felt her degrees of separation from Jessie growing as the minutes tick toward noon on the large clock above the office window.

The dread of rejection formed a pit in Stacey’s stomach. When the morning swim session ended, they cleared the dozen swimmers from the pool, and filed back into the guard shack.

Melissa was perched on the arm of the couch. “I’ll take the first shift on lap swim.”

Figures. No one’s even here.

Standing beside one another at their lockers, Jessie tapped Stacey with his elbow. “Wanna go grab lunch real fast?”

Tongue-tied, Stacey swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. She pulled on her shorts and grabbed her keys. “Want anything?” she asked Bob and Melissa.

“No thanks,” Bob said.

“Grab me a brC?” Melissa asked, handing Stacey a $5 bill.

“Sure.” Stacey shoved the money into her back pocket and let the door close on Jessie as he trailed behind her.

Jessie and Stacey climbed into the seats of the Silver Bullet, both silent until she pulled out of the parking lot.

Once The Plunge was in the rearview mirror, Jessie reached across and put his hand on Stacey’s thigh.

She looked down at his hand, then side-eyed him.

“Thanks for being cool this morning.” Jessie leaned his head back on the headrest and gently squeezed her leg. “I don’t think we should talk about tonight in front of…”

A sick feeling washed over her. Melissa? Stacey repeated, “In front of…” letting the last word drag. When it was clear Jessie wouldn’t finish his sentence, she asked, “Who?”

“You know…all the people we work with. Let’s keep it on the down-low…for now.”

Stacey wrinkled her forehead.

“You’re so chill,” he said. She could feel him staring and forced a smile. “Not like other girls. I really like you.”

She wanted so badly to believe him. But confusion left her mute.

“You do still want to go tonight, right?” Jessie asked.

“To watch the shooting stars?”

“Yeah.” He leaned toward her ear and she felt his long bangs grazing her neck. “Someplace dark. Quiet. Just us.”

Chills ran up Stacey’s spine. “Can’t wait,” she said and flicked the right blinker at the intersection. She was glad to be driving. It helped mask her feuding emotions. “Seems fun.”

“Cool,” he said.

As they pulled into the taco stand’s parking lot, Jessie removed his hand from her leg and leaned back into his seat. Guys with skateboards sat at tables out front, their long shorts belted so low that at least eight inches of their boxers hung out. Jessie went to say hello while Stacey got in line. He high-fived a skinny kid with greasy long hair, laughing and chatting with the group without ever looking in her direction. When Stacey reached the counter, he trotted back to her side. She ordered her food and Melissa’s, then Jessie added his order.

The woman behind the register said, “$15.50.”

Stacey put her money and Melissa’s down on the counter. Jessie didn’t move. She looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Uh… can you spot me?” Jessie asked, pulling a single dollar bill from his pocket and adding it to the pile. “I forgot to bring cash. Sorry.”

“Oh…ummm…I guess.” Stacey pulled another five-dollar bill from her wallet.

“Thanks. Pay you back tonight.”

“Okay,” she said in a monotone as she accepted her change.

“Great!” he said. “Meet you back at the car.”

A sour taste crept up from the back of her throat. Stacey was no longer hungry.

Jessie rejoined the group, taking someone’s board to jump it over a parking block. He landed in the middle of the parking space a car was pulling into. The driver honked at him, gesturing through his window for Jessie to move. His friends laughed.

Stacey stood against the faux-Alamo wall, her arms crossed, watching him, as she awaited their order, and considered canceling their date.

Back at The Plunge parking lot, after she parked and pulled the emergency brake, Jessie put his hand on hers. “Pick me up at eight?”

Stacey searched his blue eyes, the ocean she’d been lost in two nights before. He looked away, toward the pool. Now she felt lost with him in an entirely different way, yet she couldn’t stop herself from nodding. Hoping.

“Stellar!” He put his finger on his lips and whispered, “Our secret.” He jumped out of the car and walked ahead of her, back into the main office.

