“So your status would be it’s complicated?”
“Nope. We’re status-less.”
“So, where does this leave us?”
“Going to prom, also status-less? Maybe status-pending?”
“Hmmm.” Because of course I want to go to prom with Kate, but I’m naturally clumsy and these attached strings are trip hazards.
“I just wanted to be honest with you. All of this is new and confusing for me. I think you’re a cool guy, Jack. And I’d love to be your prom date, if you’ll still have me?”
And before my brain can spit out the cost-risk analysis, my heart chimes in. “We’ll have you.”
Kate laughs. “We?”
“I mean, me. Me’ll have you.”
I can feel her smile through the phone. “Oh, I can’t wait to be awkward with you in person, Jack.”
“The feeling’s all the way mutual.”
I’ll Build a Mighty Moat Around Your Love
Kate and I decide she should probably meet the people we’re tag-teaming prom with. My parents are out for the evening, so the four of us end up at my house.
“Guys, this is Kate,” I say. “Kate, the guys.”
Jillian laughs. “In addition to being one of the guys, I also play a girl. Hi, I’m Jillian. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Kate says. And then adds, “About you both.”
“That’s an awesome shirt,” Franny says, pointing at Kate. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen Mighty Moat live.”
“Okay,” Kate says. “I also won’t tell you that the drummer is my sister’s current beau.”
“Get out of here. You serious?”
“I don’t joke about Mighty Moat,” Kate says.
“Oh my God. You have to get us tickets. Can you get us tickets?”
“Babe, relax,” Jillian intercedes. “Can you at least let her take off her coat before you ask her to fly you to the moon?”
“It’s okay,” Kate says. “I can absolutely get us tickets. What are you doing two weeks from Friday? And would you be down for a road trip to Detroit?”
“Are you kidding!” he shouts. He hops onto a kitchen table chair, pumping his fists like a maniac. “This is a joke, right? You put her up to this, Jack?”
“Don’t look at me,” I say.
Kate smiles. “I promise you, I don’t joke about things of this magnitude.”
“Oh my God, we’re going to Detroit to see Mighty Moat, babe, are you hearing this?” Franny is jumping up and down on the chair now.
Jillian reaches out to calm him down. “Please excuse my boyfriend. I water him whenever I remember, but he doesn’t get much sun.”
Kate and I laugh.
Then Jillian asks, “So, my dear Kate, in your honor, tonight we’ve pulled out all the stops. We have shrimp-flavored ramen.”
“For me?” Kate says, laughing. “I’m okay with original flavor.”
But Jillian won’t hear of it. “No, no,” she says. “Only the best for our esteemed guest.”
Kate beams. “Well, thank you.”
“Natch,” Jillian says. She rips the ramen package open, drops the loaf of noodles into the water boiling on the stove.
“Can I help?” Kate asks.
Jillian grins, hand on her hip. “You’ve had ramen before, right? I don’t even need my help to make it.”
“How about I set the table?”
“I usually make the boys do that, but . . .” Jillian points to a cabinet. “Bowls are in there.”
“Sweet,” Kate says.
I look over at Jillian and then back to Kate. The only two women I’ve ever had real feelings for in the same room, about to eat shrimp à la ramen together, out of my crappy childhood bowls?
It’s odd, right?
And yet it feels oddly right.
Two hours later, Franny’s in vintage Franny Storytelling Mode, and our asses, if not laughed off entirely, are barely hanging on.
“So, then Jack’s standing there with his pants around his ankles and Mrs. Calloway’s face is on fire, and she’s coming at us with one of those big-ass push brooms you use to clean a stadium. Except she’s trying to decapitate us.”
“Stoooppp,” Kate says. She nearly spits out her Kool-Aid. “What did you guys do?”
Franny eyes me. “We did what young gentlemen do. We hauled ass, and hoped to God she didn’t call our moms.”
“Oh my God,” Kate says, cracking up.
Franny shakes his head. “Seriously, Jack didn’t even get his pants all the way up, but you should’ve seen his legs pumping. He ran like he needed exorcism.”
“The first and only time I’ll ever beat Franny in a footrace,” I add.
