Stuck With You (First Kiss Hypothesis)

by Christina Mandelski

  “Hmm,” he says. “There’s more to it, though.” He stares at me intently. He leans forward, a tiny bit more.

  I laugh. “What are you, Sherlock Holmes?”

  His eyebrows shoot up, and he screws up his mouth. “You wanted to be like that lady, with the fancy name. And the accent.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “That lady?” I say. “It’s woman, and Christiane Amanpour is her name.” I stare at him, completely surprised. “Also, I have no idea how you know that.”

  He chuckles. “Catherine Dixon! Do you not remember that until middle school, I spent like every waking moment with you? And also, a lot of sleeping moments with you, too. You had a picture of her up in your room. More than one, actually.”

  I can’t deny what he’s saying. Yes, I did want to travel all over the globe chasing down stories. I wanted to cover wars, civil unrest, plagues—all the good stuff. My mother wasn’t as thrilled with the idea. “She’s still doing it. Christiane. Still reporting. Did you know that?”

  “I did not,” he says then pushes my arm. “What about you? Mom said you won some big journalism contest?”

  I puff out an exasperated breath and smooth down my hair as if that will make everything all right. “First place, state broadcast journalism competition. And the team won, not me.”

  “Mmm, Mom made it sound like it was all you.” He taps my leg with his foot. “I bet she’s right, too. I can see it now, ‘joining us live from Beirut, Catherine Dixon.’ Or will it be Catie? Or will you let them call you Cate?”

  I screw up my mouth, because all of a sudden, I’m feeling overwhelmed, and I don’t know why. I force myself to smile, but there is water filling up my eyes. Dammit. Actual tears.

  I’m mortified and turn away, fast.

  “Catie?” he says when he realizes what’s happening, his voice so deep and sweet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I wipe the tears and shake my head, embarrassed. “I’m just tired, Caleb.” I sniff and smile.

  “Cate?” he moves closer, leaning his head against the back of my chair, just inches from my face.

  I sniff and meet his gaze. “Caleb?”

  “If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen.”

  Then he reaches out, and he takes my hand. His touch burns me, like a brushfire spreading in the dry summer heat.

  “So what is it? What do you want?” he asks.

  This feels like a trick question.

  “Caleb,” I say. “I want to go to UT. And major in business.” I hear it. I sound like a robot. It feels all wrong.

  He lifts his chin to me, chiseled and covered with the shadow of beard scruff. “You sure?”

  I know what he’s doing, because he forgets that as well as he knows me, I know him, too. He’s calling me on my bullshit.

  I swallow hard and chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “What, do you think I’m gonna let you take over our parents’ flooring empire? You with all your natural athletic ability? What a waste that would be. Plus, you think I’m walking away from all that engineered hardwood and Italian tile? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He laughs and lets go of my hand, bends an arm and props it behind his head again, and squints out at the Gulf. “All right,” he says. “If you say so.”

  I face forward, too, still overwhelmed—with disappointment, with want for him…I’m not even sure anymore.

  “I do say so.”

  Then he turns to me, smiling again. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna go take a shower,” he says and stands up.

  I do my best not to picture that. I close the book that’s open in my lap and sit forward. “I’ll come, too.”

  “Oh yeah?” He grins, and I nearly die from dimple exposure.

  “No, not— I mean I have to make the cookies.”

  He quietly folds up his chair and pulls the umbrella out of the sand. “Is that what the kids are calling it now?”

  He doesn’t wait for a smart-ass answer, and that’s good, because I’ve literally got nothin’. Even a simple “you wish” or “in your dreams” would work, but no. My brain can’t get past the fact that Caleb Gray is definitely flirting with me.

  He yanks the umbrella out of the sand, takes his chair, and walks away, up toward the house, turning once with that deep-dimpled smile still cutting across his handsome face.

  I stare back out to the water and think of the question that Sunny asked. What will I do if he makes a move?

  Right now, the only word that comes to mind is “Yes.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caleb

  It wasn’t like me to make a comment like that about the shower, and then the cookies, but they came out before I could stop them.

