Marissa #2
I try to chew and swallow, but it seems only to make the puff expand in my mouth. It makes me laugh, which then makes him laugh.
“No, no, take your time,” he says, fully amused. “You were saying something about a moshmow?”
I make another attempt, which makes us both crack up, tears of laughter now filling my eyes. I feel like a naughty teenager in a way I haven’t in—well, maybe I never have.
Finally, I manage to swallow, and then I gasp out, “Okay, only the mini ones from now on.”
“Ah, but that was so fun to watch.”
Our eyes lock and my breath catches. Warmth rises in my cheeks, and I drop my gaze and shift back from the fire, suddenly unable to handle the heat of either. I clear my throat, desperate to shake off the abrupt tension and get us back on track.
“I just can’t believe what a coincidence this is.” Tilting my head to the side, I give him an appraising once-over. “It is a coincidence, right? I was joking earlier about the stalker thing.”
The corner of Jesse’s mouth tilts upward. “I promise, it’s a coincidence. Shelby does our bookings, and I didn’t pay much attention to the address. But when we pulled up, I recognized the house.”
My brain tingles as a memory struggles to form. There are disjointed, grainy images but I can’t get the full picture. Like an old television set with a bad signal.
“I came back to visit once,” I say quietly. “But not in the summer. That summer you and I hung out was my last one here.”
“I know. But I had my autograph book ready, just in case.” He’s looking at me carefully, like he’s expecting me to decode an unspoken subtext.
And then the missing puzzle piece slides into place. A long-repressed memory comes flashing back in full Technicolor. The prickle of damp earth caked to my bare legs. The lingering scent of sunscreen. And a boy, holding me close, telling me that everything would be okay.
I stare up at Jesse now and understanding passes between us. The unspoken acknowledgment of a shared childhood memory.
“Thank you,” I say hoarsely. “For that day. I haven’t thought about it in ages. I was … devastated. But you made me feel better.”
He swallows as he turns back to the fire. There’s something more there, something he isn’t saying.
Another more recent memory forces its way to the front of my mind. Toby’s words as he ribbed his brother at the café. You never missed an episode …
“Wait.” A slow grin spreads across my face. “You watched Little LLC. You told me you would before I left and … you did.”
Jesse’s gaze is still fixed on the fire, but I can see a scarlet flush is creeping up his neck. I suspect it’s not only from the heat of the flames.
“I made a promise,” he murmurs. “And I never go back on a promise.”
He takes a bite of his s’more, and once again, it’s not a neat endeavor. We both laugh a little at this, but the earlier sense of levity has dissipated. There’s something else here now.
When he finishes, he says, “Shelby said you’re thinking of putting the house up for sale. That still the plan?”
“Maybe.” I sigh as I rotate my stick over the fire. I’ve been asking myself this same question since the first day we arrived. More and more as the days go on. And nights.
“I just don’t see how holding on to it could work long term. Especially for my kids. Their whole lives are on the other side of the country. Isla still hasn’t forgiven me for canceling our trip to Cabo.”
With displeasure, I note how hollow and privileged the words sound. But it’s not what it sounds like. It’s the fear of uprooting my kids more than I need to. And maybe, fear of my kids resenting me for it.
Still, I can’t deny how happy I feel here.
How comfortable. I’ve lived in LA for well over two decades, but it’s never felt like home.
I love the energy of the city, and its incredible food, and being surrounded by the relics of Hollywood history.
But it’s a hard city to love, and it does little to let you in. Not in the way this place does.
I stare out into the distance, studying the blurred reflection of moonlight as it ripples over the lake.
“This summer is … an exception,” I hedge. “I just needed to get away from real life for a minute.” My chest feels heavy as my to-do lists and regular-world problems stampede back into my nervous system. “But you can’t escape real life forever.”
“Mmm.”
He doesn’t elaborate past that monosyllabic grunt. But I assume it means that while he’s not going to argue, he doesn’t necessarily agree it’s so black-and-white.
Or maybe that’s just the other voice in my head. The one I’ve been ignoring.
