by Joelle Duff
“So, what you’re saying is that I need to sleep around a lot and buy myself a car?” I asked, only half serious.
“Maybe,” Josephine said, laughing. Maybe not. I think you need to find your own way to deal with it. Just don’t hold it inside.”
“But why not?” I asked. “Lord knows I’m good at holding it in.”
“It may be true that you’re good at it, but that doesn’t mean that it’s good for you.”
I laughed. “When did you become so wise Josephine? I think I remember you once saying that Grandma Jean had white hair because she ate cottage cheese with every meal. Wow, how times have changed,” I said.
“Excuse me, but I believe I was eleven when I said that. My brother wasn’t nearly as nice to me as James was to you. Thomas also told me that if I picked my nose my brain would fall out and that the characters in TV shows lived inside the television,” Josephine said defensively.
It was true. I remembered the long summer days when my siblings and I, along with all of our nine cousins, would play in the tree house behind our grandmother’s house, telling each other ridiculous stories to see who was the most gullible.
“But in all seriousness,” Josephine said, interrupting my thoughts. “Everything will be fine. All that matters is that you’re happy. If you’re parents and my parents can’t see that, then they don’t matter.”
I smiled. “Thanks Josephine. I needed that.”
“Of course,” Josephine said, smiling back. “And look at it this way: at least you’ll never be the least favorite in the family.”
“Why would you say that?” I asked, confused.
“Because at least Jackson has a penis.”
Chapter 7
Jackson picked me up at exactly ten to seven that night, only two days after he found me in the kitchen. I dressed simply, wearing the same red lipstick and eyeliner that I always did, but let my hair down in curls. My new dress was light blue, with polka dots and a modest halter top with a sweetheart neckline. It was funky and slightly retro looking, perfect for the summer weather we had.
“Hello Jackson,” I said as I opened the door.
“Um, hi Mellie,” he said, slightly awkwardly. I almost giggled like a schoolgirl at his greeting, but I managed to keep my composure. “These are for you.” He held out a bouquet of poppies, the flowers each a shade of bright, cherry red. A simple sheet of brown paper wrapped the two dozen stems, holding the bouquet together. “They reminded me of you.”
I looked at him curiously for a moment before accepting the gift. Red was my favorite color, sure, but I didn’t remember ever telling him. “Thank you,” I said, taking the flowers from him outstretched hand.
“They’re the same color as the lipstick you always wear. It’s beautiful on you, but I can’t help but admit you’re beautiful without it too.”
My eyes widened. Nobody ever saw me without my lipstick, but then I remembered Thursday. My lipstick could last a lot, but that make out session was far too hot and heavy for even the toughest lip stain.
“Oh,” I said. I was unnerved, but tried not to let it show. “Please, come in while I put them in water.” I held the door open for him.
He followed me into the apartment, and stayed in the living room while I went into the kitchen to get a vase. I loved my little loft, but the thought of having Jackson Traver standing in my modest studio apartment made me a little self-conscious.
Once I’d put the poppies in a vase, I brought them into the living room and placed them on the glass table next to the couch. “Thank you again,” I said, as I adjusted the stems into a better arrangement. “They really are beautiful.”
“Like I said, they reminded me of you.”
I didn’t look up from what I was doing; I couldn’t look up, not when I felt like my heart was about to beat out of my best. I knew that a flush had crept up my neck, and I felt my cheeks get hot.
“Let me just grab my bag and we can go,” I said. I left him again in the living room so I could get my purse from next to my bed.
He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, only requested that I’d bring a sweater with me. Eventually, I just let myself relax in the plush, comfortable front seat of his black BMW.
“So, tell me about yourself Mellie,” he said, as I watched the ocean pass us by. We were on PCH, and I felt silly all of the sudden that I still hadn’t made it to the beach.
“What do you want to know?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly the most interesting person in the world.
He turned at me, and smiled. And I’m pretty sure I whimpered in my seat.
“Everything.”
Well then.
“Um,” I said, still staring out at the ocean in front of us and to the left. “My full name is Melanie Rose Devlin, my parents are Lydia and Thomas Devlin, and I have two sisters and a brother. There’s not much more to me than that.”
“What do you mean there’s not much more to you than that. Your parents and family don’t define you. You are your own person, with your own wants and fears, passions and desires. Those are the things I want to know about.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I was far too afraid that he could see right through me. But if he could, he didn’t say anything. Just watched me from the corner of his eye as I tried to become invisible in his front seat.
“So, Melanie Rose Devlin. Mellie Rose. I like it,” he said, his concentration back on the road. I’d never had anybody call me that before, but I liked it. I liked the way that it rolled off his tongue, the way he made it sound like the sweetest name in the world.
I risked a quick peek in his direction, and saw him staring at me, again.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the car ride.
I thought we would stop near the beach, since we’d been driving next to it for almost an hour, but instead he turned right, into Malibu Canyon.