  I shoulda stopped. I should have, because we’re alone in this house for the next two days. I should keep my distance—lock myself in my room if I need to. That’s what I should do, but instead I invited her to dinner.

  This whole time with her, since the second she screamed bloody murder when I came to the front door, has got me messed up in the head. Hanging out on the beach with her brought back lots of memories. Yeah, lots of good times spent together, just her and me. It all happened. It was real. I’d just forgotten.

  Dinner’s at seven. I go in the house and shower off. True to her word and her mother’s rules of politeness, she makes a batch of chocolate chip cookies and at six forty-five meets me in the living room.

  I suck in a breath when I see her. Here’s the situation: she’s in a short white dress, the kind with straps holding it up. She’s got on flat sandals, and her hair is down, hanging on her shoulders like gold against her tan skin. I want to tell her how good she looks, but that feels dangerous, so I don’t.

  I give myself a mental high five, because finally, I’m talking some sense and making good choices.

  “You ready?” I ask, even though it’s obvious she is with the foil-covered plate of cookies in her hand.

  “Yup.” She screws up her mouth and nods. “Let’s go.”

  I hold the front door open for her and lock up. “Is it supposed to rain?” she asks, looking out toward the water. Far in the distance there’s a dark mass of clouds.

  “I don’t think so. You wanna bring an umbrella?”

  She shakes her head. “Nah, I trust you, weather boy.”

  “Huh?” I ask.

  She smiles as I let her head down the stairs first. “Oh my God, please—you were so obsessed with the weather after the hurricane. I remember my mother worrying that something was wrong with you.”

  She’s right. For a lot of years, I told everyone who would listen what the weather was gonna be. My parents helped me build a weather center in our backyard and everything. Eventually, it got replaced by a makeshift batting cage, then a soccer goal.

  “Well— She was really worried about me?”

  “Yeah. But you know she worries about everything.”

  As we walk down the beach, I want to take her hand. Again, dangerous. Taking her hand after standing in front of her last night, touching her face, almost going in for that kiss—then again on the beach this afternoon. I’d be sending a definite message, if I haven’t already.

  So I stuff my hands in the pockets of my shorts instead. The sun is low in the sky to our right, turning it all sorts of pinks and blues and violets. She stops to take a picture with her phone. “That’s so beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I say to her back. Yes, you are. “It is.” I wonder how I’m gonna get out of this situation in one piece. I keep reminding myself that it’s just Catie, the same Catie who I took baths with when we were small, who took the fall for me when I was eight and broke my dad’s favorite fishing pole clean in half, the same Catie who was my constant beach buddy until we were in middle school, until I was a total dumbass and pushed her away.

  The same Catie, but not the same Catie. These last few days when I catch her smiling, or when she says something funny, or talks with her hands, or when she’s demanding,
or bringing up memories about my weather obsession and how I used to love to build stuff, I don’t know if it’s the old Catie or new Catie—or both. I just know that I like her.

  When we get to the beach entrance to Dolphin Cove and walk a few roads back, I know the house before I even check the address—it’s blue like Dr. Jackson said—really blue—and he’s standing on the raised deck in front of a smoking grill.

  “Ah.” He waves down to us. “You showed!” He’s not wearing a hat, and his gray hair is wild, Einstein-style, sticking up all around his head. “Come on up!”

  Catie gives me a look. I think she’s amused, or maybe she’s regretting saying yes to this. I’m not really sure until a huge smile breaks on her face, and then I know she’s okay.

  I introduce Professor Jackson to her. His wife comes out onto the deck and insists we call her Claire. She’s got hair as gray as his, although hers is fixed nice. Her smile is nice, too, like from a welcoming grandma.

  “You didn’t bring Mo,” the professor says, sounding genuinely disappointed. “But I think you’ll probably be a more interesting guest, Catie.” He laughs out loud at his own joke.

  “I don’t know,” she says, pushing her hair behind her ears and smiling. Girl has got a killer smile. “At least I won’t beg for scraps,” she says, which cracks the professor up.