“To good times,” Franny says. He holds his cup out toward the center of the table.
“The best times,” I agree, tapping my cup against his, the girls following suit.
I disappear into the garage to scavenge for ice cream in the storage freezer, but when I return victorious (Double Choco Fudge Fantastic and Buckeye Bite Bonanza), Franny and Jillian exchange looks. Franny shakes his head, scoots his stool back from the kitchen island.
“Actually, Jack-O, we’re gonna take off,” Franny declares. “Seems I have a history paper to write.”
“Aww, no way,” Kate protests. “When’s it due?”
Franny winks. “Tomorrow. Morning. At, er, eight a.m.”
“Yet you’re the picture of calm,” Kate says, laughing.
“You don’t know this yet, Kate, but our friend Franny here is Lord of the Procrastinators,” I say.
“Only Lord? You’re really selling Franny short,” Jillian adds. She gathers the dishes from the table, and I load them into the dishwasher.
“Guys, we all know I work better under pressure.”
Jillian closes the dishwasher with her hip. “Well, considering that’s the only way you ever work, it’s hard to disprove.”
“Ouch, that’s cold,” Franny says.
“Awww, my poor baby,” Jillian says. She wraps her arms around his waist.
“Baby, love you,” Franny says. He leans into her and she nuzzles her nose into his chest.
“Gross,” I yell. “We eat in here!”
“Get a room already,” Kate says.
But it’s hard to imagine anything better than my two best friends in love. Hard to envision a world where they aren’t perfect together.
On their way out, Franny calls over his shoulder, “You kids have fuuuuun.”
Jillian turns back, offers an apologetic smile as she ushers him down the driveway.
I lock the door, then rest my back against it. “So,” I say.
I squint, presenting Kate with The Jack King Eye of Irresistible Seduction. A look that, to date, has netted me exactly zero dividends.
“So,” Kate repeats. “What should we do now?” Except Kate’s voice implies she may have a few ideas.
“Video games,” I suggest, probably too earnestly. “Or maybe TV? Do you like college basketball, because March Madness just started. Also, I could whip us up some milkshakes, or I think Mom has frozen cookie dough we could . . .”
“Jack.” She brings her slightly crooked index finger to my lips. “You had me at video games.”
And I’m not saying she wouldn’t have beaten me anyway, but I can barely concentrate. I keep staring at her from the corner of my eye, afraid she might be an illusion.
She annihilates me eight games straight. “You okay? It feels like you’re miles from here.”
“Guess I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
“The truth?”
She laughs. “Honesty’s cool, yeah.”
“I want to kiss you.”
“Oh,” she says. Only I can’t decipher her tone.
Which means I’ve probably blown it. Too fast, too soon, Jack.
“So, how come you haven’t?” she asks. Her question bounces into me like sonar, reverberating down in
to my darkest depths. Why haven’t you, Jack? Why haven’t you? Why haven’t—
But before I can answer, she lifts my chin, takes my face in her hands, and her lips press into mine.
Her lips might as well be keys, because damn if they don’t instantly have me wide open.
And—
And—
Fireworks, guys.
Freaking fireworks.
Mall Talk
Three days before prom I’m at the mall trying on formal wear. But my primary functions are Jillian’s Chief Purse Guardian while she rifles through dress racks, and Franny’s Heckler as he models every suit in his exhaustive search of The One Suit Worthy of His Body.
“Kate’s not meeting us?” Jillian asks. We’ve just exited our two hundredth store, and Franny’s still empty-handed save for a pizza pretzel. You can’t shop on an empty stomach, Jack, he’d said. If you’re hungry, you make rash decisions.
I shake my head. “She has an appointment she couldn’t get out of.”
Franny slaps at my department-store bag, laughing. “Probably for the best. Otherwise she’d discover just how color-blind you are!”
“Leave him alone,” Jillian says.
“Thank you, Jillian,” I say.
“Personally, I think it’s cute that Jackie hasn’t learned his colors,” Jillian says.
“Wow. I really hate both of you,” I say.
And maybe I wasn’t excited about prom before—because, you know, it involves dancing and girls and maybe dancing with girls—but thanks to Kate, I’m starting to come around.
