This Is the Wonder

by Tracey Ward

  I groan as I get up, shaking my head and wondering how the hell people do this.

  “Morning, kiddo,” Dad says as I stumble into the kitchen like a baby deer unused to its own legs. “You want some coffee?”

  “I don’t drink coffee,” I mumble. I sit at the island and let my head fall down hard against the cold tile.

  “Looks like you should start.”

  “Mumf,” I grumble incoherently. I watch my warm breath fog over the dark surface, frosting it and covering its shine.

  “Any word from Jax yet?”

  I sit up sharply, looking at him in surprise. My dad has never asked after a guy I’m seeing before. Never. Not even Eric, and we were together for three years. He listens when I talk about them, but he has never cared to ask. Now he’s standing there leaning back against the counter, coffee mug in hand, and watching me expectantly.

  “Uh, yeah,” I manage, getting my bearings and sitting up straight. “He’s there. He made it. He’s good.”

  “Where is he exactly?”

  I shrug. “Afghanistan somewhere. I still don’t know. He said he couldn’t tell me.”

  My dad nods, accepting that fact better than I did. “What does he do again?”

  “Airplane mechanic.”

  “Smart guy?”

  “Very.”

  “Good. How long is he there?”

  “Six months. But then it’s back to Germany after that for another six months.”

  Dad nods again thoughtfully. “That’s tough.”

  “Yeah. It will be.”

  He pushes off the counter suddenly, heading for the door. “Good thing you’re strong.”

  I stare after him in amazement. Not only does my dad not ask after boyfriends, he doesn’t give compliments. Not because he’s unkind, but because it’s just not the guy he is. Maybe that’s why I have such a hard time with romantic gestures: I grew up never seeing them. My dad never brought flowers home to my mom or gave her chocolates on Valentine’s Day. They didn’t really do date nights, never got dressed up for fancy dinners alone. He just loved her, plain and simple. Every day, every minute, steady as the tide. No need to make a show of it because it was always there and she always knew. So did Robin and I. We felt it in the house. In the way they took care of each other, the way they still do today. They’re a team, dependable and strong, and that daily sense of safety and trust means more to me than a few fancy dinners and flowers ever could. It’s what I want. Constancy. Security.

  I pour myself some cereal, eat it over the sink staring out the window like a zombie munching on a frontal lobe, and head back upstairs. It’s so damn early and I’m hating life, but I need to get used to waking up in the morning for school again. The turnaround on my internal clock coming from Germany to home is actually helping me and I’m finding it easier than I would have before to get up early. Doesn’t mean I like it.

  I glance at my computer screen and my heart flips in my chest excitedly when I see I have messages from Jax. Three of them.

  Hey! I’m here. Just came back from dinner. About to go work out.

  Are you still around?

  I must have missed you. I’ll try again after I shower.

  I type quickly, noting the time on the last message was only six minutes ago.

  I’m here!

  I wait ten minutes. Nothing. He’s gone again.

  I feel like screaming.

  ***

  It’s another two hours until we catch each other online. I’m sitting on the couch still in my pajamas watching TV while my parents are at work, and the house is blissfully empty. My phone chimes from on the cushion next to me and when I see that it’s a message from Jax, I type furiously.

  I’m here! Goddammit, I’m here! Don’t move! Two seconds!

  I leap over the arm of the couch and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the landing and sprint to my bedroom. I bash my shoulder against the doorframe, curse it to Hell and back, and lunge at my computer. I have a new message when I get there, breathless and battered.

  LOL I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, babe.

  I slip onto my bed and bring my laptop onto my pillow next to me. Hi, Jax, I type simply.

  Hi, Wren. I miss you.

  I miss you too. How are you doing?

  I’m good. Long trip. Took some time to get settled and to go through orientation. Sorry I didn’t call. Did my mom call you?

  She did. Thanks for asking her to. She’s great.

  She was happy to get a chance to talk to you.

  I’m sure she’s over it. I sounded like a puss.

  I doubt that.

  I told her I was scared.

  She understands that. And you’re allowed to be scared.

  I smile. That’s what she said too.

  You see why she’s my favorite?

  I get it now.

  How was your New Year’s?

  I hung out with a hottie at a bar. He bought me drinks.

  …

  He’s gay, Jax.

  Phew! I’m too tired to come all the way back there and beat some guy’s ass.

  How was your New Year’s?

  I don’t even know when it happened. I was in the air crossing time zones.

  That sucks.

  No. Not getting to kiss you when the ball dropped—that sucked. Not getting to hear your voice every day—that sucks.

  We could video chat, I suggest, feeling hopeful.

  He takes a long time to answer and I wonder what’s happened. It’s getting late, he’s still getting adjusted to a new time zone, and I worry he’s fallen asleep.

  Eventually he reappears. My roommates are all trying to sleep. I can’t. Sorry.

  You have roommates?