  She hands Mrs. Jackson the plateful of cookies that she brought. “Here you go.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she says, lifting back the foil cover. “Mmm. Chocolate chip?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Catie says.

  Mrs. Jackson side-eyes her husband. “I’m gonna hide them for now, or he’ll eat every last one.”

  “Not true!” He lifts the long-handled spatula in his hand and gets back to the grill. “You like burgers?” he asks us. “Cause that’s all we’ve got.” He laughs again, and we both do, too. I have a feeling tonight is gonna be all about the dad jokes.

  “Sure,” I say, “sounds great.” Catie echoes my sentiment.

  Professor Jackson tells us to have a seat at the patio table while his wife brings out sweet tea. We drink it fast. It’s still so hot out.

  “So how do you two know each other?” Mrs. Jackson asks. No way can I call this grandma-like lady by her first name. “Do you have a beach house near Caleb’s, Catie?”

  Catie and I exchange glances. I’m going to leave this to her.

  She smiles. “No. Our families share a house.”

  “Oh, I wish you’d invited your parents,” she says. “Henry, did you tell him to invite the parents? Pardon my husband’s manners. He’s always thinking about research, you know, not really focused on the social graces.”

  “Oh, no, don’t worry,” Catie laughs. “Our parents aren’t here.” She sounds so innocent, but I notice Mrs. Jackson’s eyes widen. Catie’s mouth closes, and she looks to me for reassurance. I lift one corner of my mouth and shrug.

  “You’re both there?” Professor Jackson pieces together the puzzle. “Alone? Together?”

  “Henry.” Mrs. Jackson stares at her husband and takes a sip of her tea. “They’re adults. Don’t treat them like children.”

  “No, no,” Catie says. “My friends were here until this morning, and Caleb and I have known each other our whole lives. Our parents will be here the day after tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Jackson says. “Y’all are family, then. Like brother and sister.”

  Catie focuses on her tea. I know what she’s thinking: we are not like brother and sister. It’s never been that way for us. Our parents shipped us early on, but it really was my fault. I don’t know if Catie remembers, but when we were little and out to dinner with our parents, I got a ring from one of those quarter gumball machines. Apparently I innocently asked her to marry me, and that was it. That’s when Mom started teasing us about someday being Mr. and Mrs. Dixon-Gray, and that really didn’t stop until…well, it’s never really stopped, despite my insistence and basic rejection of the girl.

  The feelings that I am having for her right now, though—no, I don’t want to marry her—but they’re definitely not brotherly.

  Mrs. Jackson refills my tea, and I know these thoughts of mine are a bad idea, just like me canceling all my plans and thinking about applying to this program that the professor runs. Catie, Texas A&M Galveston…these things don’t make sense, but I can’t stop thinking about them.

  “So, Caleb, what’s it going to take to get you to change your mind and come to A&M?” Professor Jackson asks, like he’s a mind reader.

  “Uh.”

  Catie’s looking at me now. She’s burning a damn hole in me.

  “A&M?” she asks.

  “Um…” I don’t know how to explain this to her, and I’m almost afraid to put it in words, like it’ll release some sort of monster that can’t go back into its cage.

  “Well…” Professor Jackson plates the burgers and places them on the table. “We only really discussed Ocean Engineering, but there are certainly other tracks. Coming up with solutions to help humans survive what’s happening to the planet. That sort of thing. Isn’t that right?”

  I nod, then take a long sip of tea and keep my eyes down. Thanks, Professor Jackson, for outing me.

  “Oh. Huh,” Catie says. “Like that website you were showing me?” she asks.

  I tentatively lift my eyes to her. There’s a knowing smile on her lips.

  “We’ve got quite the dynamic program over at A&M,” the professor says, saving me from having to answer but digging the hole deeper. “From what you’ve told me, given that you got into UT, I’m sure you’d be accepted.”

  Catie nudges my arm. “That sounds good, Caleb.”

  “But my plans are set,” I say to the professor. “Not to mention it would kill my dad. He’s a Longhorn. All of our parents are.”

