The List

by Melanie Jacobson

  “No! I mean, not that your jokes aren’t great and all. But I want to say something kind of serious here. Can I do that without scaring you into hiding?”

  I sighed. “For the next three minutes, I promise that nothing you say will scare me into hiding. Talk fast.”

  He laughed. “It’s no big deal. I wanted to tell you that one thing I appreciate about you is your honesty. I think it’s cool that you’re so straight up about stuff, and you just deal with it.”

  “That’s almost right,” I said. “It depends on the situation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t always deal with things, and that’s not so honest. I mean, I definitely tell the truth, but I might not always deal with it.” I sighed again. “I think I’m going around in circles here. I mean to say that I’m a huge fraidycat about some stuff, so if forced to, I might say my piece and run away.”

  “Tell-it-like-it-is-Ashley? Really? I can’t imagine that.”

  “Then you still have things to learn,” I said. “I remember when I was in third grade I liked this boy named Chuck.”

  “Chuck? Who names their kid that?”

  “Old people? I don’t know. Can I finish my story?”

  “Please.”

  “So I liked this kid, and I told my friend Annie about it, which turned out to be a bad idea because she started spreading it around the class. By lunchtime I felt like everyone was talking about me and I couldn’t stand it, so I walked up to Chuck to have it out with him.”

  “Why Chuck?” He sounded downright indignant on long-ago Chuck’s behalf. “Shouldn’t you have had it out with Annie? She sounds like trouble.”

  “I was madder at Chuck because I liked him than I was at Annie for telling him.”

  “You’re messed up,” he said.

  “I’ve never denied it,” I retorted. “Anyway, I grabbed my chocolate milk, walked over to him in front of his friends, and told him that it was true that I liked him but that I wasn’t going to be his girlfriend so he better not ask. Then I said, ‘I hope I didn’t make you feel bad, but here’s my chocolate milk just in case.’ And I handed it to him and walked off.”

  “Wow,” Matt said. “You do not mess around. Does this mean you’re about to offer me your chocolate milk?”

  “No.” Although if I were smart, I’d shove the metaphorical milk at him and hurry away. “I’m just making my point that I try to tell the truth, but sometimes I do it hit-and-run style.”

  “So this commitment issue you have goes all the way back to third grade? Poor Chuck. What did he do wrong?”

  “Nothing. I told you, I liked him. But I didn’t want to have to hang out with him at recess, so that’s why I didn’t want to be his girlfriend.”

  He laughed. “Being his girlfriend meant you had to play with him at recess? At my school, a girlfriend in third grade meant that you said you liked each other and then you never talked to each other again.”

  “At my school, it meant that you had to stand around and watch your boyfriend play with his friends and show off for you. I just wanted to jump rope.”

  “Are we using ironic air quotes around the words boyfriend and girlfriend in this conversation?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Just making sure I wasn’t the only one.”

  “It’s not like I’d ever know the difference. I mean, can you see this?” And I held the phone in front of me while I made a grotesque face.

  “That looks weird,” Matt said.

  “Hey!” I yelped. “You don’t even know what I was doing!”

  “Sure I do, and it was mean. Does this mean my three minutes are officially over?”

  I couldn’t help it. I cracked up. When the giggling subsided, I tried to remember the original thread of the conversation. “Thanks, by the way,” I said. “For the compliment about the honesty, I mean.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Am I supposed to think of a compliment for you now?”

  “Nah. Don’t let social conventions dictate your behavior. You haven’t so far.”

  “Too bad. I’m going to think of one, anyway. Let’s see . . .” I pretended to think, then snapped my fingers. “Matt Gibson, you’re good at surfing.”

  “I tell you that I admire your honesty and straightforwardness, and I get that I’m good at surfing?”

  I grinned and rolled onto my stomach. “I meant to say that you’re very good at surfing.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “And next week you get to do it again, huh?”

  “Yeah. I can’t wait.” He sounded happy.

  “I’m starting to feel that way myself,” I confessed. “I never thought I’d get past the ‘hate’ part of the love-hate relationship with my surfboard, but I think I’m there.”

  “You’re going to have to show me your progress,” he said.

  “Of course, Sensei.”

  There was a short pause before he spoke again. “Are you going to hang out with me out of the water too?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I countered, genuinely surprised by the question.

  “Just making sure. It’s a pretty fair question considering how often you’ve ducked my phone calls.”

  “I haven’t been ducking them! I told you what my schedule is like.”

  “Okay, honest girl. You’re saying every time you haven’t returned one of my calls, it’s been work related?”

  I sighed. “No.”

  “Then what? Did one of the guys who’s always sniffing around you on Sunday finally melt your stone-cold heart?” he teased.

  “Louisa is a tattletale, and no, my heart is still in deep freeze.”

  “Meaning you haven’t gone out with anyone while I’ve been gone?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  He was quiet for a minute. “I’m going to be honest here and tell you that I’m a little bummed that wasn’t an unqualified ‘no.’”

