“Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Good,” he smiled, and I felt a little curl of attraction unfurl somewhere in my chest. He had an amazing smile.
When I saw it stretch a little wider, I realized I was staring and gave myself a mental shake.
“Don’t be getting all attached to me and stuff,” Matt joked.
“I wasn’t. You have something in your teeth and I can’t look away.”
He snapped his lips closed and began poking around with his tongue.
“Is it gone?” he asked, baring his teeth once more.
“Yep,” I said, feeling slightly guilty that there wasn’t anything there in the first place.
“Anyway, the activity tomorrow is sushi. Are you down with that?”
“Sure. I love sushi. Are we meeting at Tuna Town?” I asked, naming a popular downtown spot.
“No, at the church. I guess we’re going to be learning how to make California rolls or something.”
Score! That meant I could potentially cross off number eight: learn to make sushi.
Noticing my happy grin, Matt asked, “You really like sushi, huh?”
“Yum,” I said and left it at that. Dave walked up looking pleased.
“How’d it go, dude?” Matt asked.
Dude is a favorite HB word. Everyone gets called dude. If you see a girl in a cute outfit on Sunday, it’s totally acceptable to call out, “Dude, cute skirt,” and no one thinks twice about it. People use it for everything from saying to their buddy, “Dude! That’s a sweet wave!” to saying, “Dude, nice doilies!” to their grandmother. I hadn’t adjusted to this, even after a month, but hearing it out of Matt’s mouth, it sounded pretty good. Mellow. Full of surferness.
“That chick is cool,” Dave said. I winced. “Just messing with you,” he said. “That’s a cool girl.”
I smiled at him. “She seemed super nice.”
“Totally,” he agreed. “She said I could call her sometime, so it’s all good.”
“Call her?” I asked in confusion. “How are you supposed to call her?”
Now Matt looked confused. “I’m guessing with a phone? That’s how it’s usually done, right?”
“She’s deaf,” Dave explained.
“Oh.” Matt looked even more confused. “How are you going to call her?”
Dave shrugged. “She said there’s this thing called a video relay or something. But I guess I just call her, and someone interprets for her.”
“Whoa, that’s cool,” Matt said. “I wonder how it works.”
“Maybe like Skype?” I suggested.
“It sounds a little bit like Skype except she’s the only one with a screen to look at,” Dave said.
Making sure that Laurel wasn’t looking, I slapped him a five. “Good work, cousin. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Ash. From the Strategy Queen, that means something. I think I have a tear.”
“Strategy Queen, huh?” said Matt. “Tell me more.”
“Ha ha, silly Dave,” I said. “Uh, I need to check with you about something out in the hall. We’ll be right back, Matt.”
He nodded, a skeptical eyebrow raised.
In the hallway, Dave eyed me. “What is wrong with you?”
“With me? What’s wrong with you, making that crack about the Strategy Queen?”
“What are you freaking out about, Smashley? He has no idea what I’m talking about. Until you lost your mind and yanked me out here, he probably thought I was talking about the advice you gave me. Now he’s going to wonder what else is going on.”
I unhinged my jaw to light into him but snapped it shut again when I realized he was right.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Seriously, why did you just freak out?”
I had no idea, except that Matt and I were in a good rhythm where everything felt organic. I almost forgot that I had engineered the whole thing. I worried that if he knew how hard I worked to make sure we “fell” into hanging out, he would see our relationship as being far less casual than I wanted him to. If he thought I had put tons of effort into attracting his attention, versus it being a happy accident, well . . . he might not believe that I really meant no attachments. This could cause him to either back away or hold on tighter. And since I very much liked things with Matt the way they were, the overwhelming urge to wipe out Dave’s comment had temporarily hijacked my brain function.
Deciding that it was too complicated to explain to a cousin who hadn’t yet graduated from Remedial Dating, I offered a different explanation. “It’s possible I have a chemical imbalance caused by too much Cap’n Crunch and my brain went temporarily soggy. That’s normal, right?”
“For you? Probably.”
“So I guess I made an idiot of myself. What do I do now?” I muttered, more to myself.
“I think I can fix this,” Dave said. “Do you trust me?”
“Last time you asked me that you shoved me off my surfboard.”
“So that’s a yes?” he grinned.
“I have to, since I have no good ideas of my own.”
“Cool. Let’s go back in.”
I followed after him, trying not to show any anxiety over what he might say or do next.
“Get yourselves all figured out?” Matt asked when we walked up.
“Yeah. Ashley’s been coaching me on how to talk to Laurel because we thought she was shy, not deaf, and my cuz had some ideas on how to work around the shy thing. Anyway,” he continued, “Smash gave me some great advice on how to get Laurel to talk to me, but she’s afraid you’re going to think she’s all like, manipulative and stuff just because she gave me good ideas for getting Laurel’s attention. She was telling me that it was bad manners to point out her part in it.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent another outburst and forced a smile instead. Sounding like a complete nag probably wouldn’t help my image either, but interrupting and clarifying would only make me look like a control freak. I kept smiling and said nothing.
