The List

by Melanie Jacobson

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Juliana chided, whisking it out of her grasp. She shoved a small bowl of green beans toward her youngest daughter and cautioned, “Eat your veggies and don’t throw any more nuggets or you don’t get to play with Aunt Smash when everyone else is done.”

  Sadie obediently popped a bean in her mouth and chewed. “I play,” she said proudly, then opened her jaw to display the last traces of bean bits.

  “It’s a start.” Grady laughed.

  Juliana shook her head and stood, grabbing up her empty plate. When she reached for mine too, Grady hopped up and waved her away. “I’ll get it. You girls go visit while I finish up dinner with the kids.”

  “Thanks,” she said, then dropped a kiss on his cheek and gestured for me to follow her out to the back porch swing.

  Even though there was more than a week until the fall time change, the days were getting shorter and dusk blanketed their small backyard. A brightly painted jungle gym and an assortment of plastic toys interrupted the smooth expanse of lawn. Beyond her children’s belongings, the yard lacked any distinct personality. I bet if I could see through the vinyl fencing to her neighbors’ yards, I would see the same cookie-cutter rectangle of fresh sod and newly poured concrete.

  My sister leaned back in the swing, lazily pushing against the deck to set us in motion. “I can’t wait until spring when I get to put in some flower beds,” she said.

  “Won’t the kids tear them up?” I asked.

  “Maybe. But if they do, it’ll probably be because they’re trying to make me a bouquet. Besides, threats against their lives work pretty well.”

  “And if threats don’t work?”

  “Then I cut them off from Nickelodeon. That’s a sure bet.”

  I laughed. “I can’t believe how big they’ve gotten. It’s not like I don’t see them all the time.”

  She slid a sideways glance at me. “You haven’t been here since school started. That’s a long time to grow at their age.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

  “Yes.” She nudged me. “Is it working?”

  “Yes.” We shared a smile and drifted some more.

  “Why haven’t you been around?” Juliana asked after a few quiet minutes passed.

  I shrugged. “Busy with school, I guess.”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “No.” I dropped my head back against the swing. “I got sick of hearing about Matt. You’re as bad as Leila and Mom,” I grumbled.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But Aunt Trudy was so upset when you took off early like that, and Celia said it was because of Matt. We thought finally someone had beaten your list. It was an exciting moment for us. I guess I know better than to think anyone can be talked in or out of love,” she said.

  “Who said anything about love?”

  “You didn’t have to,” she smiled. “That’s the only thing that could make you run like that.”

  I gaped at her, trying to figure out when I had become so transparent, when the patio door flew open and Trent and Ty tumbled out. Both of them raced for me, clamoring to be lifted up. I laughed and hauled Ty into my lap, burying my nose in his neck and inhaling his sweet, little boy smell. He patted my cheek a couple of times and then wiggled his way down, racing after his twin brother, who had changed course for the jungle gym.

  “You’re happy,” I said.

  “Right now? Sure,” Juliana replied, slightly nonplussed.

  “No. You’re happy all the time. You have food flying across the dinner table every night, children bouncing and crawling all over you the second you quit moving, a house barely big enough to fit all of you, and you’re happy.”

  Juliana stopped the swing. “I’ve always been happy. Even when we were squished into a two-bedroom apartment and I had to feed us all on sixty dollars a week. It’s nice that we can afford our own home, even if it’s small, but I’m not happier here than I was two years ago while we were saving up. I just don’t worry about disturbing any downstairs neighbors anymore.” She flashed another grin as Trent let out a Tarzan yell. “That alone is worth a mortgage.”

  “Leila isn’t happy,” I said. “She’s stressed all the time.”

  It was Juliana’s turn to shrug. “That’s Leila. She takes after Mom. She’s so concerned about being the perfect wife and mother that she forgets to live in the moment.”

  “She shouldn’t have gotten married so young,” I said.

  “It’s none of our business when she got married,” Juliana said. “And I hate to judge, but I don’t think she dated enough before picking a husband. To tell you the truth, though I don’t think it would have mattered when she got married. She’s a stress case, regardless of circumstance. I’m telling you, she’s just like Mom.”

  “You’re not,” I said.

  “Sure I am, sometimes. But I pace myself so I only get wound up for really big crises.”

  I thought about that, about how the chaos in each of my sisters’ lives affected them so differently.

  “You’re more like me, you know,” she said after a while. “You handle your business and move on.”

  “I guess.”

  “I know. And here’s something else I know. If you’d gotten married when you were twenty like I did, you would have been fine too. Maybe your life would have been a little more hectic, but you would have been happy.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Why are you really here tonight?” she asked. “It’s not for my world-famous potato and cornflake casserole.”

  I grimaced. “Honestly? I thought it would remind me why I don’t want to get married right now.”

  “And? Did it?”

  I glanced out at the yard where her two adorable boys gamboled and played, now pirating boats on the imaginary high seas. Children’s laughter floated over the fence from another yard, and the sound of Grady singing a silly song to Sadie while he washed the dishes drifted out of the kitchen window.

  I turned back to Juliana.

