Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

  "And you?" she asked, barely making eye contact with me. Every other glance flipped back to Jonathan to see if he was looking at her, but he was obliviously watching me, waiting for me to decide.

  "I'll have the rib eye, medium-rare," I ordered, closing my menu and handing it to her.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, reading me so easily.

  "You attract a lot of attention, huh?" I stated honestly.

  Jonathan grinned abashedly.

  "Sorry," I floundered. "That was internal dialogue that should have stayed inside of my head."

  "You're funny." He chuckled.

  "Unfortunately," I groaned.

  "They recognize me from the ads," he admitted averting his gaze. He was visibly uncomfortable as he took a sip from his glass.

  "Ads?"

  "I did a shoot for jeans when I was in college, to earn some money for school."

  "Oh," I reacted. "You think the reason just about every girl in this restaurant is staring at you is because they saw you in a magazine ad, like what, five or six years ago?"

  Jonathan looked up at me with an embarrassed grin.

  "Wow, I did it again, didn't I? I can't seem to keep from saying the most―"

  "Honest," he interrupted. "You're being honest. It's pretty funny, really."

  "I'm an idiot," I admitted, sinking in my chair. "How's that for honesty?"

  Jonathan laughed again. I was definitely giving him plenty to laugh at.

  "Okay," he said, trying to sound serious. "We're supposed to be getting to know each other. Tell me something about you."

  I stared at him blankly, like he'd just asked me to recite the capitals of every country in the world.

  "Okay," he soothed. "Play any sports?"

  My shoulders eased up and I nodded. “Yeah, I’m playing basketball right now.”

  “Are you any good?”

  I released a breathy laugh. “I’m decent.”

  “You’re better than decent,” he challenged.

  “Why would you say that?” I questioned, my cheeks peaking in color.

  “You laughed, so you’re not comfortable talking about yourself, meaning you’re probably really good.”

  I shrugged, my cheeks igniting as I adjusted my position in the chair. His ability to read me like a book was a bit disarming.

  “Okay, let’s put it this way. What would the papers say about you?”

  “Umm… I guess they’d say that I’m the co-captain and point guard of the first place team in our division. That I average twenty points a game and was All-American last season.”

  “That’s impressive,” he admired with a slow nod. I shrugged sheepishly.

  “What about you? Did you play any sports?” I was pretty certain I already knew the answer.

  The server arrived, placing our plates in front of us.

  "Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked Jonathan.

  "Emma, do you need anything?" He purposely diverted her attention to me.

  "No, I'm fine," I answered, trying to keep from smiling. She walked away with her shoulders slumped.

  "What were we talking about?"

  "What sports you played," I reminded him.

  “I played football.”

  I nodded, pretty much predicting it based on his thick neck and broad muscular build.

  "Don't nod like that," he shot back, "like you knew I was going to say that."

  "Well, come on," I rebutted, "look at you." He rolled his eyes. "Fine.” I continued, “What would the papers say about you?”

  “The papers wouldn’t mention me at all; I spent most of my time on the bench.”

  I laughed. “Really?”

  "You don't have to laugh," he feigned offense. "I was second string receiver. I just wasn't as good as the starter." He paused before blurting, "Okay, fine, I sucked. I couldn't hold on to the ball to save my life."

  I laughed again.

  “But I swam. Still do when I can.”

  “Would the papers mention that?”

  “I guess they would,” he admitted modestly. “I swam on the team at Penn State. It helped pay for my tuition.”

  “So you were really good, huh?” I noted, impressed.

  He shrugged with one shoulder.

  "Wait, I thought modeling helped with your tuition?" I grinned.

  "Yeah, that was a onetime thing, and it really didn't pay that much."

  I nodded, taunting him with a smirk on my face.

  "Shouldn't have told you that, huh?"