Matt laughed. “Considering you just laid out the whole guy-years-versus-girl-years thing for me and pulled back the curtain on that big mystery, I don’t think manipulative ever crossed my mind. I’m leaning more toward blunt.” When I winced, he hurried to add, “But I’ll think of a word that sounds nicer. Like forthright?”
I shook my head.
“Frank?” he tried again.
Another shake.
He paused and thought for a minute. “How about direct?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take that one. Direct.”
I could see Dave fighting back a smart remark about my “directness” and decided to remove the temptation. “Hey, look, ping-pong,” I said, pointing him in the right direction. “Why don’t you go show them your sick paddle skills and flex extra hard if Laurel’s looking?”
I barely finished before he was trotting off to wait his turn. The boy never could resist a round of table tennis.
“Do you play?” Matt asked.
“No. I always hit too hard. Darn ping pong ball is lighter than it seems,” I said.
“What about the real deal?” he asked. “Do you ever play regular tennis?”
“In like, middle school PE, I think? By high school I had enough going on with swim team and volleyball to keep me too busy for other sports.”
“Well, it seems like it’s a summer of new stuff for you. You want to try tennis too?”
“Sure.” I had no idea how I’d fit that in around work and the fifty thousand other things I wanted to do for The List, but I nodded, anyway.
“Cool. I haven’t gotten to play much since my parents left on their mission. It used to be a thing with me and my dad.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I’m going to give you the same challenge,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “They’ve been gone six months and I haven’t played much. I’m pretty rusty, and you’re pretty athletic. It might all balance out. You don’t work on Saturday
morning, right?”
“No, not a huge demand for filet mignon at eight a.m.”
“Then how about sushi tomorrow night and tennis on Saturday?”
“Sounds good. Except for the part where I want to surf too. Can we do that this week?”
“Yeah, any day. Name it.”
“I pick Thursday.” I only had a night shift and didn’t have to worry about exhausting myself before lunch.
“I have three students that morning, but if you don’t mind heading out around eleven, then that’ll work.”
We finalized our plans and I realized that Matt had managed to carve out a slice of nearly every one of my days for the week. Or maybe I had managed to carve out slices of his. It was hard to say. But one thing I knew for sure was that doing anything with Matt Gibson was a great way to start the day, and ending it with him was even better. Between morning tennis and evening sushi lessons, I could feel the rest of the week shaping up just right.
Chapter 14
After Matt dropped us off, I shut the door behind him and leaned against it with a happy sigh. Dave walked past me and confined himself to an eye roll, but I didn’t care. Every time he busted my chops, he gave me that much more ammo for when he finally started dating someone. Just one more reason to pull for him and Laurel.
I headed for bed and my laptop to check my messages for any LDS Lookup activity. A handful of interesting guys with psycho-free vibes had sent me messages, which was cool. Somehow, though, I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to answer back. I snuck another peek at BoardRyder, but none of the other profiles did anything for me. I skipped an analysis of Matt’s influence on that decision and wandered onto my sisters’ blogs.
Leila, my oldest sister, had posted a new family picture. The candid shot showed her buried under her four kids with the youngest one, a little redheaded imp named Justin, sitting practically on her head. Her soon-to-be ex-husband Mark was nowhere to be seen.
It was no surprise. She got married the youngest, six months after graduating high school, to the missionary she’d been waiting for since she was sixteen. They had struggled from day one. She stayed home with the kids from the time Jack was a baby, and the pressure of working and finishing school made Mark short-tempered and impatient. Leila, by far the most high-strung Barrett girl, grappled with depression over failed expectations and financial stress. There never seemed to be a break, and a couple of a times a year she showed up back at my parents’ house with the kids in tow, swearing the marriage was over.
Ironically, Leila rode me the hardest about marriage. It was why we didn’t talk much anymore. I think she wanted to live through me, to experience vicariously the romance and marriage that she meant to have instead of the one she settled for.
I closed my laptop. I didn’t want to think about it anymore.
* * *
I figured making sushi at the church called for casual clothing, so when Matt swung by on Wednesday night, I had on denim capris again, a black tee shirt, and a cool chunky silver necklace I picked up at the Orange County swap meet after some haggling. A quick swipe of lip gloss and mascara finished the job. The great thing about a summer tan is how much makeup it eliminates. Bye-bye blush, hello sun-kissed cheeks.
Matt smiled when I opened the door for him. “You look great,” he said.
“Thanks,” I responded, pleased at the compliment. “You too.”
He had a polo shirt on, but it had a funky retro stripe of brown and green running through it, saving it from being too preppy. It fit his vibe—and his shoulders—perfectly.
I caught him up on my rare whole day off and told him about my run-in with some peevish ducks while I explored Central Park.
“Central Park is pretty cool,” Matt said. “Did you do any disc golfing?”
I stopped on the sidewalk leading up to the church’s double doors and stared at him. “Disc golfing? Is that like snipe hunting or watching the submarine races?” I asked.
“I didn’t make it up, I promise,” he said. “The other side of the street across from the library is all part of Central Park, too, and it’s got a really well-known disc golf course.”
“Okay. What’s disc golf?”