Stacey left her food in her locker and took over Melissa’s tower for the second shift of lap swim. Watching the two senior citizens slowly paddle back and forth, she was hit by wave after wave of conflicting thoughts. He’s such an ass. You deserve so much better. He’s only avoiding drama with Melissa. What’s so wrong with keeping it quiet while we get to know each other? Closing her eyes, she could feel Jessie’s hand on her thigh and recall the taste of his lips on hers from their kiss. But when the afternoon swimmers arrived at one, and he took over her tower to watch the shallow end, he said nothing. Didn’t even make eye contact.

Gabe would never ignore me, even in front of his guy friends. She considered blowing off the date. Calling Gabe. She could apologize, go to Tower Records and Cable Guy , and make herself forget all about Jessie Thomas.

She looked across the pool at where Jessie sat in the deep end tower. There was a megaphone by her feet. She could pick it up. Tell him something came up.

Jessie stared straight at her, then slid his glasses down his nose. Smiling, he winked at her, then slid the sunglasses back on and turned back toward the diving board.

Stacey felt a flutter in her chest. This is dumb. I have a date with JESSIE THOMAS! I’m being too sensitive.

When the pool closed, Stacey planned to offer Jessie a ride home. But as the last family filed out through the locker rooms, he took off on his skateboard in the opposite direction from their neighborhood. We have a date in three hours, and he doesn’t even say goodbye?

In her car, she pulled out the Violent Femmes album she’d wanted to play that morning. She flipped through to “Kiss Off.” With the windows down, navigating all the turns of the winding road back home, she screamed the lyrics, feeling their truth through every inch of her body.

Her mom’s minivan was in the driveway when she pulled in. There was a large, white pick-up truck parked on the street that Stacey had never seen before. The front door was closed and she could hear the loud hum of the AC fan on the side of the house. Mom has company?

“I’m home,” Stacey announced as she opened the front door. She perked up at the smell of sauteed onions and garlic.

Murphy barked once and ran to Stacey, her tail wagging.

“We’re in here,” her mom called from the kitchen.

Stacey followed Murphy through the living room. The counter was cluttered with the chopping board and large knife set, scraps of carrots, celery, peppers, onions, and garlic strewn about. There was a box of pasta and an open bottle of Chardonnay set atop a folded grocery bag. Stacey’s mom leaned against the counter, sipping a glass of wine. A large man was at the stove, his back turned, stirring something.

“Hey, Doodle Bug,” her mom said, smiling as Stacey approached. “This is Greg!” She patted Greg’s shoulder. “Greg, this is my daughter, Stacey.”

The man turned toward Stacey, waving with the spatula and smiling.

“Hi, Stacey. Nice to meet you.”

His voice was deep, but not raspy like her dad’s. Stacey guessed he wasn’t a smoker. He was tall with thick brown hair and a Tom Selleck mustache. He wore her mother’s red-checked apron with white eyelet trim. It framed the collar of his blue dress-shirt, the sleeves rolled up, tucked into jeans with a belt. Stacey had loved to wear that apron when she was little and they baked Christmas cookies, but hadn’t seen it in years.

“Hi.” Stacey tried to sound friendly. She was taken aback by the entire scene. It was unusual for anyone to prepare a real meal in their house unless it was a holiday, but she couldn’t think of a time in her entire life when a man had cooked for them. She rarely even met the men her mom dated.

Greg went back to stirring.

“He’s making us dinner!” Her mom beamed as if she’d won the lottery. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Smells good. What is it?” Stacey asked, matching her mother’s enthusiasm. She hoped to be offered a plateful too, but was afraid she was the odd man out.

“Chicken cacciatore,” Greg sang out in a bad Italian accent, then kissed the tips of his left fingers.

“Sounds delicious.” Still unsure if her mom’s “us” meant the two of them, Stacey asked, “When do we eat? Do I have time to shower?”

“Aren’t you going out?” There was a hesitation in her mom’s voice.

“Not ‘til eight, and we’re only hanging out.”

“It’ll be about twenty minutes,” Greg said over his shoulder.

“Cool. I’ll be quick,” Stacey said, turning to leave.

Out of the corner of her eye, Stacey watched Greg lean down toward her mom. “There’s plenty,” she thought she heard Greg say before he kissed her mom quickly on the lips.

Stacey’s ears burned and she cringed. Now I’m my mom’s third wheel?