  “No. This is really nice, and it stinks.”

  She laughed. “You’re looking at everything with slightly new eyes, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Matt goggles?” she guessed.

  I spared another grimace, this one laced with real pain.

  “What’s the problem?” she prodded. “Is he demanding that you abandon The List for him?”

  I shook my head. “No. In fact, he went out of his way to help me cross off as many things as he could this summer. I only just figured that out.”

  “He sounds as good as Aunt Trudy made him out to be. And if he loves you, then I don’t need to know anything else about his judgment.”

  I blushed.

  “Ashley?” She leaned forward to study my face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Uh, he does. Love me. At least, he did on Saturday night. Maybe he doesn’t now, though.”

  Her eyebrow crept up. “Why not?”

  “Because he said, ‘I love you,’ and I sort of ran away. Again.”

  “Ah.” She tickled the back of my hand. “Did you slap him and yell, ‘I hate you!’ before you took off?”

  “I didn’t say anything, really. Just something lame about not being able to handle it, and then I left.”

  “And why can’t you handle it?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you confront anything you couldn’t handle.”

  “This feels different,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it matters,” I whispered, tearing up. “I think I screwed up, Juli. Big time.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I swallowed and nodded. “I think it’s too late, though. I’ve communicated to him every way I know how that stupid stuff like learning to play the guitar is more important than him, and I walked out on him when he said he loved me. How do I make up for that?” I asked, miserable.

  “What about your master’s?” she asked. “Is he more important than that?”

 
; I nodded. “Yes, but it won’t come to that. He’d never want me to give that up.”

  “What if you got married and had kids?” She cocked her head and watched me with a small smile, her foot moving the swing gently. “What happens to your master’s, then?”

  “You’re getting yours,” I said.

  “Yeah, I am.” She grinned.

  “So that was kind of a bogus excuse, I guess.”

  “Good guess.”

  “Matt doesn’t have a very big ego,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve shredded it. And I have no idea how to make it better.”

  “You can start with ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “It doesn’t seem like enough,” I said. “You didn’t see his face when I walked out on him. After everything I’ve put him through, I can’t waltz back in with just a ‘sorry.’”

  “I think you’re underestimating him. Again,” she said and silenced my protest with a pointed look. “But let’s say you’re right. You screwed up big, you need a big gesture to fix it. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. But for the first time, I felt the absence of fear weighing me down, a weight I realized I’d been carrying since August when I walked away from Matt and towed the fear after me.

  “Think big,” Juliana ordered me. “I have a feeling he’s worth it.”

  Chapter 29

  I was about to decorate the newly asphalted parking lot in front of The Board Shack with my Cap’n Crunch from breakfast. I pressed a hand against my stomach but my insides still bucked and twisted. I couldn’t believe no one had stopped to demand what was wrong with me, but despite the throng surging around the portable stage in the parking lot, no one seemed to notice me standing off to the side with a death grip on my plastic water bottle.

  I watched the band setting up, my nerves winding tighter and tighter with each squeal of the amplifiers from their sound check. The front doors of the store whooshed open, and Matt stepped out and over the giant red ribbon in front of him. I dove behind a tall speaker before he could see me. I peeked around the edge and saw him talking to Kenny, the lead singer of Picture This, a popular local band that Louisa had booked for the opening. I knew that because when I contacted the band after seeing their name plastered all over the grand opening fliers, Kenny told me.

  “. . . ready . . . check is done . . .” Kenny’s words drifted back to me. My stomach flipped again. Matt nodded and gestured for Louisa, then jumped down from the stage. She bounded up wearing a fitted purple tee shirt with the store logo across the chest.

  “What’s up, Provo!” she called into the mike, earning appreciative catcalls from the single guys scoring free hot dogs at the nearby barbecue stand.

  “Thanks for coming out on this gorgeous Saturday morning! We are so stoked to open our very first Utah location of The Board Shack! Without further ado, co-owner Matt Gibson will cut the ribbon so you can officially shop our awesome board collection!”

  I peeked farther around the speaker to catch a glimpse of Matt looking pleased and a little self-conscious as he snipped the ceremonial ribbon with a pair of oversized scissors. Customers streamed through the doors while he shook hands and chatted with different people who stopped to congratulate him. Louisa replaced the microphone then nodded at Kenny, who hollered, “1-2-3-4!” and dove into a hard-driving Rolling Stones cover with the band.

  I felt my chest squeezing tight, sure I was about to pass out from a lack of oxygen. My heart was pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the thumping bass of the kick drum. All too soon, the final notes of the song wound down and Kenny gestured for me to come up.

  I climbed on stage, not daring to look out at the crowd, which had erupted into good-natured applause at the song’s conclusion.

  “You ready?” he asked, away from the mike.

  I nodded.

  He looked concerned. “Are you sure?”

  I mustered a shaky smile and nodded again.

  “Thank you, guys!” he shouted. “We love the Provo crowd!”

  They sent up their own approving cheer.

  “I know a lot of you have heard us play before, but we’ve got a little surprise for our fans today,” he said. “You know we like to keep it interesting, so we’ve got a guest joining us for a special solo. Give it up for Ashley Barrett!”

