6 #3
J.J. guffaws. “That sounds like your dad.” She gives me a sad smile. “That’s just the sort of naively optimistic thing he would say.”
After my performance, Pepper insists we visit Lady Whimple, and that’s when I realize Jack has never met my favorite oak tree. So we get ribbons and markers and write our wishes for the season, while Pepper tells the story of how we saved Lady Whimple from being cut down last summer.
“I can just see you climbing that tree,” Jack says fondly. “That’s my girl.”
“We climbed it too,” adds Pepper.
“Even Brandon?” Jack asks with surprise.
“Even Brandon,” Brandon shoots back. I’m going to need to talk with him.
Outwardly, he is the picture of politeness.
But somehow, he seems to be mocking Jack—mainly with the faces he makes whenever Jack speaks.
I couldn’t even look at Brandon when Jack went on and on in great detail about the ins and outs of sailing the Panama canal.
Yes, maybe Jack’s story dragged on a bit.
But we all have done our own share of oversharing.
Except Brandon. I don’t think he’s overshared a day in his life. He should give it a try.
I don’t know what to put on my ribbon. I usually write true love.
But I can’t write that with Jack right next to me.
He certainly thinks he’s my true love—and he probably is, right?
So maybe that would be a waste of a wish.
I also really want that job in Redwood City, but that also feels like a sure thing.
What do I want? I gaze up into the many ribbons fluttering in the live oak tree.
I wish I knew what Brandon wrote. I saw Jack’s wish. He wrote: fun.
I suppose I want to know what I want. Clarity. Yes, I need clarity. I write the word on my ribbon, then climb the tree. Just as I secure my ribbon to a branch, the sun breaks through the clouds, and it feels like a sign. Clarity. Yep, that’s exactly what I need.
***
“Will those two be staying all summer?” Jack asks after we say goodbye to Brandon and Pepper a little after 10 p.m.
“I already told you that they’re my really good friends.”
“But not that good of friends.”
“It’s healthy for men and women to have platonic relationships,” I tell Jack.
“I would hate to be in a platonic relationship with you. I’d hate it if I couldn’t do this.” He plants kisses on my neck and then turns me so we’re facing one another. “And if I couldn’t do this,” he says, pressing his lips to mine.
“With you, I’m glad it’s not platonic,” I explain.
“But with Brandon, it’s different. That’s how he wants it.
” At least I think that’s how he wants it.
It’s not easy. His words replay in my head at the most inopportune moments.
Could Brandon want more from me? I wish I knew.
But it doesn’t matter. Brandon hasn’t so much as asked me out, and Jack is right here declaring his undying love for me.
“Is he the reason you won’t say you love me?” He playfully kisses the tip of my nose.
“No—that’s laughable.”
“Good.” Jack strokes my hair. “I can’t have my gorgeous siren swimming away from me.”
“Siren, huh?”
“I heard you singing on that rock, and everything clicked into place. I knew I’d found my bright star.”
“It is a pretty good meet cute,” I concede.
“We’ll tell our kids and our grandkids that we met under a blue moon,” Jack says. “In the moonlight, you were the most stunning creature I’d ever seen.” He bends down to kiss me again and . . . .
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!” Jack screams in my ear as he leaps to his feet. He’s standing on the couch, his beautiful face contorted in a look of pure terror. I still don’t understand why he’s screaming.
“Spider!” A black fuzzy tarantula about the size of my hand slowly makes its way across the floor.
We’ve seen more tarantulas lately. Some of their homes must have been disturbed when the small cottages were torn down.
I’m not fond of them, but they are totally harmless.
I’m plenty dramatic myself, but I don’t know if a tarantula merits Jack’s blood curdling scream—my ears are ringing.
“It’s just a tarantula,” I say, hoping to calm him down, though I’m also a bit creeped out.
“Just a tarantula? That thing is as big as my head!”
“And harmless. Here . . .” I pick up a sailing magazine on the coffee table and slide the paper under our unwanted visitor. “I’m going to take it outside.”
“Don’t leave it anywhere near my place,” Jack calls after me. I cross the street and deposit the fuzzy spider on the steep slope below. In the darkness, all I can see of the ocean is the white lacy fringe of the surf far, far below.
A screen door creaks open. I wheel around just in time to see two braids flying in through the front entrance of Brandon and Pepper’s cottage.
The door slams shut and soon a light turns on in the upstairs window.
That evil little genius. Does Brandon even know that Pepper snuck out?
He’s probably busy swiping right. My bare feet slap on the wooden steps of his front porch as I run to the front door and knock.