“Emily’s uncle is one of the leading pathologists in the country,” he lamented.
“You don’t look like the type that gets swayed by other people’s choices.”
“I’m not being swayed. I want to do this. I’ll be good at it, and I stand to make a lot of money.”
“Do they even know you had a plan of your own?”
“It’s important for the two of us to do this.”
“Why?”
“It just is,” he said, “I’m really all she’s got.”
“So you'll set aside your dreams to sit in a stuffy path lab to please your girlfriend and her family?”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “It's adorable that you care.”
“I don’t care at all,” I snapped, moving away from the table and the close proximity of his charm. “I'm actually disappointed in you. You’ll never be happy. Finding that place inside where you can sit comfortably in your skin is worth more than all that other stuff.”
“You're going way deep on me,” he said, studying my face, caught up by the depth of my emotions.
Then he wrote, I like when you get all hotheaded. On its own, this sentence would have had a profound effect on me, but when compounded with his spoken words, “That’s something that nags at me and leaves me open to regret, not the regret of being a pathologist,” I realized just how many levels were at work in our conversation.
“Besides,” he continued, “your definition of happiness might be different from somebody else’s.” This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted to forget ideology and have him write more insatiable things to me on the table, but he didn’t. My words had reached a place in him that was tightly guarded. We were different people from different worlds. I couldn’t expect him to understand the fragility of life and how something you love can be snatched away from you. I thought that his father’s prevailing illness would have sensitized him to this, but maybe it was having the opposite effect. Maybe it was too much to bear, knowing that he was in the process of losing someone he loved.
“My father’s dead, Jonas.”
He moved around in his chair, both nervous and surprised, and then leaned forward with his head very close to mine.
“I’m sorry, Jess, I didn’t know that. You never said anything.”
“I know, I didn’t want to, but you need to hear this now. When he died, it was an ordinary day like today. We woke up, we got dressed, we went about our business, with the exception of the special plans we had for dinner that evening, and everything was normal or appeared normal. We didn’t know that this was the day our lives would be changed forever. We didn’t know we would never see him again. And I know what you’re thinking right now, and I agree with you—we can’t live in fear of the unknown. But things do happen, and lives get turned upside down, and knowing that, don’t you think life is just too precious to waste on something that doesn’t make you happy?”
My disclosure rattled him. The otherwise smooth and confident Jonas appeared conflicted, torn, and dejected.
“I want to talk to you about your dad,” he said. “It’s important to you, but first I want to say something.” Leaning back in his chair, he began again. “Everything you’re saying makes sense. I can’t dispute you’re a bright girl—albeit a little outspoken at times—and you’re aware of things on a deeper level than most; but I’m surprised with all your talk about happiness, you haven’t taken a good look in the mirror. I hear it in your tone, in your comical sarcasm, the way you hide behind an insulated shell, pretending not to be interested when I know you’re feeling things, things you don’t even want to see yourself. What are you so afraid of?”
“I'm not afraid of anything,” I said, meeting his powerful gaze. “Certainly not you or whatever it is you’re implying.”
“You should be afraid,” he responded with a laugh while I glared back at him. Then he stuck his tongue out at me.
“You’re really an ass,” I spat out, exhaling, not caring that I cursed.
“Then why can’t you look away?” he asked.
My face told him I didn’t know how, that I was no longer immune to his cynicism. I could already hear the faint sound of the bell dinging in his favor.
“Tell me about your father,” he said, freeing me from the urge to explode.
“There’s not a whole lot to tell. He died twelve years ago yesterday, as a matter of fact.”
“On your birthday?”
“You’re quick.”
“What happened?”
I looked up at him. He genuinely seemed to care. If we were going to be friends, real friends, I would have talked this through with him, but it was a place and a part of me I couldn’t share. Just like the place and the part he couldn’t share with me.
I wrote, Can we change the subject, please?
He had to know how serious I was, or he would have never obliged. We took the things we wrote on paper very seriously.
“Next time,” he said, and then he got up from the table, so I did the same. When I took a step, I felt my foot buckle, losing my balance. His arm reached out for me, resting across the small of my back, intercepting my fall.
“I'm okay,” I said, releasing myself from his grip and finding my footing, but I wasn’t okay at all. And he knew it too. That’s why his arm found me again, leading me out of the restaurant and toward the scooter.
I was sorry to see the magic restaurant disappear behind us. I would have liked to have saved the tablecloth, but I didn’t want Jonas to know how much it meant to me.
The ride down the hill was a quick one. There was a warm breeze circulating around us, and I used the opportunity to hold him closer. When we boarded the boat, we sat on the deck and watched as Catalina became nothing more than a speck of sand in the distance. He turned to observe me every so often, proud to see that I’d been impressed with our little sojourn. I had worn the wide-eyed expression of disbelief across my face, but now it was faded, having seen things and learned things that could never be taken back.
“I think I finally got inside your head today,” he said. “I think I know where you go when you’re lost in your thoughts.”
“Where’s that?” I challenged him.