  "Sorry," I laughed. "I just think it's funny that you're immune―"

  "Hi," my mother greeted excitedly before I could finish. Jonathan stood up to greet her with a hug and kiss―which made me suddenly interested in the food on my plate. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was dating, and I wasn't quite ready to handle seeing it. I knew I needed to get over it... fast. Especially when she sat down with us and kept a hold of his hand throughout dessert, dominating the conversation in her nervous rush.

  I watched as Jonathan hung on to her every word, every so often calming her enough so she actually sounded coherent.

  It was evident that she was enthralled with him and he really cared for her. By the time we were ready to leave, I was... okay. She was happy. And that was all that mattered.

  I pulled out my phone to check the time. "Um, I have to go," I said, interrupting my mother's story about the time she accidentally uploaded a YouTube video of singing cats for a presentation. "Thank you for dinner."

  "What do you mean?" she questioned, sounding slightly disappointed.

  "Evan's supposed to be meeting me at the house in twenty minutes."

  "Do you want to come back to the house?" she asked Jonathan, completely taking me by surprise.

  "Sure," Jonathan responded, signing the check.

  Hellooo?! What's he like? was waiting on my phone when I entered the car.

  He's nice, was all I texted back to Sara before driving home.

  Evan was waiting for me when I pulled into the driveway.

  "Sorry," I grimaced, as I hurried up the walkway.

  "I just got here," Evan assured me.

  I unlocked the door as my mother and Jonathan pulled in behind me.

  "How was it?" Evan asked before they entered the house.

  "Okay," I responded with a shrug. Evan eyed me curiously, knowing how nervous I had been about the dinner. "He's nice," I opted, providing him with my canned response.

  "Evan," my mother greeted happily. "How are you?"

  "Great. Thanks," Evan replied, hanging up his jacket. He paused for a moment with the hanger in his hand when Jonathan walked in. Then he took my jacket from me and hung it as well.

  “Jonathan, this is Evan,” my mother introduced. Jonathan held out his hand with a broad smile.

  “Nice to meet you.” Evan shook his hand in return.

  “You too,” Jonathan responded. There was a strange silence while we all just stood there in the foyer looking at each other.

  “We’re going upstairs to study,” I finally announced, taking Evan by the hand.

  “That's him, huh?" Evan said, closing the door behind us.

  "Yup," I said, sitting down on the bed. "That's him."

  "Not who I was expecting," he stated.

  "Who were you expecting?" I countered, surprised by the contemplative look in his eyes.

  "I don't know," he said dismissively, sitting next to me on the bed. He leaned down and was about to kiss me when we were interrupted by a knock at my door.

  “Hi,” Sara burst in. Then she narrowed her eyes at our frozen posture and rolled them with an impatient breath. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “No,” I replied quickly, struck by her annoyed tone. I slid up the bed to sit against the wall, distancing myself from Evan. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to see the guy. Your text was pathetic,” she accused. “Holy hotness. He is beautiful. I mean truly beu-ti-ful. Like t
he kind of beautiful they build statues to worship.”

  Evan looked at her in amusement. I shook my head with a roll of my eyes.

  “How old is he, like twenty?”

  “No,” I replied like she was insane. “He’s twenty-eight.”

  “Well, nicely done, Rachel,” Sara stated enviously. "And just think, you'll get to see him like every day."

  I widened my eyes, silently begging her to shut her mouth. Evan’s troubled looked returned. Obviously, he did not share Sara's enthusiasm.

  9. Just Not Right

  "I'm not sure what I'm doing." My mother stared out the window while leaning against the counter.

  I waited, but she didn't continue. So I prodded. "About what?"

  "Jonathan."

  I waited again, but she wouldn't say anything else. So I prodded a little more. "What about Jonathan?"

  And that opened the flood gates. She spun around and spewed, "I'm not sure I'm ready for this. I haven't really dated a guy in a very long time. What if he doesn't really like me? What if he's too perfect for me? Look at him. He's so gorgeous; I have no idea what he's doing with me. I notice how the girls look at him. They're probably wondering the same thing. I don't think I can do this. I can't do this. Forget it, I'm ending it."

  I stared at her, stunned, wondering if she'd taken a single breath during that whole explosive monologue.