  Three. No closed doors. We’re basically in cubicles in a big room with a shared bathroom. In fact, I’m going to have to stop typing soon. The room is silent and the clicking is pretty loud. Someone is going to get pissed.

  Seriously? This is the first I’ve gotten to talk to him in almost a week and he already has to go?

  I stare blankly at the blinking cursor, tempering my mood and measuring my words. I don’t want to bitch at him. It’s not his fault and it’s not mine. It just is, and that’s the hardest kind of injustice to bear: The kind where there’s no one to blame, no one to direct your frustration at, and I’m nervous that I’ll accidentally direct it at him.

  Wren? You there?

  I blink and shake myself internally. I remember what my dad said, that I’m strong, and I know that I need to live up to that assessment. That this moment is important. This is when it gets hard and it’s only going to get harder, so how I react now sets the tone for both of us on how I’ll handle it in the long run. It’s a good indication of whether I can handle it at all.

  Get some sleep, babe, I tell him. You’ve all gotta be exhausted. I’ll be here when you wake up.

  The system tells me that he’s typing and I wait patiently, ready to say goodbye for now. Ready to be what he needs me to be, to wait because that’s what he needs me to do. And it doesn’t matter that it’s not what I want to do or that it pisses me off. That’s okay. Like his mom said, I’m allowed to feel whatever I feel. But it’s what I do with those feelings that’s important.

  Did you just call me ‘babe’?

  I chuckle, shaking my head. Tit for tat, dude. You called me that first. Floodgates opened.

  I wasn’t complaining. And we’ll figure out a schedule. We’ll get a rhythm going and it will get better. Things are rough now because they’re new.

  I’m not worried. I told you—I’ll be here.

  You have no idea.

  Of what?

  Of what that means to me.

  My eyes prick with unwanted tears and I choke on those three little words. On the roots inside me reaching and yearning.

  I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It takes time but we find our rhythm the way Jax said we
would, and the fact that I trusted him when he told me it would happen speaks volumes. My need to control everything is warring with the blind faith this relationship requires, and I feel like I’ll crawl out of my skin some days. But I don’t, because I made this choice. I make it every day that he’s gone and I wait for him. And he makes it too. Every day that we don’t call it quits, every message we leave that we know won’t be answered for hours is a declaration. It’s a commitment to see this through, and not because we’re stubborn but because we want to. Because the love is there, even if it’s never been spoken.

  I think about telling him I love him every single day. Every night when I go to bed I want to whisper it, just to get it out and hear it myself and feel it in the air around me, but I don’t. I save it for him, for us, and the next time I see him. We’ve never talked about it but I know he’s doing the same. Twice now he’s told me “I can’t even tell you…” and just trailed off. It hangs there between us, heavy and pregnant and full of promise. Both times I responded by telling him “I know,” and I hope that he understands. That he knows how I feel.

  School starts up again and I’m grateful for it. It’s another way to the pass the time while I wait for him to get back to safety in Germany. I’m close to graduating, too close, and I wish I had more time. I’m praying for it to speed up and slow down all at once and it’s exhausting. This is my last full semester of classes. In the spring I’ll only have two more to take and I have graduation to apply for and then it’s over.

  College completed.

  Life calling.

  It spans out in front of me like the universe unfurling into the infinite frozen nothing of forever. So many possibilities, so much unknown, and I have no idea what to do with it. There’s no path in front of me. My future is yawning in the distance, and while most would run toward it, I want to lay down and hide and that terrifies me. I was never like this before. I tore through high school with AP classes and a full schedule of activities. I was engaged and eager. I leapt to college with excitement and drove through my first two years. I felt so accomplished as I completed classes and met my benchmarks. I did what I was supposed to do and I did it with gusto.

  Then my third year hit and my core curriculum was finished. It was time to choose a major and something snapped. I lost my footing and I’ve never been able to get it back. My mom and I started arguing about what major I would choose and the fights were strange because she never pushed any one in particular, she just asked me to pick one. Only one. How hard was that? How hard is it to choose one path out of thousands? To pick a star from the sky?

  International business was a compromise between us. It’s generic, easy to utilize being a business degree and all, but I fought for the international element. I wanted the chance to explore, to see the world, because even though I’m afraid of my future, it doesn’t mean I’m afraid of living. I want things, so many things. I just can’t seem to pinpoint them down to a career that will sustain me. When my mom and I finally decided on my major, I had it in my head that I needed to travel to make sure it was what I wanted. We fought over that for the better part of my third year and finally she agreed. I think it was just to shut me up, but it still happened. I still got away to explore, and what a fucking relief it was. Germany was bliss for me, and not just because of Jax. Because of the freedom from the questions and the pressure. Because I was able to live my life freely from one minute to the next, the burden of forever off my shoulders and my youth and promise vibrant and alive in my mind.

  “You could come work with me,” Bray suggests.

