Crazy in Love

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “I’m getting to that part.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans down so his face is an inch from mine. “They’re going to stay the whole weekend, and I’m driving back alone on Friday.”

  It’s not as good as if he were staying home the whole time, but it’s better than nothing. I lean my forehead against his. “Good. Because there’s no way I could wait until Sunday to see you again.”

  “Mary Jane, it’s not just good. It’s perfect!” He wraps me in his arms. “We can finally get some time alone. We need this, babe. We’ll have the whole house to ourselves.” He strokes my hair, and hot chills race through my body. “I want this to be so special, Mary Jane.” He leans down and kisses me. “This is going to be our Thanksgiving. Friday’s our night.”

  We’re almost late going inside, so we split to our own lockers. As I watch him walk away, the voices in my head are screaming:Plain Jane starts out sounding strangely like my mother: Do you realize what that boy has in mind? What he’s planning? Use your brain, girl! Just say no! What about the vow? And the cow who will never be married because it gives its milk for free? Then she segues into her normal, insecure voice: This is what he wanted all along. I guess if you want to keep him, you have to go there. He’s used to Star, who no doubt has plenty of experience in this area. You’re going to disappoint.

  M.J., on the other hand, is busily running through a growing to-do list: You have forty-eight hours to get your hair done, nails done, shave, shop. I’ve always told you underwear should be purchased at Victoria’s Secret, not Wal-Mart.

  Part of me is complaining that everything is moving too fast. But the other part of me, the part that feels like I’ve known Jackson forever, is cheering that it’s about time.

  But am I ready? Ready for it? Things were so simple back when the founding fathers—mothers—formed Abstinence in Action. I think I still believe the things we said when we made our pact. And Red made perfect sense. I know I only get one “first.” I know it would be the best thing if it came on my wedding night, rose petals strewn on the honeymoon bed—this is how I’ve pictured it.

  On the other hand, Alicia’s broken the pact, and her world hasn’t fallen apart. Maybe Jackson isn’t even thinking of that, exactly. Maybe he’s just thinking of the imagined “missing-four-minute” version of that. But that’s close enough.

  We have early release for Thanksgiving, giving us another reason for thanks. Jackson and I stroll to the senior lot, our arms around each other. “Couldn’t we just run away to Ply-mouth Rock or something?” I suggest.

  His arm tightens around my waist. “Just keep thinking about Friday.” He sounds happy and excited. “Just tell me you’re okay with Friday night.”

  I look up at him. He is so amazing. How could I not be okay? “Are you kidding?”

  He lifts me off the ground and spins me around before setting me down slowly. “I love you, Mary Jane.”

  “Me too you.”

  We hold hands as we walk to Fred.

  “Any chance you’ll get back in time for Sandy’s game Friday? ” I ask. “Sandy would love it. And Alicia’s going to be there with her boyfriend.”

  “I’ll try, okay? I’d love to watch Sandy play again. And I don’t think I’ve seen your friend Alicia since she graduated. No guarantees, though. I’ll call your cell when I’m on the way back, okay?”

  We’re standing beside Fred, and I know it’s time to go. “Well . . . ” I say, but I’m fresh out of words. I know it’s only two days, but I can’t imagine forty-eight hours without him.

  Jackson reaches out and touches my cheek. “You’re beautiful, Mary Jane Ettermeyer. You know that? And I can’t wait to have you all to myself. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you.”

  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this beautiful. Even Plain Jane in my head isn’t arguing the point.

  Jackson leans down and kisses me, so deep and so full that every other thought dissolves. “Until Friday,” he says when we come up for air.

  My legs feel wobbly, but I manage to get into my car. I smile through the window at Jackson, amazed that someone like Jackson House would choose me. “Until Friday,” I promise.

  24

  Thanksgiving

  When Fred ad I pull into the drive, I half expect to see Alicia’s VW there, just like old times. But the driveway is empty. I’ve only talked to Alicia once all week, and she was in a hurry for class, but I know her break starts today. I’ve calculated how long it should take her to drive home from the university, and she should be here by now, unless traffic was worse than I thought. I’m bursting to tell her everything. If she doesn’t get here soon, I’ll make her spend the night, and we’ll have a no-holds-barred, tell-all marathon. Colt will have to fend for himself.