  "Wait," I said, shaking my head to decipher her dizzying words. "Did you just convince yourself to break things off with him in ten seconds flat?"

  She sighed in defeat.

  "First of all, do what feels right. If you're not ready, then you're not ready. But don't end things because you think he's too good for you," I scoffed. "Besides, he doesn't give another girl a second glance when he's with you. It was obvious last night. He's into you. So give him a chance if you want to, because you like him. And don't walk away because you're afraid to find out how much you may like him."

  She exhaled audibly. "Thank you. I can't believe I'm getting relationship advice from my seventeen year-old daughter." She laughed. I couldn't believe I'd just given my mother a pep talk on dating―apparently I'd taken a page from Sara's book of straightforwardness.

  "Okay, so I'm going to do this." She was convincing herself more than me. "Do you think it would be okay if he spent the night some time?"

  "Uh, sure," I stumbled, wondering how we'd gone from whether she should date him to when she was going to sleep with him.

  "That wouldn't be too weird, right? I can make sure he leaves before you get up."

  "It's okay," I answered slowly. Apparently she had no idea I’d already gone through this weirdness more than I cared to remember.

  The next night, Jonathan was over watching a movie with my mother when I arrived home from Sara's. I didn't stop on my way up the stairs, not wanting to interrupt them.

  "Hey, Emma," Jonathan acknowledged, despite my best effort to be invisible.

  "Uh, hi," I returned, not looking back.

  I stayed in my room for the night, reading. Without consciously meaning to, I'd find myself listening for the front door, indicating Jonathan had left. But I never heard it before I dozed off.

  “Is she okay?”

  I froze at the sound of Jonathan's voice. Clamping my hand over my heaving breaths as I sat upright in my bed. I remained still. He sounded close, like he was right outside my door. My eyes flickered in the dark, waiting to see if he’d actually come in.

  “She does that,” my mother explained apologetically. “Just come back to bed, okay? She'll be all right.” There were a few seconds of silence, and then his footsteps trailed off toward her room. I heard the distinct click of her door, and collapsed in my bed, feeling terrible that I'd woken them up. Which transitioned into an alarmed recognition that he had stayed the night.

  I stared at the ceiling waiting for the sun to make its appearance, listening to the wind screech against my windows and finally succumbing to the realization that sleep had evaded me once again. I pulled the covers up to my chin, wishing I were in California, not stuck in this never ending winter and this ice box called a house.

  I finally threw the covers off, resigned to start the day, despite the lack of sun. I slid on a pair of socks and rifled through my drawers, pulling out clothes for the day before dragging my feet toward the bathroom. I paused outside my door when I noticed the kitchen light was on, creating a soft glow in the dark foyer. The coffee maker gurgled, and the robust aroma drifted up the stairs.

  Jonathan emerged from the kitchen with his hair wet and brushed back, creating smooth dark waves. He was dressed in a shirt and tie. His professional attire made him appear older. This mature look made me grin. He looked so... grown up in a GQ sort of way. Jonathan stopped abruptly when he spotted me, startled.

  “Sorry,” I said. My cheeks flushed with color at being caught watching him.

  He held his finger to his mouth and pointed to my mother’s door. “She’s still sleeping.” I nodded in understanding. “Did I wake you?”

  “No,” I whispered in return.

  He continued to the closet to remove his jacket and set the strap of his computer bag over his shoulder. He raised his hand in a wave before slipping out the front door. I watched him leave without a word, finding my hand still frozen in the air long after the front door had closed and his truck could be heard starting up. Why am I still standing here? I thought as I shook out of my daze and continued to the bathroom to shower and prepare for the day.

  “Rachel’s here,” Sara informed me as I was getting ready to run out on the court for our night game. “Oh, and we’re going to a party tonight after the game.”

  I watched her walk into the gym, waving to somebody with an exaggerated smile, mouthing, “Hi.” I stared after her in shock. What kind of bomb was that to drop right before a game with our school’s rival?!