  More friendly applause greeted me as I took the microphone, and the crowd suddenly parted to admit Louisa to the front, where she stared at me, her jaw hanging down. I offered her a nervous smile, and then the music started.

  “Does he love me, I want to know,” I began, my voice wobbling all over the place. I saw a few people shifting uncomfortably at the front of the crowd, but I barreled through it. “How can I tell if he loves me so?” More shifting. I closed my eyes and belted out the lyrics, hoping Matt was still outside so he could hear me, or that Louisa would go get him. By the time I reached the chorus, I gave it everything I could, every ounce of my untrained, pitchy voice pouring into the lyrics. “If you want to know if he loves you so, it’s in his kiss!” I sang, horribly off-key. I pried my eyes open while the band sang the backup part, their enthusiastic singing the only reason the whole crowd hadn’t dispersed, I was sure. And there, next to Louisa, stood Matt, looking even more stunned than his sister.

  “What are you doing?” he mouthed when he caught my eye.

  I smiled weakly and started in on the next verse, gamely plowing through it with all the talent of Britney Spears without Auto-Tune, but this time I kept my eyes on him, drawing courage from the smile playing around the corner of his lips.

  “If you want to know if Matt loves you so, it’s in his kiss!” I hollered into the mike, and then waved to the band to stop.

  A wave of muttering from the audience reflected their total confusion about why someone had just butchered two verses of a well-liked classic.

  “Hi, everyone!” I shouted nervously into the microphone. “I know you’re probably trying to figure out if this is for real or not”—I stopped to let a ripple of laughter pass—“but I promise this is as real as it gets. You guys don’t know Matt Gibson yet, the co-owner of this board shop, but I do, and I need to tell you about him.”

  I risked a glance at him. His expression gave away nothing while he waited for what came next, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Matt’s the best guy I’ve ever known. He’s smart and hardworking, and he knows what’s real, what’s important. I’m not that smart, so it’s taken a while to see what he was trying to show me,” I said. “Matt?”

  He returned my gaze.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been so stubborn and I’m so afraid it’s going to cost me what I want more than anything I ever wanted on The List. Do you still have it?” I asked, praying that he had rescued it after I ran out on him.

  He slipped his wallet from his pocket and walked to the edge of the stage. He pulled the worn paper out and handed it to me.

  “This stupid thing has been the most important thing in my life for the last six years,” I said. “I’ve planned my entire life around it. My work, my school, everything.”

  I tucked the microphone under my arm and began ripping it into tiny shreds. He watched as I threw the pieces into the air and they rained down in a cheerful confetti shower. Bringing the mike to my mouth again, I took a deep breath before I blurted out my next words in a nervous rush. “I don’t want The List anymore. I want you.” The catcalls sounded from the hot dog cart again, and I felt my face burning.

  “What I meant to say is . . . I love you, Matt Gibson. Do you forgive me?”

  He stared up at me, his expression still unreadable. The catcalls died out and the audience craned their necks to see if he was about to let me fall flat on my face. He vaulted himself up onto the stage. I smiled, trying hard not to let the edges of my mouth wobble as he stopped an arm’s length away. He reached over and tugged the microphone from my hands, then switched off the sound and folded his arms.

  “What are you doing, Ashley?” he as
ked, his even voice revealing nothing.

  “Trying to make things right,” I said.

  “By making a fool of yourself with karaoke? I heard you swear on a restaurant full of customers that you’d never do that again.” I could hear a trace of amusement in his voice.

  Encouraged, I took a small step toward him. “It’s for a good cause,” I said with a tremulous smile. “I was an idiot when I ran out on you the first time and an even bigger idiot when I did it again last week.” Aware of the onlookers craning to hear the conversation, I dropped my voice. “I know I’ve made this all harder than it needed to be, and you deserve someone with way less hang-ups, but . . .”

  “But what?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  “But I fell for you. And I just keep falling. I didn’t even know I was looking for you until I found you, but now that I have, I don’t want to lose you. I’m so sorry for being so confused. Can you forgive me?”

  A teenage girl on the front row heaved a happy sigh, but I kept my eyes glued to Matt’s, searching for absolution and a reason to hope.

  He studied me for several excruciating moments before pulling the mike out and flipping it on again. “What were those lyrics?” he called over his shoulder to Kenny.

  “If she wants to know, it’s in your kiss, dude.”

  A huge smile broke over his face as he grabbed me and placed his lips on mine in the most dizzying kiss he’d delivered yet.

  “Well?” he asked, when he let me up for air.

  “I’m not sure,” I finally mumbled. “You better do that again.”

  And with the cheers of the crowd behind us, he did.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Melanie Bennett Jacobson is an avid reader, amateur cook, and champion shopper. She consumes astonishing amounts of chocolate, chick flicks, and romance novels. After meeting her own husband on the Internet, she is now living happily married in Southern California with her growing family and a series of half-finished craft projects. Melanie loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at writestuff.jacobson@gmail.com or found through her home page at www.