She took her clothes into the bathroom, began to undress, and then locked the door. Greg seemed nice, but it was strange showering with a man in the house.

She re-entered the living room with her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing her Nirvana T-shirt and too-big boxer shorts. The stereo was tuned to smooth jazz. Stacey slowed to survey the scene. The small kitchen table was set for three with placemats, lit candles, dinner and salad plates. The bottle of wine and a basket of sliced bread completed the restaurant ambiance.

The Twilight Zone intro echoed through Stacey’s mind . She grinned, remembering Gabe repeating that eerie opening to her dozens of times. Was the last time at the concert, only a week ago? Since the summer after eighth grade–when they rented videos and marathon-watched every episode they could get their hands on–Gabe had recited those lines to her hundreds of times. She suddenly wanted nothing more than a night watching movies with Gabe.

Not Gabe. Jessie. You have a date with Jessie.

Stacey silently observed her mom and Greg at the stove, their backs turned, standing hip to hip. Her mom’s head was leaned against Greg’s shoulder, his left arm around her waist. They swayed in rhythm with the melody on the stereo. Stacey felt her face flush and she looked away. She wished she had offered to go get herself fast food. She took the towel off her head and set it on the arm of the couch, running her fingers through her hair before turning back toward the kitchen.

“Need me to do anything?” she asked loudly, hoping to avoid witnessing another kiss if she could.

“We’re almost ready,” Greg said over his shoulder. He moved his hand from her mom’s hip to the pot handle in front of him. “Can you grab the butter, parmesan, salt, and pepper for the table, please?”

Stacey plunked the items down and slumped into her chair, watching her mom and Greg’s synchronized movements. Murphy ducked under the table and curled into the space by her feet. Stacey grabbed a piece of bread and buttered it, taking her first bite before either of them sat. Greg pulled his napkin across his lap and began scooping the pasta dish onto each of their plates.

Stacey’s mom served herself salad, then passed the bowl to Greg. Her smile lit her face with a peaceful glow, so foreign that she was almost unrecognizable. Her mousy blonde hair fell in soft, natural waves at her shoulders, and the creases in the corners of her eyes offered only sincere joy. Stacey couldn’t pinpoint what it was about this guy, but she was grateful her mom wasn’t in another pissy mood.

Stacey tucked her feet under Murphy’s soft fur, and turned her attention to Greg. “So, what do you do, Greg?”

“I’m an electrician.”

“That’s cool.” Stacey speared a forkful of salad and shoved it in her mouth.

“He’s being modest,” her mom said, placing her hand on Greg’s. “He owns his own business. Does electrical work all over the Inland Empire.”

Stacey lifted her eyebrows and nodded while chewing.

“Your mom tells me you’re a senior,” he said.

Stacey put another large bite in her mouth and continued nodding, adding an “Um, hmm,” to be polite, while looking down at her plate. Please, not another night like dad’s house.

“She’s a straight A student. Top of her class. Debate club president.”

Stacey swallowed too soon and pulled her lips into a thin line. Her mom hadn’t taken a bite, intent on swooning over each of them, as if this was a job interview. Stacey left her fork on the edge of her plate and sat on her hands.

“She also said you’ve been lifeguarding this summer at the Seventh street pool.” Greg cut his chicken without scratching the plate, and carefully balanced his knife on the edge before switching hands, the way Stacey’s stepmom, Jackie, always insisted she ought to.

Stacey nodded.

“Sounds like you’re a very mature and responsible person. I can see why your mom is so proud of you.”

Stacey smiled shyly at her mom. “Thank you.”

Her mom picked up her fork and knife and began carefully cutting her chicken into a dainty bite. Stacey followed suit. Her mom let out a groan of satisfaction, and Stacey rolled her eyes. Trying the chicken cacciatore for herself, though, she agreed with the enthusiasm. Even still, she would never dare make that noise in front of a guy her mom was dating, and wished her mom wouldn’t either.

“This is really good, Greg,” Stacey said before swallowing, then shoveled a much larger bite into her mouth.

“I’m glad you like it. Cooking became a hobby of mine after…my wife died.”