“Somewhere sad. And probably lonely.”
I thought about this for a second, knowing that had our paths crossed at another time in our lives, we could have gone places together. The rest of the trip to shore was in silence, except for the purring of the engines and the sounds of the waves caressing the sides of the boat. I studied the view in front of me, knowing that when I reached land and took a step back on the ground, it was going to feel different.
Aware of his stare and how the pressure of serious thought made him look wistful, I asked, “What’s wrong?" while twirling my hair in my fingers, something I did when I knew something big was about to happen.
“I was just thinking,” he said, in a voice I’d never heard before.
“Me too,” I said.
Thinking how nice it would be to stay on Catalina forever.
CHAPTER 8
“He’s not here,” Adam Levy’s gravelly voice told me when I entered his room. “He’s home sick with the flu.”
“I came to see you,” I lied.
“Maybe you should bring him some soup.”
“Isn’t that what girlfriends are for?” I asked.
Adam eyed me. He reached for a pen and paper and began writing. “Don’t be a brat. Here’s the address. He’ll be happy to see you.” Grabbing the piece of paper from his hand, I shoved it in my pocket and walked out of the room. My better judgment kept telling me to go home, but I’d never been one to listen to the echoes that sabotaged my rational thought. Instead, I picked up the phone, dialed the nurse’s station three floors below, and called in sick for my shift.
I borrowed my mother’s car at the hospital, planning to return it before she noticed its absence. Yes, I’d passed my driver’s test, to everyone’s surprise, including my own. Much to the chagrin of the
other drivers on the Pacific Coast Highway, my foot was frozen on thirty-five mph the entire way to Malibu, afraid to venture any faster for fear of losing control over the massive machinery.
That wasn’t the only thing that was massive. The house in front of me was even bigger than the hotel on Catalina. A security guard opened the gate, and I followed the road up to Jonas’s front door. When I got out of the car, Mrs. Levy was leaving.
She said, “Jessica, how nice of you to come,” in a tone that implied a whole assortment of conflicted thoughts about seeing me there. I wanted to blurt out, He's just my friend, but she would never believe it, knowing full well that a mother knew things when it came to her kids.
“He might be sleeping still,” she said. “Amy should be back from ballet in about an hour. Maybe you can make sure he eats something.”
“Sure, Mrs. Levy,” I said, glad for her trust in me. “I’ll get him whatever he needs.”
“Gloria will show you to his room,” she said, stepping into her tiny car. “I’m heading to Adam.”
The sweet Spanish lady did just that, walked me up about thirty stairs and then down several hallways until Jonas’s room came into view. “Gracias,” I said to her as we entered the room.
“¿Tú hablas español?” she asked.
I wanted to say that everybody knows how to say thank you in Spanish, but settled on, “Oh, no, no,” I repeated, “no habla español.” She was disappointed. I could tell.
“Oh, okay señora, entonces adiós. Si me necesitas, por favor, llamame. Yo voy abajo.”
“Okay. Adios, Gloria,” I called back to her, talking in this voice much louder than my own.
Since Jonas was asleep, I took the time to survey the room and the artifacts that shaped his life. When the stale, germy air reached my nostrils, I walked over to a window and let in a fresh breeze. Jonas was right there, peacefully asleep on his big boy bed with mountains of pillows piled around him. His heavy breathing filled the room, his lips slightly apart, hair splayed across the pillow in a tousled mess. Taking a seat on the white sheets, I reached over him, smoothing the matted hair away from his face. Being this close to him, on his bed, making sure everything about him was in place, I’d almost forgotten how confused I was. I only thought of crawling under the covers and curling up around him.
He was smiling at something, so I smiled along with him. Was it possible he was reading my mind again, knowing the dirty secrets that lived there? My eyes grazed the space beside the bed when the picture on the desk caught my eye. Of course it did. She was really pretty, just like he said. The picture was small, in a simple little frame that she probably gave to him, but there was no mistaking the way she could let herself be known.
Staring at the picture of Emily Cohen forced me to evaluate why I was there. I knew there was a side to my friendship with Jonas that was just that—friendship—but I also knew that his overt display of come-hither when he puked on my shoe had to be indicative of something powerful, even if this impulse and desire lurked only in his deep unconscious. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, I whispered to the fine Emily Cohen.
Jonas’s eyes fluttered before me, and I panicked that he had heard me. He rolled over and yelled into the pillow, “Gloria? Hay quiero agua.” And then, “Por favor.”
“No habla español,” I said.
It only took him a few seconds to raise himself up, turn in my direction, and see that I wasn’t Gloria.
“No hablo,” he corrected me, “mi reina.”
“Mi what?” I asked. “Is that some profane name in Spanish?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he laughed, yawning, then stretching his taut body across the rumpled sheets. Gloria walked in with a fresh glass of water. When she left, I said, “I thought I was the kid here.”
“You said it, I didn’t, and no, it’s not a profanity, it means, my queen.” He said this, his voice deeper than I’d remembered it being. Breathe, I told myself, noticing his smell all around me, his sweat pervading the air. I inhaled.