  I jog inside. Mom and Sandy are on the couch, watching something that features annoying, squeaky cartoon voices.

  “Hi, guys! Did Alicia call?”

  “No.” Mom looks up from the giant recipe file on her lap. “Do you think you remember Aunt Jill’s recipe for that cranberry-marshmallow salad your dad loves? Because I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “No.” I hang my coat on the one empty hook by the door. “Are you sure Alicia hasn’t called? No messages?”

  “No. Oh, and don’t forget,” Mom reminds me. “You need to make your overnight salad for dinner tomorrow.”

  “I will,” I promise. “I’m going up and call Alicia.”

  I shut the door to my bedroom and dial Alicia’s house. I haven’t dialed it since she left for college, but the number’s tattooed in my brain.

  A man answers. Probably Alicia’s current stepfather. “Yeah?”

  “This is Mary Jane. Is Alicia home?”

  “Just a minute.”

  Several minutes later Alicia’s mother picks up. “Hello?”

  “Hello . . . ” I have momentary brain freeze and can’t remember her newest married name. Then I do. “Hello, Mrs. Wallace. This is Mary Jane.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m getting the feeling she just woke up. “Um . . . is Alicia home yet?”

  “She’s getting in tomorrow,” she answers.

  I’m stunned. “Are you sure? I thought she was coming today.”

  “Tomorrow.” Her tone makes it clear that we’re done debating the point.

  “Well, thanks.” I almost ask her to have Alicia call me when she gets in. But it wouldn’t do any good. In all the years Alicia and I have been friends, her mother successfully relayed exactly one message. And that one came too late to do any good.

  I hang up and dial Alicia’s school number. This doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t she come home today? And why wouldn’t she call me? She had to know I’d be waiting for her.

  “Hello?” She’s answered on the first ring, but she doesn’t sound any wider awake than her mother did.

  “Alicia? How come you’re still there?”

  “I decided three nights in Attila would be about all I could handle.”

  “I was hoping we’d have time to talk tonight.” I know I sound whiny, but I’m so disappointed, I can’t help it.

  No response.

  “Why didn’t you call?” I demand.

  “Sor-ry. I just forgot.”

  I’m moving swiftly through disappointment straight into anger. “You forgot to call? When you knew I was waiting for you?”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow. And Friday. And Saturday.”

  I know she’s probably staying the extra night so she and Colt can do . . . whatever it is they do. And I should be more understanding, especially since I know how she feels now. But the least she could have done was call me.

  “Don’t be mad, Mary Jane,” she says. “I’ll call you when I get in tomorrow. We’ll have lots of time to talk. Okay? It’ll be great.”

  She’s saying the right words now, and I try not to feel like I feel. I don’t want to ruin the little time she does spend here. “You’re right,” I finally agree. �
��It’ll be great to catch up.”

  “So we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” This feels like an exit line to me, and I wonder if Colt’s there with her right now.

  “Okay. See you then, Alicia.”

  “Is Alicia coming over?” Mom asks when I join them downstairs.

  “No. She’s not driving home until tomorrow.” I keep my voice light so she won’t see how bummed I am.

  Dad’s home, too, now and has already gotten the fireplace roaring. He’s standing over a giant bowl in the kitchen, tearing up pieces of bread for stuffing, while Mom and Sandy get boxes out of cupboards. “How’s Alicia doing at school?” Dad asks.

  “Good,” I answer, although what would I know about it?

  “Come on in!” Sandy shouts as if the three of them are in a swimming pool and I’m shivering on deck.

  I wash my hands in the sink and start pulling lettuce, carrots, peppers, and cheese out of the fridge. On the night before Thanksgiving, we each know our appointed duties. I make my veggie and cheese salad that has to sit in the fridge overnight. Sandy stirs water into her bread mix, then dumps it into her bread loaf machine. Dad chops celery and gets the other ingredients ready for his famous Ettermeyer stuffing, which he’ll prepare at dawn. And Mom pretty much does everything else.