  “I haven’t been on any dates or anything,” I said. “I’ve just been chatting with that guy online, but . . . he kind of feels more like a friend.”

  “I can live with that,” he said. “I haven’t been out with anyone either, in case you wondered.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Ashley?”

  “I’m here. I’m torn between honesty and self-preservation.” I hesitated again. “I guess I have to say that I’m glad to hear that.”

  “You all right?” he asked. “You didn’t break anything, did you? You know, like your stone-cold heart?”

  “It’s maybe chipped.”

  “Ah, progress. Does that mean if I ask you for a third time why you’ve been ducking my calls, you’ll finally answer?”

  I pulled my pillow over my head. “I would if I knew the answer.”

  “Did you not want to talk to me?”

  “No, I really did,” I said. “That’s probably why I didn’t answer.”

  Matt let that sit for a moment. “I’m guessing it’s because you wanted to keep a distance, no attachments?”

  “Pretty much.” There was no point in denying something I’d said many times already.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you this, and maybe I should have, but why are attachments such a big deal to you? I mean, I get that you’re going back to school and you want to focus on that and all, but beyond that, I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Isn’t that enough?” I said. “I feel like I have a whole bunch of things that I want to accomplish, and I can’t get them done if I’m tied down to a relationship.”

  “Like what? What do you want to do that you can’t do with a boyfriend in tow?”

  I jumped on his word choice. “See, just think about that word. Tow. It means having someone tied to me that I have to drag around.”

  “Forget the word, then. Is it really so bad to have a sidekick on some of these adventures? Name one thing that would interfere with,” he challenged me.

  “Uh, how about Internet
dating? I want to try that, and I bet a boyfriend would vote no. That’s why I’m a dictatorship of one with no one to answer to.”

  “Maybe if you had a boyfriend, you wouldn’t want to try it anymore. Why is it a big deal to change your mind about it?”

  “You’re talking like I’m a regular girl, Matt. I’m not. I’m hardheaded and stubborn. I get ideas in my head and I want things to go a certain way and I have a hard time changing gears.”

  “But why? That’s what I keep trying to understand. Why is it a big deal to change your mind?”

  What might have felt like a cross-examination from anyone else didn’t from Matt. I got the impression he pressed for answers not out of nosiness but a sincere desire to figure me out. Something in me shifted and softened, and I gathered myself to answer instead of run. Totally unprecedented.

  “I grew up poor, Matt. My parents married really young. My dad was barely off his mission and had no schooling yet. My mom had one year of college before marrying my dad, and it wasn’t enough to really learn a skill. She got pregnant with my sister Leila almost right away. They struggled. By the time Juliana came along two years later, my dad couldn’t keep going to school and still support his family. So he quit and went to work selling vacuums so my mom could stay home with my sisters. Paying for childcare would have eaten up any paycheck she earned.” I stopped and drew a breath. I had no idea where all this was coming from. I’d never explained it to anyone before.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “This is coming out far heavier than I intended it to.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said, his voice soft. “Did everything eventually work out for them? Are your parents happy?”

  “They are now,” I said. “They’ll never be rich, but eventually my dad worked his way up the ladder at a restaurant supply company and now things are good. I came along when they’d been married for six years, but I still remember it being tough when I was a kid. My younger brother does too. We lived in perpetual hand-me-downs and thrift-store clothes. That was no big deal, but we also had to rely on the Church for food to make it through some lean months, and we had a no-frills childhood. There was no money for lessons or sports teams or classes unless we earned it.”

  “Do you feel like you’re making up for lost time now, going after all these adventures?”

  “A little, I guess. But it’s more than that. I’ve always thought that if my parents would have waited a little longer, been more qualified for the job market, things would have been different.”

  “Meaning more money for things?”

  I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s not really about the money. It’s about the struggle. It’s about all the stress and worry and my father’s constant sense of failure that was this little black rain cloud over everything. Leila ran out and did the exact same thing. She got married way too young, and they’re still struggling. I think this time she’s actually going to carry out her threat to divorce my brother-in-law.”

  “What about your other sister?”

  “Juliana?”

  “You said she married young too, right? Did the same thing happen?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “They started their family right away too, but Juliana handled the stress a little better than Leila. It still took her forever to finish her own teaching degree, though. She works part-time as an independent study teacher for online high school classes, and her husband finished his MBA. She’s working on her master’s when she gets a chance, but it’s going extremely slow. They’re doing all right now, I guess.”

  “I’m glad it went okay for at least someone,” Matt said, his tone wry.

  “I probably sound like a jerk, like my sole focus is on having fun and making money.”

  “I don’t think that,” he said quietly.

  “I couldn’t blame you if you did.” I hesitated before wading into even deeper waters. “Look, I just don’t want to live a life of insecurity and regret. I want to know that I can help support a family financially and that I never see my husband or kids as holding me back. I want to be happy with them, not always thinking about what might have been.”

  “Let’s bird walk all the way back to the beginning of this conversation,” he said. “I asked you why you’re so afraid of attachments. I still don’t see the answer.”

  “What do you mean? I just explained the whole thing to you!”

