The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  Taking the stick from me, he says, “That doesn’t void my point,” and then heads toward the register while tapping on his phone.

  I follow him. Resting against his back as he pays, I say, “Point taken.”

  The small shake of his shoulders and soft chuckle make me smile.

  When we walk outside, he asks, “Why did we get this again?”

  “Number two on the list.”

  “Right.” Holding hands, we walk toward the curb. “The negative vibes thing.”

  “On the sixth Thursday.” His mom sounds like such a character. I’m sure we’ll get along like a house on fire. I’m sure she’d approve of me bringing him here for the smudge stick—known for eradicating negative energy from places. Just getting creative.

  What I find more fascinating is that she knew her eldest would have negative vibes to eradicate to list it as a task.

  “Are you going to burn this with me?”

  I stop and lift on my toes. Kissing him once, I drop back down, and reply, “Thought you’d never ask.”

  26

  Juni

  Not all superheroes wear capes.

  Sometimes they carry caffeine because you’re dragging after a long night of fantastic sex. After walking a few doors down from New Age Innovations, we find a coffee shop.

  “Was that Chris Evans?” Drew disappears from my side, and I look back to see him stopped like a tourist and staring at a man inside the shop where we just came from.

  I try to follow his gaze, but I don’t see anyone—oh wait! A man walks out with two coffees in his hands. “Oh my God, it’s Chris Pine, right?” Squinting, I try to get a better look. “No, not the Star Trek Chris. He’s the Chris with the famous ass. It is Captain America.”

  “I don’t know about the ass part, but I met him once at a movie premiere.”

  Leaving the guy alone with a bunch of paparazzi following him, I walk back to Drew and point at the ground. “Are you going to pick up that name you dropped or leave it for someone else to try on for size?”

  When he rolls his eyes, I feel like I’ve just been rewarded. Not only do I bring out his humor—sexually speaking—but now he’s rolling his eyes like a champ. I ogle him with pride, and then say, “I knew one day you’d catch on.”

  “Are we talking about superheroes or eyerolls?”

  “Both.” I slip my hand in his and start dragging him toward the subway. “Also, that’s so weird we saw him. I’ve had superheroes on my mind all day.”

  “Oh yeah?” He stops, pulling me to a halt with him.

  Invading his personal space, I say, “And every time they came to mind, I was thinking of you. Come on, we have a train to catch.”

  “I’ll take the compliment, but . . .” he says, keeping me from rushing away. “I have a better idea.”

  “Go on.”

  He comes around and holds me from behind, running his hands over my denim-clad hips. Taking my earlobe between his teeth, he sends a delicious shiver up my spine. “We have a car on demand to take us wherever we want.” He signals to the curb. “I’d already called him.”

  “Dating you definitely has its perks.” We hop into the car, and I see the same driver as last night. “Hi.” The man knows Drew and I had sex, so I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed, but I can’t seem to find any shame, even if the entire planet knew.

  The driver looks in the rearview mirror with eyes that reflect his smile. “Ms. Jacobs. Mr. Christiansen.”

  I lean forward and slip him a piece of paper. Keeping this a surprise took some pre-planning. He nods and says, “Yes, ma’am,” and we’re off to Brooklyn.

  Just over two hours later, we’ve walked the boardwalk and eaten a hot dog. I say, “There are a lot of people here.”

  “It’s Saturday,” he replies like that explains it all.

  Maybe it does. I just feel like I let Gil down by not falling in love with Coney Island. He described it in such a romantic way, harkening back to his childhood and bringing Izzy. It’s great that he has those memories, but I guess it just feels foreign to me.

  Drew says, “New York is this busy all the time. Is there any place in the city where you can find peace?”

  “Are you wanting to be alone with me?”

  His arm comes around my shoulders. “It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend the day.”

  “As charming as that is, have you thought about what this is? What we’re doing?”

  I liked his warmth wrapped around me, but I understand the need to close in a bit. It’s a protective gesture I sometimes take as well. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around. I can’t see his eyes behind his Ray-Bans, but I can feel the heat of his gaze when his eyes return to me. “I’ve thought about it, about us. We should keep things professional at the office. We’ve already established a working relationship. I don’t want undue attention on us.”

  “No one will find out from me. The last thing I want to do is hurt your career.”

  “What about you? I’ve also been thinking about what you want.”

  There’s always a bit of Andrew, even when he’s dressed casually. I slip my hand under the front of his button-up and run my fingertips over his abs. He doesn’t have to tense his muscles. They’re hard as rocks. He gives his body the same attention he gives his work. Both pay off for him. And for me. Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.

  He leads me to a bench where we sit facing the ocean. We’re close, but with our eyes directed ahead, it’s easier to think clearly. “I was kind of playing it by ear. I’m happy to cover the front until Melissa returns. From there, I’m not sure.”

  Reaching over, he slides his hand against mine. “Juni?” When I turn to look at him, he asks, “Do you mind if I ask about your parents?”

  “I’m not sure how talking about a job got redirected, but sure.”