“If I could outrun it, I would,” I go on. “But considering the man sleeping on my sofa, it doesn’t seem like a possibility.”
Jesse follows my gaze to the shadowy outline of the house. His shoulders visibly tense and then he swivels back around, redirecting his attention to the gentle ripple of the lake.
I tip my chin upward to study the stars sprinkled across the indigo sky. I’d forgotten how many you can see here, how perfect the broad skies of the Poconos are for stargazing.
“Do you ever feel like our fates are predetermined?” I ask. “Like, no matter how badly we want something, our destiny is already written in the stars?”
Jesse is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his words are soft.
“I’ve always believed in some sort of higher power. But I also think we have agency in our own lives. If the universe does have a plan for us, it’s only a rough draft. We have the power to rewrite those stars. Build the life we want to live.”
I bring down my chin to stare at him, wide-eyed.
“Shit, that’s deep. You should write fortune cookies.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Jesse smiles shyly as he tears his gaze from mine again. I notice the tips of his ears have gone pink. It’s wildly endearing.
“I’ve been spending too much time with my brother,” he says gruffly. “He’s on a perpetual mission to be his therapist’s favorite.”
He clears his throat and tries again. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a great mom. You don’t have to decide about the house right now. And you can always come back here, whenever you need a safe place to land.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I do feel safe here, and now I understand why I’ve felt so comfortable with Jesse since the moment we arrived.
He’s a link to those perfect summers I spent here.
Someone I knew and trusted when I was just a tween with a sunburn and breasts that weren’t sprouting nearly as quickly as I would have liked.
“What about your parents?” I say, shifting the conversation to a lighter topic. “Do they still live nearby?”
Jesse’s eyes drop to the fire. “No.”
I stare at him for a long beat, thinking he’s going to say more. But he doesn’t. He’s staring morosely at the flames, watching them pop and flicker. Shit. I’ve clearly miscalculated the safety of this topic, and now I wish I hadn’t brought it up.
Then Jesse looks up at me, fire dancing across his eyes, flames against a dark lake.
“My father died of a pulmonary embolism when I was in grad school,” he explains.
“My mother was set to retire at the end of the school year, and they were going to go on a two-week cruise to celebrate. But after he died, she was practically comatose. Walking around, going through the motions, but nothing inside.”
“That’s awful.”
He nods. “It took her a year to bounce back. Then, suddenly, she was a completely different person. Talking about how she’d never had an adventure of her own.
Announced that she was going to take that cruise after all, that she was going to learn how to live life on her own terms.” His voice lowers. “And she never came back.”
My breath catches in my chest. “She … died?”
“No, nothing like that,” Jesse says quickly, lending a forgiving laugh to ease the look of horror on my face.
“She decided that she wanted to keep exploring.” The smile melts from his face.
“Apparently, she had always had dreams of traveling the world and never got to live them out while my father was alive. I guess we were all holding her back.”
“Oh, Jesse,” I say. I reach forward, placing a hand on his wrist. “I’m sure that’s not how she felt.”
He shrugs but doesn’t meet my eye. “I’ve only seen her a handful of times in the past few years.
She spent six months backpacking through Europe before settling in India to focus on meditation.
Last year, she met some guy named Viktor at an ashram.
Told us he was her guru, and together, they are ‘traveling the path to enlightenment.’ She didn’t even make it home for Christmas because the two of them were doing a silent retreat in Bali. ”
He keeps his gaze fixed on the fire as he drags a hand through his curls.
“I want her to be happy. I just wish she didn’t need to leave us behind to do it. It’s like I lost both parents back-to-back.”
I squeeze his wrist, encouraging him to go on. But it seems to have the opposite effect. He blinks and the clouds clear from his expression. Then he rolls back his shoulders and sits up straighter.
“It’s getting late,” he says. “I should go home and let my dog out.”
I take my hand back and nod, feeling embarrassed. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, to touch him. Maybe I didn’t read the room.
Maybe this isn’t what I thought at all, and reality truly has settled back in.
“Of course,” I say, slipping into a voice that sounds stable and collected and not at all as uncertain as I feel. “Let me just put the fire out and I’ll walk you to the truck.”