“I’ve never been to Malibu,” I said, really only to myself.
“I’m not surprised. I remember you telling me you didn’t get out much.”
I laughed, and felt at ease once again. It was strange how he had the power to do that. “You’re correct. This is a little bit further than I can walk, I’ll admit.”
“I know you said you hadn’t been to beach yet either, so I’ll be sure to take you there sometime too. We aren’t exactly going to the Malibu that everybody thinks of.”
I looked at him quizzically, but he just smiled. He drove for a few more miles, before turning left onto a winding street, where cars lined up in a makeshift parking lot on the side. He passed them all, and pulled into a dirt lot, where we got out and let the valet park the car.
“Where are we?” I asked, still confused.
“You’ll see.”
He took my hand while leading me through a arch and into what looked like a park. It was fenced off by a wood railing, and lit by hanging lanterns overhead. Dozens of people sat on blankets and at picnic tables, with bottles of wine and food spread all over.
“I hope you like old movies,” he said, leading me through the crowd. Nobody seemed to notice him, they were all too busy with one another, talking and drinking wine.
“I do,” I said, finally noticing the white screen in front of everyone. “What are we watching tonight?”
“Casablanca, I think. One of my favorites.”
I paused, mid-step, and turned to look at him, surprised. “I haven’t seen that movie since I was high school.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here tonight then.”
He led me to an empty blanket on the ground, away from the crowd but still near the screen. Sitting on top were two additional blankets, a bottle of wine with two glasses, and a white paper bag.
It was almost too much for me. I didn’t get to date when I was back home, and I’d been perfectly content going to dinner at chain restaurants and drinking commercial wine with Collin. I don’t think he put half as much thought into either of their dates than Jackson had put into this single one. If he did it himself
, at least. I knew there was a significant possibility that someone other than he had planned all of this, but it was sweet. And a week before, sweet was the last thing I was looking for.
“I hope you’re hungry, and I hope you’re okay with In-N-Out. It’s my favorite,” he said, guiding me down to the blanket. He spread one of the other blankets over my lap, and poured us both a glass of wine before opening the bag. “I didn’t know what you like, so I got a few different things.” He held out three different burgers, one of which was just a grilled cheese sandwich. I chose the cheeseburger, and we shared an order of fries. It was a meal I’d never had before, and even I had to admit it was something special.
The movie started not long after we finished our food. He stood up to throw away our trash, and when he returned to the blanket, he sat a little closer to me than he had before. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t too cold outside, and I still had a sweater and blanket to keep me warm, but being close to him gave me exactly what I needed to be perfectly comfortable and warm. It wasn’t until almost an hour into the movie that he moved the final inch so that he could place his arm around my back.
I thought it would be uncomfortable, being so close to him. Thursday had been so spontaneous that I hadn’t really had a chance to think about it much when it was happening. But now, everything was premeditated, calculated, like he knew exactly what he was going to do long before he did it.
It was anything and everything but uncomfortable. It felt natural, easy, surprisingly safe. So natural that I leaned my head on his shoulder without even thinking about it.
My eyelids started to droop, but I felt Jackson’s lips at my ear before I could fall asleep. “You look really beautiful tonight, Mellie Rose.”
I turned my head to face him, but kept my cheek against his shoulder. He was looking down at me, the expression in his eyes unreadable. And then, so slowly I didn’t know if I was dreaming it, he leaned down and pressed his lips against my forehead.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, lifting his other hand from behind him so he could brush away a piece of hair that had slipped into my eyes.
I sighed. “I’m thinking how perfect tonight is.” I could almost feel his grin against my hair, as he placed a light kiss on top of my head. I just sighed, and snuggled even farther into his arms.
Chapter 8
There were few things in life that made me nervous, though I was finding myself increasingly flustered recently by Jackson’s presence alone. But singing in church was a piece a cake, and I could take a test without breaking a sweat. Even the abandoned house at the end of my street growing up, the one that most of the boys on the block ran away from in fear, didn’t faze me.
When I did get nervous, though, it showed. There was the lip biting and fidgeting and the hair twirling. But pacing was something that I saved for truly rare occasions.
It was a rare occasion that June afternoon, when I started wearing down the already threadbare rug next to my bed as I paced back and forth, staring at the phone in my hand. Josephine had practically shoved it in my hand, and forced me to go upstairs. I wasn’t allowed to go back to work until I made the call. Every time I mustered the courage to press the green button, I ended up pressing the red one instead. I wished I could talk to Josephine or Darcy instead, but they all refused to talk to me until I called my mother.
It wasn’t like something bad happened. In fact, the good news should have made my mom relieved at my decision to move to California, but I was realistic. I knew exactly how the conversation would go. And so, when I finally did push that talk button, after almost an hour of procrastination, I was prepared for exactly what did happen.