  “Not really. You told me you want to have financial security and a lot of fun before you settle down. How does a boyfriend interfere with that? Isn’t it possible to be in a relationship with someone who wants the same things you do?”

  “Sure, but relationships can lead to marriage, especially when you’re Mormon. I feel like I don’t want to waste anyone’s time with more than a few casual dates when they’re probably trying to find their future wife. That’s not me,” I said. “Not yet. So I stick to having fun.”

  “Like we have,” he said, but he didn’t add anything else. I tried to divine his mood from the silence, another downfall of phone calls instead of face time. Nearly a minute ticked by, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Are you mad?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered slowly. “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “About how you go a lot deeper than I thought.”

  “You’re saying you thought I was shallow?” I joked.

  He laughed. “No. Maybe a little. Not in a bad way.”

  “Uh, what’s the good way to be shallow?”

  “I am so not explaining this right,” he said.

  “Try a surf analogy,” I suggested.

  “There has never been the remotest similarity between girls and surfing,” he said.

  “Oh, come on. Not even something like the sea is temperamental and so are women?”

  “Nope. I’m not going there.”

  “I don’t buy it,” I said. “The ocean is a metaphor for everything. There’s gotta be something.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I think the ocean and women both demand respect.”

  I snorted. “Because they will chew you up and spit you out if they don’t get it?”

  He groaned. “See, this is why I didn’t want to play.”

  “I’m teasing.”

  “No,” he corrected. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “From what? You being all broody and not saying anything?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t brooding. I was thinking about what you said. I think you make more sense to me now.”

  “Are you saying I’m on your mind a lot?” I kind of hoped he’d say yes.

  He didn’t take the bait. “It’s kind of hard to avoid thinking about you when I’m on the phone with you.”

  “Good, because if you confessed to deep feelings I’d have to hang up or something.”

  “I figured,” he said. “I’m going to quit while I’m ahead because I’m afraid of getting your chocolate milk.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Recess with you is pretty fun.”

  “I’m blushing.”

  “Shut up.”

  He laughed. “I better go, Ashley. I’ll try to call again before I get back into town, but I’m going to be pushing really hard for the next few days to get stuff done so I can leave. My schedule may get even crazier than usual. But I’ll definitely call you when I get back.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. But I lied. How ironic that just as I felt ready to let Matt in more, work would drag him away. He took my best excuse for avoiding him and flipped it on me.

  I didn’t like it one bit.

  Chapter 21

  I sat very, very still. No change. I closed my eyes and tried to meditate. Still nothing. Maybe it took longer than thirty seconds to work. I closed my eyes again and tried to keep my mind blank for another minute, doing some deep breathing.

  The fluttering in my stomach only accelerated, and I growled.

  “Seriously, stop it,” Celia complained. “I can hear you over my iP
od.”

  “I’m trying to stop. They won’t go away.”

  “What won’t?”

  “These stomach cramps.”

  “There’s medicine for that.”

  “These are the medicine-proof kind.” My cell phone buzzed, and I strangled a yelp.

  Celia sat all the way up and yanked her earbuds out. “What is going on with you?”

  I picked up my cell phone and pulled up the text that had set it buzzing, then squeaked.

  Celia grabbed it from my hand and read it aloud. “‘I’m back, and I’m coming to get you.’ What the heck? Who is this from? No wonder you’re freaked out.”

  I snatched the phone back and cleared my throat. “I’m not freaked out. That was actually Matt.”

  Celia hooted. “You better get dressed, scaredy-cat. You’ve got fifteen minutes, tops, before he shows up.”

  I sauntered toward the closet. “I’m only going to get dressed because that’s what I was going to do, anyway.”

  “Don’t act like you aren’t stoked he’s coming over here.”

  “I would, but then you and Dave will blow it all out of proportion,” I said.

  “I swear I won’t. Who wouldn’t be excited to see a friend who’s been gone for a month? Go ahead, let it out.”

  Refusing to be baited, I reached into our closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a thin yellow cardigan with a vintage flower appliqué winding around one side. I ran a brush through my hair, fluffed my curls, and applied a quick swipe of mascara and a soft peach lip gloss. Even after hunting down my white flip-flops I still had at least ten minutes before Matt showed up, assuming he left his place right after texting me.

  I sat back on my bed but after another knowing smirk from Celia, I bounced up and headed for the kitchen. Finding something to eat would keep me busy.

  Digging through the fridge, I stole Dave’s idea and started an omelet. I had some onions caramelizing nicely in melted butter when the doorbell rang and I dropped a piece of shell in the eggs I was cracking. Scowling, I left it for the moment and headed to the door, waving away Celia, who had tried to beat me to it. I kept my hand on the knob, waiting for her to go back to our room while I collected myself.

  Matt was here. After the longest month ever, he was standing on my doorstep. After countless text messages and a few phone conversations that made me feel all squishy inside, I only had to open the door to see him again. I spared an extra second for the memory of the last time I saw him and the most excellent kiss he’d laid on me, then flung the door open.