  “Ah, the old A&M/UT rivalry.” The professor laughs and waves a hand. “Now, look. UT is an excellent school as well, and I’m not biased…”

  His wife snort-laughs. “Not at all.” She leans forward like she’s about to tell us a secret. “My husband here went to MIT and that made him a bit of snob, but this little campus on the beach has stolen his heart. So you see, it’s possible to switch allegiances.”

  “Well you’ve already said no to UT, and your parents seem okay with that,” Catie adds. “So you might as well go to school close to me.” She leans sideways and nudges me with her elbow.

  The professor laughs. “Well, I can’t compete with that—but no pressure, son. I just want curious people with brains who care about the world, and I consider myself a pretty good judge of character. I think you might be one of those people.”

  “All right, leave the kid alone,” Mrs. Jackson says. She steers the conversation away from my future, and we sit around the table with the dog Otis roaming between our legs on the hunt for scraps. They ask Catie her future plans, which she, with a clear voice and without hesitation, tells them: a business degree from UT, an MBA, then heading up the family store.

  That’s one thing I know about Catie, though—the more confident she sounds, the more scared she is. She’s always done this. It’s not a bad thing. It’s her way of finding courage to do the hardest things. She digs deep and refuses to be afraid. I was always kind of amazed at her fearlessness until tonight when I realize that in this case, I think it’s something she’s hiding behind.

  The food is good and the Jacksons have lived such interesting lives. Professor Jackson tells us about the time he spent backpacking around Europe. The man’s had some adventures. Mrs. Jackson’s had some, too. I look down, catch sight of Catie’s crossed legs, and wonder where she’ll go, where those legs will take her. I glance up at her profile. She’s listening intently to the Jacksons talk about visiting Tibet. I couldn’t even find Tibet on a map, but Catie’s totally sucked in. This girl does not belong in business school. Am I the only one who knows that?

  After dinner, while we’re eating the chocolate chip cookies, a long rumble of thunder makes its way a
cross the sky.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Jackson says. “That sounds close.”

  “That line of storms is moving in. Faster than expected,” Professor Jackson says.

  “I guess we should go,” I say.

  “Let me give you a ride back,” he offers.

  “Thanks, but we’ll be okay, it’s a short walk.” I look at Catie, who nods her head once in agreement. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Well then hurry up and get. I don’t want you two getting struck by lightning,” Mrs. Jackson says. “That would be a waste of a good dinner,” she laughs.

  A flash lights up the sky, but the thunder waits a while. “It’s still a ways off,” the professor says. “But better safe than sorry.”

  They walk us to the top of the stairs, and shake our hands. We say our thank-yous and goodbyes and make our way down the steps to the beach. The sun is down, and the clouds are denying any light from stars or the moon. It’s dark, the only light coming from the houses to our left. The air is thick and damp. There’s definitely a storm brewing.

  Catie bends down, takes off her sandals, and hangs them from the fingers on her right hand. She’s got the leftover cookies in her right hand, too, which leaves her left hand free. The hand closest to me. I want to grab it, but I fight the urge. I have no right to. She might laugh. Hell, knowing how I’ve treated her in the past, she might punch me.

  I inhale to calm myself down. Two nights alone in the house with her. Two nights. I can do this. I’m not gonna lie, it’s going to be tough. Tough, but for the best. I am going to school in just a few weeks. Even if those plans feel like they’re frayed at the edges and starting to unravel. She’s got plans of her own that don’t include me. I’ll just leave things as they are. Anything more is a bad idea.

  Still doesn’t stop me feeling how I’m feeling. I’m man enough to admit I want the girl. Like I want her, want her. Not just because of how she looks (although she looks good), but its more than that.

  All these years, I’ve thought that Catie was too much. Too close, too demanding, too perfect, just too much. I pushed her away, but the last few days, I realize how all that makes being with her exciting, and unpredictable, and I like that. I like her intensity, her sense of humor, her pushing me to talk about stuff that I’ve been keeping inside. That laugh, those legs, her brains, the fact that Mo loves her. She’s too much, and I only want more.