“If you don’t know, I’ll just have to show you.”
“In between making sushi, tennis lessons, and surfing?” I joked.
“Yeah.”
“Hey, are you trying to monopolize all my free time?” I half hoped he was.
“That depends,” he hedged. “If I say yes, are you going to freak out because you think I’m getting too attached?”
“Are you getting too attached?” I asked.
“Too attached? No. You’re fun to hang out with.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “I am.”
He laughed.
“Answer the question, though,” I prodded. “Is this a monopoly?”
“On the condition that you don’t freak out, yes. It’s a monopoly.”
I heard someone on the sidewalk behind us and we headed toward the door. Matt held it open for me, and, taking his hand, I dragged him down the hall to the stage steps, then tugged him down to sit beside me.
“I’m okay with that,” I said. “But what would happen if I went on a date with someone else?”
He gave me a long, thoughtful stare. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“Not exactly,” I answered. “I guess this is more for clarification.”
“Geez, Ashley,” he joked. “I take you out surfing a few times and you repay me with a ‘define the relationship’ talk? Worst payback ever.”
I rolled my eyes. “Matt, I really like you. But I’m leaving at the end of the summer to dive into a really intense research program, and it’s not fair to either of us to be heartbroken about that fact. I won’t have the time to give to a relationship when school starts again, and I’m just trying to be honest about that.”
“Relax, Ash,” he said. He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear without thinking about it. “You are exactly what I need right now. I’m aware of your time limits, I’m aware of your commitment restrictions, and you are crystal clear about your boundaries. I’m fine with all of that,” he said.
Deciding to test that, I asked, “Does that mean you don’t care if I date other guys?”
“Nope. Doesn’t bother me,” he said.
I tried not to scowl. Instead, I said, “You keep dating whoever you want to date, too, then.”
“I’ll do that,” he said. I stifled another scowl. “Can I ask one favor?” he continued.
“You can ask. My answer depends on the favor.”
He smiled. “If you’re going to go out with other guys, just don’t do any kissing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to spend the whole summer not kissing anyone?”
“That’s not what I said. I asked you not to kiss anyone else. Just me.”
My stomach flipped. “I haven’t kissed you.”
“Yet,” he said, and I could hear a soft promise in his voice.
Oh, boy.
I felt the sudden impulse to throw myself across him and blubber, “Anything you want, Matt Gibson!” but a tall, gorgeous girl about my age walked up and saved me from myself.
“Hey, Matt,” she said, but she was giving me the laser eye.
“Hey, Lou,” he answered back lazily.
“You have to go do sushi,” she said.
Kinda bossy, dark blonde hair, and a clear, green-eyed gaze. Hmm. “You must be Matt’s sister,” I said. “I’m Ashley.”
“I know who you are,” she answered. Her tone didn’t suggest whether that was a good or a bad thing.
“Allow me to introduce my sister. This is Lou,” Matt said.
She scowled. “It’s Louisa, Mattie.”
“Right. I forget.”
I grinned. It sounded like me with my sisters. Or Dave. Seeing the grin, Louisa unbent just a little.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ashley. Are you ready to learn how to mak
e sushi?”
“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” I said.
“Really?” she responded. “This is convenient, then.”
“Louisa’s the one who put this activity together,” he said. “She’s in charge of the activities committee, which is how I end up at half of these things.”
“Ignore him,” Louisa said. “I make him come to all of them. He’s trying to act like he’s too cool to show up, but he never crosses me.”
“Actually,” Matt interrupted again, “the truth is that for some crazy reason, I kind of like Louisa, so I hang around.”
This time Louisa grinned. “As brothers go, he’s a keeper. Mostly,” she amended.
“Making sushi is such a creative idea, but how on earth did you get the bishop to pay for it?” I asked.
“I didn’t. It’s free. There’s a new sushi place opening up over on Brookhurst, maybe a mile away, and they agreed that doing a demo for their target demographic made good advertising sense.”
“Louisa majored in marketing,” Matt said, and I could hear pride coloring his voice.
“The demo was your idea?” I asked, feeling a measure of respect for her.
“Yeah. Wednesday is the perfect night for something like this because—”
“—it’s really slow for them,” I finished. “Great thinking.”
She cocked her head at me and said, “Thanks.” I got the impression she was reevaluating me.
Matt climbed to his feet and pulled me to mine, not letting go of my hand once I was standing.
I squeezed his back. “Who else is going to ask me out if you’re always holding my hand and stuff?” I asked.
“Are you saying I’m cramping your style?”
“Maybe.”
“Bummer. Good luck figuring that out.” And he hauled me down the hall to the kitchen. I was glad he couldn’t see the cheesy grin on my face. Granted, I truly did not want any attachments, but it felt good to be wanted.
There were already about fifteen people mingling in the kitchen, including an Asian guy in a chef’s smock.
“Bet you a Jamba that guy’s the sushi man,” Matt said.
“That’s a sucker’s bet. I’ll buy you a Jamba, anyway.”
“Matt!” Louisa called from the other side of the kitchen. “I need you to set up chairs.”
The List Page 13