  I pin my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I search through my purse for my car keys. I’ve just finished my last class of the day and I’m eager to get home and get to my computer. If I’m lucky I can catch Jax for a couple of minutes and video chat before he goes to work. I’ll give him a breakdown of my day, watch him brush his teeth as he listens intently, and try to make him laugh so he accidentally spits toothpaste all over the screen. He’ll curse me, stand up to get a towel to wipe his computer screen down, and I’ll get to see him walk across the room shirtless. Tan. Toned.

  He works out daily out of boredom but I find it very interesting. His body was good before but it’s stellar now and I’m acutely aware of the extra cushion my body has been pushin’ since winter hit. I need to get to the gym. Or cut down on Kit Kats. Both? No, one. Just one. I’m only human, for God’s sake.

  “What would I do at an ad agency?” I ask Bray.

  “Advertise things.”

  “I have a business degree.”

  “Not yet you don’t.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry. Bastard.”

  “Thank you.”

  I get my door open and sling my backpack and purse into the car before falling in myself. “Seriously, though. What am I going to do?”

  “Come work with me.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m serious. Most people who have a degree don’t actually work in the field their degree is in. Most employers just want to know you went the distance. They don’t care what you’re educated to do.”

  “I think lawyers and doctors would disagree with you.”

  “Exceptions to the rule. Apply at the agency.”

  “To do what?!” I insist again, exasperated.

  “Be part of the creative team I work in. Get people coffee. Mop the floors. I don’t care, just get out of Pocatello.”

  “If I’m getting out of Pocatello why don’t I really get out?” I ask, my voice softening as I touch on something tender. Something fragile and frail and new. “Why don’t I use all that international bullshit I’ve learned and actually go international?”

  “Go to Germany, you mean?” he asks carefully, catching on.

  “Maybe.”

  “He won’t be there forever.”

  I sigh, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back against the headrest. “It feels like it.”

  “How long has he been gone now?”

  “Just over three months.”

  “Over halfway done.”

  “Yeah, and then he’s in Germany for another six after that.”

  “It’ll fly by.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  He doesn’t answer and I know the truth. He’s trying to be supportive but nine more months is a long time. It’s a long time to do anything, especially miss someone.

  My phone beeps and I pull it from my ear to see I’m getting another call. “Hey, Bray, I gotta go. My friend Mel is calling me. I haven’t talked to her in a month.”

  “All right. Keep your head up. He’s worth it, right?’

  “Of course he is.”

  “Keep reminding yourself of that. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I switch over to answer Mel’s call, silently hoping she doesn’t ask me about Jax. I don’t feel like rehashing everything all over again.

  “Hey, Mel. What’s up?”

  “Ben is having a baby!” she screams.

  I wince, pulling the phone farther from my ear. “What the fuck, Mel?”

  “That’s what I said! It’s insane.”

  “No, you’re insane. I meant why are you screaming in my ear?”

  “Because Ben is having a fucking baby, Wren!”

  “I heard you. All of Idaho heard you.”

  “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

  “Because I’m deaf in one ear?”

  “Stop. This is serious.”

  I put her on speaker and start the car, dropping my phone into the cupholder next to me. “How did you find this out? Are you guys still talking?”

  “Are you driving?” she asks hotly.

  I back out of my spot. “I’m about to be.”

  “You can’t talk on the phone and drive. It’s dangerous.”

  “I’m not holding the phone. It’s no more dangerous than if you were in the car with me.”

  “Still dangerous,” she mutters.
>
  I fight the urge to groan. “Do you want to talk or not?”

  “Yes!” she answers immediately, jumping back to her mad mood. “He’s having a baby.”

  “He is or a girl he dumped his sperm into is?”

  “Sperm dumpster.”

  “Harsh.”

  “You said it first!”

  “Doesn’t make it right. I’m asking for the second time—how did you find out?”

  She’s silent for a long time and I want to come through the phone and strangle her.

  “We talk.”

  “How often?” I ask flatly.

  “Not a lot. Like every couple weeks.”

  “That’s more than we talk.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “Yours for talking to that douche so much!”

  “Hey! He’s not a douche.”

  I laugh incredulously. “Since when?”

  “He’s changed.”

  “They always do. Did he call you to bitch about the pregnancy? About how he’s not even sure if it’s his and the girl is probably lying and if it is his he’ll obviously step up and take care of things like a man but he and the mom are never going to be anything because he doesn’t love her.”

  Silence.

  “The baby is his, Mel.”

  “If he doesn’t even know for sure, how can you know?” she asks angrily, but it sounds weak. It’s a front and she doesn’t feel it.

  “Because we both know him and I wouldn’t be surprised if half the babies in the world are his. I am asking you to please not get involved with him again. Please. It’ll never work out and you know it.”

  “I do,” she admits grudgingly. “I know that. It’s just that I… I really do like him, Wren.”

  “I know you do. I like him too. He was our friend and he was fun but I think maybe he was supposed to stay in Germany. Not him physically, but our friendship with him. Some things don’t come out clean in translation and our friendship with Ben is one of those things.”