  “I was thinking about something you said a while ago that hinted that you had little say in doing what you wanted when you were young. I’m guessing that had something to do with your parents. Will you tell me about them?” Our fingers fold together, and he brings my hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Anything you’re comfortable sharing.”

  The waves are rougher today, not just choppy but angry. Sometimes, I can relate when it comes to my parents. But he has a right to ask, and he’s giving me all the space to answer. “Honestly, it’s a story I’ve told a million times to the press. I leave out a bunch of details because no one’s usually interested in those. Not when they’re trying to highlight my parents in a story.”

  “I want to hear your side, not the one you tell other people. The one that lives inside you.”

  I look at him, wondering how he always knows how to make me feel so special I lift his sunglasses so I can get a good look at his eyes. He chuckles, probably because people don’t normally do this. I’ve not found a lie hiding in his eyes yet, and today is no exception. Lowering them back down, I turn my attention to the memories I want to share, the facts that are out there, and maybe some of the in-between that ties it all together.

  Sliding my sunglasses to the top of my head, I’m frustrated when they fail to keep the wind from whipping my hair around. I take the elastic from my wrist and twist it around until I have a knot on top.

  He asks, “You said you’ve been interviewed by the press. Were they famous?”

  “They were, but not like the Hollywood celebrities you’re used to. My parents were world-renowned botanists.”

  When he tugs his sunglasses off, he reveals that look of the dots being connected. I’ve witnessed it before many times. No one thinks they know anything about botanists until my parents’ names are mentioned.

  I know what he’s going to say before he says it because I’ve heard it so much in my life. I can quote it. Turning to me, he says, “The plants in the lobby, the dick cactus you gave me, the reason that fake plant in the break room offends you . . . That’s why. Your parents.”

  Well, I didn’t see that coming.

 
; “I have a gift for plants.”

  Nudging with his elbow against mine, he says, “And you’re a plant gifter. See what I did there?”

  “I sure did.” I try not to laugh. There’s literally nothing funny about what he said but seeing him enjoying that bad joke entices me to laugh with him. “And it’s not a dick cactus.”

  “Does it matter what the official name really is?”

  “No.”

  Moving closer, I enjoy touching him and being as close as I can. “Sex does things to you.”

  “Are we talking biology or botany?”

  “No getting sidetracked. Let’s talk about botany, baby.” His arm comes around me again, and we sit like an old married couple on the boardwalk. “Teasing aside, my parents flew to every corner of every continent. They met in college, competing for the same scholarship. My mom didn’t need it. Her parents were well enough off, but she just refused to lose to my dad. I should say they hadn’t met until that point. Then they did, and the rest is history. Botany history, to be exact.”

  “Jacobs.”

  That’s it. That’s all he says.

  A heavier emotion has taken hold of him, and standing, he paces. He stops, mumbles something to me, and then paces again.

  “Are you all right, Drew?”

  “I . . .” He circles the bench and then finally sits on the edge like he’s ready to bolt at any second. “Juni?” His hand is large, his palm eclipsing my knee when he holds me there.

  “Yes?” I rest my hand on his, feeling it adds to the drama.

  Running his other hand over his head, he says, “You know how I mentioned the science fair and my mom?”

  Nodding, I reply, “Mrs. Whipple accusing her of buying your win? Though wine might have rhymed better there.”

  He sits back. “Good memory and probably.”

  “Thanks.” I prop my knee between us on the bench sideways to face him. “It’s hard to forget Mrs. Whipple.”

  “True. I’ve tried many times, but that’s another story.” He’s cute when he’s a bit perplexed. More importantly, why does he seem puzzled?

  “If that story is being left for another day, then what’s this story?”

  He says, “Jacobs.” I sit up a little straighter, hearing my name. “Juni Jacobs.”

  “Okay, yeah?”

  I’m used to seeing this kind of intensity in his eyes when he’s at work, but out of the office, it makes me wonder if I need to be concerned. “Your parents were Daisy and Chris Jacobs?”

  “Daisy and Chris Jacobs.”

  Though we say it at the same time, neither of us claims victory with a jinx. I nod again like I’m in on his revelation.

  He says, “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why would I kid about my parents?”

  “Juni, my science fair submission that year was how sap and water move through the Tracheids at different speeds.”

  “That’s my parents’ theory, the one my mom started in college when she beat my dad in that competition. It was also the subject of their first published paper together, their first grant, and the reason they made their first trip to the Amazon. That was the basis of their relationship.” He doesn’t answer the question I’m sure I buried in there, so I’m more direct, and ask, “Using my parents’ theorem, you won the science fair?”

  “Water moves quicker, though the sap is to a plant like blood is to us. Jacobs’ Tracheid Theorem.”

  They had other, and far greater, discoveries during their careers, but that one put them on the map. “They never had to beg for grant money again until a bioscience periodical did an article about them. It said they cared more about the fame than the planet they preached to want to save.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “They’d drop everything, including me, to go on a research trip. Obsession comes in more forms than the obvious. To most, they’re just plants. To my parents, they were an insight into another universe. They believed plants could be utilized to save civilization. Not in a nutty way, but if specific plants could be packaged in a certain way, there was potential for them to be replanted on another planet. We could have farms on Mars or fields of wheat on the moon. It was longshot stuff that included a lot of chemistry in reorganizing the plant cells to maintain the benefits of their genus while being able to adapt to the different environments in outer space.”