  “Who all’s coming tomorrow?” I ask, checking out the twenty-four-pound turkey Mom has thawing in the fridge.

  “Well,” she begins, “there’s us. And Uncle Jim. Grandma and Grandpa Ettermeyer left for Florida too early this year, or they’d be here. It’s not going to be the same without them.”

  “We’re making all this food for five people?” I’m pretty sure we could feed fifty.

  “Ah,” Dad says. “Five of us eat tomorrow, but four of us eat for months.”

  Mom snaps him with the dish towel.

  It’s true, though. We’ll be eating turkey until Christmas anyway. And I really don’t even like the stuff. Dark meat’s too greasy, and white meat’s too dry. I usually fill up on stuffing and potatoes. And Sandy’s bread, of course, because she keeps track.

  At least, keeping busy in the kitchen helps takes my mind off how mad I am at Alicia and how much I miss Jackson.

  When I come downstairs on Thanksgiving morning, I can already smell the turkey in the oven.

  “Marwyjan!” Sandy yells. “Come and see!” She sounds like she’s been up for hours, in spite of the fact that she’s still wearing her purple pajamas. Sandy is sitting on the floor in the living room, using the coffee table as her desk.

  I peer over her shoulder as she presses her hand down on a piece of white construction paper and traces around her fingers. This is the worldwide trick for drawing turkeys on Thanksgiving, but it’s not quite working for Sandy. The turkeys look pretty much like shaky hands, with varying numbers of finger-feathers. And every feather is, of course, purple.

  “Wow! Turkeys! Great idea, Sandy!” I exclaim, picking up one placemat and admiring it.

  “Turkeys for Thanksgiving!” she explains. “One for everybody eating.”

  “Another great idea.” I ruffle her hair and join the kitchen crew, where I peel potatoes until I’m released for my shower.

  Alicia doesn’t call.

  Jackson does. He wishes me Happy Thanksgiving and starts to say something romantic, but his grandmother says she needs the phone, and he has to hang up without saying he loves me.

  But he does.

  Turns out there are six of us, instead of five, for dinner. Uncle Jim bravely brings a date, although he didn’t even bother to tell my mom. Dad is quick to point this out to his little brother as soon as they’re alone in the hall. I take Uncle Jim’s coat, so I get to hear the first of the sibling squabbles of the day.

  “Are you ever going to get married, Jim?” Dad asks.

  Uncle Jim shrugs and winks at me. “Too busy making money. And living the good life.” He spreads out his arms to Sandy and me. “So where are my hugs?”

  Sandy and I hug Uncle Jim. His suit feels like silk. But what I try not to stare at is his head, which is miraculously covered with hair after a decade of hairlessness. I can only imagine the kind of restraint it takes for my dad not to comment on this new addition to his brother’s head. This is not a cheap rug or anything. I’m sure my uncle has purchased the most expensive hair money can buy, plant, or plug. So you might not even notice if you didn’t know Uncle Jim in the before mode.

  I watch as Sandy frowns at Uncle Jim’s head. I’m waiting for her to say something about it, but she doesn’t.

  Uncle Jim’s date joins us when Mom’s through taking her coat.

  “This is Rena, my executive secretary,” Uncle Jim announces as if she’s a gift to us.

  Rena is wearing a silk evening dress that makes Mom, Sandy, and me look like bag ladies by comparison. I try to smile at her without laughing, but it’s not easy. When Alicia’s second stepfather was having an affair with his executive secretary, we used to call her the Ex Secs.

  “Sandy,” I say, leaving before I crack up, “let’s make another placemat.”

  When we’re all seated at the table, where Mom has quickly and discreetly added a sixth place setting, Uncle Jim reaches for the mashed potatoes.

  Mom stops him. “Just a minute, Jim. We haven’t expressed our thanks, and it is Thanksgiving.” She turns to Dad, appointing him Sayer-of-Grace. “Honey?”

  “Can I do it?” Sandy raises her hand like she’s in school.

  “Sure!” Dad exclaims. I think he’s relieved. “You go right ahead, Sandy.”

  I catch a condescending look exchanged between Uncle Jim and his Ex Secs, but they bow their heads like the rest of us.