“I feel like shit,” he said, reaching for the cold liquid while I stole glances at his bare chest.
“At least you don’t smell like it,” I laughed, not able to help myself. “And you don’t look like it either.” Then, realizing I needed to be polite, I asked, “Have you eaten? Is there something I can get you?”
“My very own private nurse. I can get used to this.” He touched my leg and I jumped, the move surprising me. “I don’t need anything,” he said, “Just stay here and talk to me.”
I sat, very much aware of the proximity of our bodies. “I just saw your mom. I think she’s wondering what I’m doing here.”
“Jess,” he said, “sometimes I wish you’d come right out and say the things you want to say.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’re here because you’re my friend, and in case you’re wondering about that, I’m glad you’re here, and lastly, I don’t care what my mother thinks or anyone else for that matter. I know what I know and everything else is just speculation.”
Silence fell between us while we retreated to our corners, he, blowing his nose, and me, reading into his words, scrutinizing each and every one until their collaborative effort resembled logic. “You were right about her,” I said, nodding toward the picture beside his bed. “She’s very pretty.”
“Em?" he asked, the name slicing through the air like a butcher knife. It was the endearing way he said it; I had to change the subject. “You must be hungry. Are you sure you don’t want me to call down for Gloria?”
“I’m fine. You’re nervous. Relax.”
“I can’t,” I admitted.
“You missed seeing me.”
I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“I missed you too,” he said.
Even with Emily Cohen’s eyes staring me down, when I was alone with Jonas, there was just the two of us. Her name was the only intrusion. “How much longer?”
“These things usually last a few days, but I won’t be going to the hospital for about a week. My dad’s very susceptible, and it’s best I stay away. I hope I don’t get you sick, even if you’d make a cute patient."
I laughed. “The very worst.”
“I find that hard to believe, Miss Parker. Thus far, you’ve been pretty good at everything—dance partner, eloquent prose, CIA operative, tree climber—and you’ve even managed to make me feel better just by looking at you. Besides, if you were my patient, I’d take real good care of you.”
Jonas was saying too many nice things at once for me to look him in the eye, so I focused my attention on the view from the window instead. My eyes trained on the scenery while my fingers nervously fumbled, clasping and unclasping.
“Jess, I can’t change this,” he said. “She’s real.”
“I know,” I said, finding the courage to meet his eyes.
“But so are you. To me, you’re very real.”
The suggestion that hovered around us was palpable. “I want you in my life. You need to know that. It’s wrong, on so many levels, but I know what being around you makes me feel and I can’t pretend it doesn’t.”
Stop, I was repeating, over and over in my head, but he didn’t hear. I turned back to the window and began to count the leaves on the tree thinking that the repetition would relieve me from his words. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, but he kept on going.
“You’re always talking about life and how nothing is by chance, and there’s no such thing as a coincidence, so I know you understand what I’m saying and I know you agree.” I wouldn’t turn around. “Jess, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “And I think you drank too much cold medicine.”
He grabbed my arm and forced me to face him. “I like being around you. I like teasing you. I like arguing with you.”
My eyes pleaded with him to stop.
“I like seeing your face when you’re glad to see me and how you turn away so you th
ink I won’t notice, and the way you squirm and fidget and twirl your hair when you’re nervous.” His fingers were searing through my flesh, much like his words. “I like watching you when you think nobody is, and the way you lick your top lip, and sometimes you bite on it too. See, you’re doing it right now. In a way, it’s like you’re already mine, like you’ve always been.”
How could I hate him when his words brought the steadiness of counting numbers to a screeching halt? They were words, I swear, but they could have very well been his hands, touching me all over. I didn’t understand what was happening. There was so much we were feeling for each other, yet so much that was holding us back, and Jonas’s obligation to Emily was only part of it. Let’s be real here, he and I were from different worlds, and what kind of boyfriend could he be to a high school senior?
I said, “The scary thing is that I do understand. I know all about the lines we can’t cross over. Things like feelings are harder to hold back.”
“Remember that day I took you driving?” he asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t remember what street we were on. I don’t even know if it was sunny or raining. I just remember you next to me, and I was responsible for you, and I liked it. A lot.”
I began to feel afraid, the way he once said I should be. He would never hurt me, not in the physical sense. It was emotional vulnerability I was worried about. Beth once told me that power was the ultimate aphrodisiac. The idea of Jonas in charge excited me. “It's getting late,” I said. “You need some rest.”
“Don’t leave,” he said, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Someone like you will never be alone,” I answered.
“You’re wrong, mi reina, and I’ll tell you why. I met a girl this summer. She’s beautiful, she’s smart, kind, funny, and highly fanatical about her causes.” Then, turning seriously to me, he added, “And this girl, she got to me,” pointing to his chest, “in here, and you don’t know how alone I feel when she’s not around.”
A knife was no longer the suitable weapon to slice the quiet in the room. A chainsaw would have been needed.
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