“Hello Melanie,” my mother answered after only two rings. There was no hint of emotion in the voice that came through the phone. It was flat and deflated, almost professional. This was no surprise to me. Lydia Devlin rarely showed any type of emotion to anyone, even if their relationship was a good one.
“Hi mom,” I said, sitting down on the bed. I held the phone cautiously, and with my finger over the red button, positioning it so I could end the call easily and quickly, if need be.
Silence.
“I’ve missed you mom. How are things?” My voice cracked when I said it. I hadn’t realized how true it was until I actually said the words out loud.
“We are all very well, thank you for asking. Anne says you are doing fine as well.” Anne was my sister-in-law, and the one person who actually still talked to me. But even she refused to talk to me until I called my mother.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t what my mother wanted to hear. “That’s actually the reason I called. I got a really good write up in the LA Times, and I wanted to tell you. I was hoping I could send you a copy.”
“Congratulations,” she said, her voice still void of any true sentiment.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing that she really wasn’t interested in the details. It didn’t matter that the write up had actually been a very big deal. A very, very big deal. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about too.”
“Yes?”
“Well,” I began nervously, my voice shaking slightly, “my birthday is coming up, and I was wondering if I could bring you and dad out to celebrate.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was almost unbearable, and though I thought I had prepared myself for anything, the actual words that came from my mother’s mouth hurt me more than I ever thought possible.
“We aren’t interested in coming out to see you Melanie. We will wait until you are ready to come home for good to see you.”
I didn’t really know what to say. Though we agreed on very few things in life, it was still difficult for me to know that I was honestly a disappointment to my mother.
I brought the phone away from my ear, and looked at the screen. 47 seconds. My first conversation with my mother in seven months, and it lasted only 47 seconds.
There had been quite a few instances in the past ten years that warranted crying, though not all were sad. There was my brother’s wedding, and the birth of my first nephew. There was even my own engagement, but I didn’t even feel like I was allowed to shed tears of joy for that. And when it all came crashing down, my eyes were dry.
So, I knew that crying over my mother’s insensitivity was useless. It wouldn’t change anything; my mother still saw me as a disappointment and a failure. I had heard plenty of lectures during my life, from my mother, and I took most of it to heart. I went to church on Sundays and made dinner for my family on Monday nights. I cleaned our home without complaining, and played the piano, just like my mother wanted. But none of it mattered. I’d already ruined any chance of being the daughter that Lydia Devlin had hoped for in me, the most beautiful of her three daughters.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and looked up at the clock. Jackson was picking me up in an hour, and getting ready for our second date of the week would be the perfect way to keep my mind off everything. That night, that perfect night with the wine and cheeseburgers and Casablanca, had been almost three weeks prior, and he’d asked me out again immediately. I said yes without pause, though I knew it would have been better for everyone if I just called it off then. It wasn’t going to end well, I knew it even then, but I couldn’t do it.
I’d gone shopping again, and filled my closet with a few other things that I found second hand. If we did actually get photographed together, there was no way I was going to let Jackson be seen with someone who couldn’t at least dress well.
I chose a navy dress that night, paired with a black cardigan since it’d been a little cooler out. I didn’t have time to fix my hair, so I threw it into a low, messy bun, styled into disheveled perfection.
Jackson arrived early again, this time with a handful of multicolored wildflowers.
“You look absolutely beautiful tonight Mellie,” he said when I opened the door, though it took him a few moments of silence to get the words out.
“Than
k you,” I said, barely acknowledging the compliment, before inviting him inside again so I could put the flowers in water. I placed it on the counter before we made our way out the door.
I didn’t want to be annoyed at him, but the conversation with my mother had truly bothered me. I hated even more that I’d let her bother me. She had nothing to do with my relationship with Jackson, and I really did just want to let it go.
He took me to a small, authentic Mexican restaurant in Venice. It was quiet, and there weren’t too many people inside. I wondered if he did that on purpose, if he knew exactly where he was taking me so that we wouldn’t have to deal with any crazy fans. I’d been living in California for over seven months now, but I’d yet to eat Mexican food as authentic as the tamales I ate that night, and I doubted I could ever go back to Taco Bell after that.
I listened intently as Jackson talked about his hometown and family. He grew up only an hour away from where they were, in a small, overly safe town-city, as Jackson put it.
“What about your parents, do they still live there?” I asked as I took a bite from my rice and beans.
He put his own fork down to take a drink of the beer in front of him. “My mom died when I was sixteen. My dad still lives there, with my youngest brother.”
I brought my hand to my mouth in chagrined shock. “I’m so sorry Jackson, I had no idea.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I wanted you to know. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have told you.”
I didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Jackson wasn’t finished talking. “It was right after I started acting. Breast cancer. She died the day after my first movie came out. It was obviously hard on all of us, but she got to see me play my first part, and she was so proud of me.”
“You say us, how many siblings do you have?” I asked.
“My parents had four boys, myself included. I’m the second oldest.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip from my margarita. “Four boys? That must have been…loud growing up.”