  “Hi, God,” Sandy begins. Nobody on earth prays like Sandy, although I’ve always imagined everybody in heaven does. My whole life I’ve loved eavesdropping on her chats with God. I used to volunteer to put her to bed at night—no small ritual—just so I could hear her prayers.

  “Aren’t you happy that everybody’s taking today off to tell you thanks for everything?” she continues. “I guess we should do this every day, huh? Because we had food yesterday, too.” Her words become clearer as she prays. “This is good food we’re about to eat, maybe especially the bread. So thanks for making the stuff that goes into all of this food. Like that water and the white powder in my box of bread that makes it bread. And we’re sorry about that turkey who had to die for dinner.”

  I peek around the table. Even the Ex Secs is smiling, and it’s not a making-fun-of smile either. Sandy’s eyes are the only ones wide open, as if she’s talking to somebody sitting at the table with us, instead of somebody you have to close your eyes to see.

  “Thank you for basketball and M&M’s and my pillow and that red bird on the window at breakfast and for breakfast and for Mommy’s kiss on my forehead and Daddy’s hug, the one that isn’t too short or the one that isn’t too tight, and for Uncle Jim having all of his hair back and for his pretty friend having a pretty dress, even though it isn’t purple, and for Marwyjan’s stories where I get to name the horses Apple and Betty and Wally and Goldie and—”

  “Thank you, Sandy,” Mom says. “We all have lots to be thankful for. Amen.”

  Inside my head, the voices have soaked up the Sandy-ness, and they’re telling me I should be as thankful as my sister.M.J.: You should be thankful for this body that’s healthy, with great sexy potential. And thankful for Jackson!

  Plain Jane: You should be very thankful for your parents and your sister and this roof over your head, not to mention all of this food, when people in India are starving.

  But don’t eat too much. You can’t afford to put on weight, especially not before tomorrow night.

  25

  Alicia at Last

  We eat too much and talk too much, especially Uncle Jim. His cell goes off half a dozen times during dinner, and Dad tries to make him turn it off. They get into it a little bit when Uncle Jim tries to give Dad advice on the stock market. Dad comes dangerously close to making fun o
f Uncle Jim’s new hair when he asks if he’s using hair gel these days. But they don’t argue as much as usual, and Mom’s good at changing the subject at just the right time.

  After dinner, Dad and Uncle Jim and Ex Secs watch football games while Mom and Sandy and I wash a million dishes. Ah . . . those Thanksgiving traditions.

  The phone rings.

  I drop the dish I’m wiping, which, luckily, is plastic. “I’ll get it!” I’m not sure if I’m thinking it could be Alicia or Jackson. I’ll take either one, though.

  I pick up the receiver and step out of the kitchen before saying hello.

  “Mary Jane?”

  “Jackson! Come home!” I plead.

  “Wish I could. I’ve got thirty-two relatives here, and they’re all serious Bellevue candidates. Can’t believe I ever swam in the same gene pool as these people. I miss you, babe.” He says this low, sexy, and it makes me tingle, which is a stupid word, but there it is.

  “I miss you, too,” I say, low and sexy, going for the same tingly reaction.

  In the background I hear someone yelling for Jackson to come and eat.

  “I’m going to have to go,” he says. “Are we all set for tomorrow? ”

  “You bet,” I say. I haven’t cleared it yet, but I don’t think there’ll be a problem. Lots of times I go out with friends after Sandy’s games.

  “Well, Happy Thanksgiving,” he says. “I can’t wait to see you, Mary Jane. It’s all that’s keeping me going here.”

  When I hang up, I want to go directly to Alicia’s and talk out everything. I’m dying to call and see if she’s home. But I won’t do it. She said she’d call me. I’ll just have to wait.

  Hours later, when the kitchen’s back in order, the Ex Secs is flipping through magazines, and the menfolk are still watching football, I can’t stand it anymore, and I dial Alicia’s number.

  “Hello?” It’s Alicia, and she’s answered on the first ring.

  “You’re home!” I don’t add, Thanks a lot for letting me know.

  “Oh. Mary Jane.” She actually sounds disappointed. “Hey.”