  I could hear my mother screaming my name as I dribbled the ball down the court. I blocked her and the rest of the chanting crowd out as I called the plays to put my teammates in motion. I let the movement on the court keep me focused.

  I passed the ball to Jill outside the key along the baseline. She dribbled in toward the net and popped it back to me. Another teammate set up a pick to allow me to dribble down the paint and lay it in. The bleachers erupted, but all I could hear was a buzz of voices.

  Weslyn walked away with a three point win, thanks to Jill’s aggressive rebounding and unshakable accuracy on the free throw line. I held my own, contributing double digit points and multiple assists. I was relieved to walk away with the win.

  I grabbed my things from the bench and heard “Emily!” among the crowd of faces. I turned to spot my mother walking toward me, and nearly fell over when I spotted Jonathan a few steps behind her.

  “Hi,” she greeted with a smile. “So glad we came to this game. It was intense.”

  I smiled awkwardly, my face fiery as I looked everywhere but at him.

  "Nice game," Jonathan congratulated, moving in closer to my mother.

  "Thanks," I replied, my pulse racing. I had no idea why I was so nervous to see him. It wasn't like I'd never met him before.

  “I was hoping you were going to score more so Jonathan could see your outside shots, especially the three-pointers.”

  “The defense was tough,” I returned with a shrug. “But thanks for coming.”

  “Are you coming home?”

  “Umm, I guess Sara wants to go to a party or something.” I wiped the sweat off my chin using my shoulder, scanning the gym for Sara and Evan. But I knew they’d be in the lobby like they usually were after my games, nowhere around to rescue me from the awkwardness.

  “Have fun,” she replied. “See you later then?”

  “Yeah.” I glanced up to catch his eye as he nodded with a smile. My mother took his hand and blended in with the remaining fans exiting the gym.

  “Who was that?”

  I turned to find Jill and Casey standing behind me, practically drooling
.

  “My mother,” I responded casually, knowing exactly who they meant. That's when it occurred to me why I'd been so uncomfortable. Every girl in the school was ogling over him as he and my mother made their way out of the gym. It was kinda pathetic.

  “And he’s her boyfriend?” Jill asked, still gawking after his perfectly placed hair.

  “I guess,” I mumbled, shaking my head as they practically melted in front of me. I grabbed my warm ups and stranded them by the bench, staring.

  “And why did you tell Evan he couldn’t hang out with us at the party?” I asked when we pulled out of the school parking lot.

  “I need girl time,” Sara explained briefly. “And besides, does he always have to hang out with us?”

  “We’re going to a party,” I pointed out bluntly. “If you want girl time then we should do something else. And no, he does not always have to hang out with us, and he doesn’t. Did he do something wrong? What's going on with you? You've been acting kinda strange lately.”

  "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," she sighed impatiently. Her perpetual bad mood was so very confusing, and far from resembling my best friend―it was freaking me out. And what, if anything, did it have to do with Evan?

  We walked in the side door between the house and the garage. Bass boomed from the basement; laughter and hollering could be heard further down the hall. This house was modest compared to some of the monstrosities in Weslyn. We were considered on “the other side of town,” closer to where I used to live.

  We ventured toward the laughter to find a group sitting around the kitchen table with cards in their hands and red cups in front of them, demanding one another to drink for various absurd reasons. There were others crammed into the small kitchen, either leaning against the Formica counters or passing through to get to the keg.

  Sara made her way to the back porch where the keg rested in a trash can filled with snow.

  “Can you stay over tonight?” she asked before taking a cup from the stack.

  “Sure,” I replied with a shrug, hugging myself with a shiver. I texted my mother as we walked back through the kitchen, then followed Sara down the shag carpeted stairs to the basement. I stopped at the bottom when I saw Evan playing pool to the right and hesitated long enough to wave and apologize with a grimace as I continued after Sara in the other direction. We walked into a small, wood paneled space with a beat up couch covered in multi-colored afghans and a console television pushed into a hollowed out fireplace.