  “Those are lofty goals. They sound like geniuses.”

  I release a heavy breath from my chest, surprised I remember so much. It’s taken up so much space in my life that, like the breath did, it feels good to release it. “The space station currently houses twenty varieties of plants packaged based on my parents’ research. I wish they could see their goals brought to fruition.”

  He pulls me into a hug and rubs my back. “They were ahead of their time.”

  I nod against his shoulder, not sure why I’m tearing up. I’m usually much better at handling my emotions. When I look up, he cups my cheeks and gently runs the pads of his thumbs under my eyes. “My parents were supposed to be at my competition the day they died.” When I struggle to hold his gaze, I drop my head to his shoulder. He places several kisses on my head. “They promised. They’d missed almost all the others, but this one was for state. The winner would get a $20,000 grant and a full-ride scholarship to any New York public university. The prize I wanted to win even more was the chance to study in the Amazon with the great Jacobs that summer.”

  Leaning back, his hands still hold my face, but confusion now fills his. “You entered to win a chance to spend time with your parents?”

  “I did.” I laugh humorlessly. “It was a two-month study program. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be there. I’d be in New York missing them like always. So I took their research and dived deeper to discover that the veins in certain genus can expand to allow the sap to flow better. They contract when water is sensed. How crazy is that?”

  “It is amazing.” It’s not like he’d feel pride or anything, but he sure is looking at me like he does when tenderness shapes his expression. “You’re amazing.” Confusion still enters his eyes right after, but I get it. This isn’t usually a topic discussed at the dinner table. He asks, “What happened?”

  “They came to me just before midnight the night before the event to tell me they’d gotten a call. They didn’t have to say more after that. I knew how it would play out. It was the same every time. They were gone before I woke up in the morning. My grandmother came and picked me up from the Brooklyn house and drove me to the competition like she had done every other time when I wasn’t living with her.”

  I sense his discomfort in the way he shifts and glances at the ocean. It’s never easy for me to share, but he has me wanting to make him feel better. The truth. That’s what I owe him, so he’ll understand more of what he’s dealing with when it comes to me. But then he lifts me and holds me on his lap, his arms secure around me, and asks, “Are you okay? You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

  Why is the option to shut down so appealing? With Gil in my head, pushing me forward, and Drew wriggling his way into my heart, I say, “It was my turn. I stepped into the spotlight on the stage, ready to present my findings, but that’s when I heard a sudden murmuring rush through the audience. A few gasps. I heard them and tried to figure out what was going on.

  That’s when my best friend, my boyfriend, who was competing there that day, came out and whispered in my ear.” Digging into my hip he holds me closer. I say, “Your parents . . . the Amazon . . . the plane . . .”

  Turning to find the comfort I desperately need from him, tears roll down my cheeks, and I push myself to continue, “They couldn’t get to the crash site for five days. For five days, I waited to have confirmed what I already felt inside.” For those five days I was numb. I cried and felt so lost. Alone. Betrayal didn’t come until later. That was all on Karl. Because as the murmurs had quieted and I’d been led from the hall, he presented my paper as if it was his own.
Claimed it as his own.

  This time, I don’t hide my eyes. This time, I find the peace I need in the soulful warmth of his admiring browns. “I’m sorry, Juni.”

  My tears dry as a little water glistens in his. And somehow, a little piece of my soul begins to heal. I’m not sure why or how, but solace is found in sharing my story with someone after all these years. Maybe because for the first time, there isn’t the withdrawal of the microphone or phone, saying the information wanted was gained. Maybe because this time, there is someone to hold me while I grieve.

  27

  Drew

  The day’s been busier than I expected, but with Juni, I always crave more time. Her honesty, the raw emotions, and her trust were placed in my hands when she opened up about her parents.

  She’s made me an insider. That’s a role I don’t take lightly.

  After sex, well, duh, and a short nap, I’m woken up by my phone buzzing across the nightstand. Nick. I’m tempted to let it go to voicemail, but he usually just texts. So the fact he’s calling has me curious as to what’s going on.

  Grabbing the phone, I slip out of bed and go into the bathroom so I don’t wake Juni. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Did you forget? You forgot. Fuck, Andrew, I promised Natalie.”

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like shit with my hair in disarray and my unshaven face. Great, I silently grumble. I’m turning into a New Yorker. “Slow down. What did I forget?”

  “Dinner at my house. I told you about it weeks ago.”

  “That’s on the twenty—oh fuck.”

  “Yeah, the twenty-fourth, also known as today. You better get dressed and get over here, but I’m not letting you back out even if I have to come drag you over here myself.”

  Peering back at Juni sleeping, I keep my voice low, and ask, “What time is dinner?”

  “You have an hour. I can stall for another thirty minutes, but after that, Natalie will lose it if her meal is served cold.”

  “You still have me down for a plus-one?”