Stacey’s eyes grew wide. “I’m so sorry,” she said, covering her full mouth.

Greg made a small wave with his hand in a practiced way. “It’s been… a few years now. MS. I’m glad her suffering is over.”

Stacey’s mom flared her nostrils like this was exactly the topic she hoped wouldn’t come up over dinner. She washed down her bite with a sip of wine.

They sat chewing through what felt like the longest smooth jazz clarinet riff in the history of music. Finally, Greg said, “You know, Stacey, I have two daughters of my own. They also went to Mesa Valley High. Melody and Melissa.”

Stacey froze mid-chew. No, no, no, no, no.

“They’re older than you, though,” he said.

Staring at Greg out of the corner of her eye, Stacey willed him to supply more details quickly, before she choked. She took in his dark hair. His chiseled features. It definitely could be a match.

“Melody recently graduated from Oregon State. And Melissa…,” Greg said. Stacey held her breath as he stopped to take a bite. “Melissa is in her third year of college in Colorado.”

Thank God. Stacey swallowed her bite without finishing chewing and the large lump slid slowly down her throat. She exhaled her relief, then gulped her water.

“Melody’s a cool name,” Stacey said, feigning interest. “You must like music.”

Greg shrugged. “I play a little bass. Used to pick up gigs here and there before…” He let his words trail off.

Stacey assumed Greg was trying to avoid broaching the off-limits topic for a second time, and she let it drop, avoiding anything more complicated.

He smiled and looked up at her. “Do you play an instrument?”

“No. But I like to go to ska shows.” Stacey put the last bite of food in her mouth and set her fork upside down on her plate.

“Stacey’s an artist,” her mom said.

“I’m really not, Mom.” Stacey wiped her mouth and shook her head.

“I saw the aurora borealis on the fridge,” Greg said. He wiped his mouth and nodded in the direction of the refrigerator. “Your mom said you painted that a couple of weeks ago?”

Stacey was embarrassed her mom had put her work on the fridge with magnets, as if she was in kindergarten. Before tonight, she felt certain no one would see it. She eyed the opposite corner of the ceiling. “It was a lesson with my old art teacher. No big deal.”

“You won first place in that art show,” her mom said.

“That was a fluke.” Stacey tucked the napkin beneath her plate.

Greg raised his eyebrows and grinned, watching the volley of words pass between them.

“It’s beautiful, Greg. She’s hiding it in the back of the coat closet.” She set her fork and knife on the placemat on either side of her plate and thumbed over her shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to offer. “I can grab it.”

“Don’t you dare.” Stacey’s warning came out too harsh. She added a gentle, “Please,” to soften the blow, pleading with her mom, widening her eyes.

“Okayyy.” Her mom put both hands up in surrender.

Stacey pushed her chair back. “I think I’m gonna finish getting ready, if that’s okay?”

Her mom nodded, refilling her glass.

“Thank you for dinner, Greg,” Stacey said. “It really was delicious. And nice to meet you.”

“You too, Stacey,” he said, setting his fork upside down on his plate the same way Stacey had. He looked her in the eyes. “I hope we can do this again soon. You can help clean up next time, but if you don’t mind taking those to the sink, I’d appreciate it.”

She nodded and set her dishes and silverware in a small pile beside the sink. She was curious how long her mom had dated Greg. He felt both familiar and authoritative in their home already. It was disarming.

Murphy followed Stacey down the hall and jumped up onto her bed.

Stacey’s hair was still damp, so she sat on her bed and blew it dry, smooth and straight. She changed into a strappy, lace-edged white tank top and a pair of 501s that made her butt look great. “Look good, feel good,” she recited, taking long, slow breaths to calm her nerves as she applied black mascara. She lined her lips with rum raisin and added pink gloss that she hoped shouted soft and kissable. The makeup complimented her tan skin and long, sun-bleached hair.

“I could have been a stand-in for Alicia Silverstone on the ‘Crazy’ road trip, right Murph?”

Murphy kept her gaze on Stacey with her muzzle on her paws. After a spritz of Guess perfume, Stacey blew a kiss at the dog, and pulled open her bedroom door. “Wish me luck!”

The clock on her nightstand glowed 7:55.