Orchid
I know little* about flowers.
*Nothing.
So, I ask Mom to help me pick Kate’s corsage—because 1) it’ll make Mom happy and 2) where do you even buy corsages?
We walk up and down the greenhouse rows.
Finally, Mom stops. “This is the one,” she says. She holds the brightest yellow flower I’ve ever seen.
“Perfect,” I say.
Ten minutes later, we’re driving home, the orchid balanced in a clear box on my lap.
Mom glances at me across the seat. “Jackie?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
Her hand leaves the steering wheel and she wipes her eyes.
I smile at her. “Mom, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re having orchid remorse. We can go back and get the tiger lily. It’s not too late.”
“You’re a fool,” she says. She laughs through her tears. “Nothing’s wrong.” She ruffles my hair with her fingers, and I think about all the times she sat on the floor beside my bed, her fingers running across my scalp—nights I’d begged her to stay until I fell asleep. “I’m proud of you, Jackie. Of who you’re becoming. Who you already are.”
And I just nod—say a soft “I love you, Mom”—because what else do you say to the woman who made you you?
“Kate’ll love your orchid, but it has nothing to do with the flower.”
“I love you, Mom,” I say again. This time not soft at all.
Exits
Dad’s in full paparazzi mode.
Shadowing me, taking pictures while I shave, brush my teeth, while I rifle through my sock drawer looking for my favorite pair.
“Jack, just look this way for a minute.”
“Dad, c’mon,” I beg. “When Kate gets here, this has to stop, okay?”
“I make no promises,” Dad says, winking. “Okay, now turn your head a touch to the right. Nope, nope, that’s too much. Go back a little. There, there. Now hold it. Keep holding . . . hold it.”
“My neck is in danger of breaking if I hold this any longer, Dad.”
Mom slides her arms around Dad’s waist. “You know your father lives for these moments, Jackie. Let him have his fun.”
I break pose. “I don’t want to infringe on Dad’s fun. I just don’t want it to be at my fun’s expense. You guys know I hate pictures.”
“But you’re so handsome,” Mom says. She steps away from Dad to pinch my cheeks.
I sidestep her reach. “Maybe I’ll just meet Kate out on the front porch.”
“Ha ha ha,” Dad says, feigning laughter. “I still don’t understand why you aren’t picking her up.”
“I told you, she’s staying at her folks’ house this weekend, and she said it didn’t make sense for me to drive all the way out there only to drive back this way. I tried convincing her, but she insisted.”
“Hmph,” Dad snorts. “Back in my day . . .”
“You didn’t have a car and it was the worst snowstorm the earth’s ever seen even though it was April, and you trudged thirty-seven miles without a decent coat. And you still picked Mom up for prom.”
“And he still showed up looking so sexy,” Mom adds.
Dad beams. “My suit was so wet and wrinkled. Remember your mom made me hang my jacket over the radiator before she’d let us leave?”
Mom laughs. “The look on your face when Dad said you had to ride up front with him while he drove us.”
“The man was completely unreasonable. Talking about ‘no funny business on my watch.’ Little did he know what was really going down on his watch . . .”
Dad pulls Mom into him, smushes a kiss onto her cheek. Mom laughs, slaps at his hands. “Don’t give your son any ideas,” she says. “Bad enough he has your genes working against him.” Mom turns to me, a look of concern on her face. “Jackie, you’ll be careful, won’t you?”
I know this conversation’s destination, and I’d rather not make the trip. “Mom, please.”
“Don’t take any chances. Better to be prepared than . . .”
“Mom,” I say firmly.
“Listen to your mother,” Dad insists. “We’re too young and vibrant for grandparenthood right now.”
This is the blessing of being an only child: you have your parents’ undivided attention.
This is the curse of being an only child: you have your parents’ undivided attention.
“Everything’s covered, guys. Thanks for your incredible amount of uncomfortable concern.” I pull out my phone. Kate’s fifteen minutes late.
Dad reads my mind. “Maybe she needed gas.”
“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Mom chimes.
Fifteen minutes later, I shoot Kate a text.
ME: Hey, just making sure you’re okay. Hopefully you’re just working on CP time. LOL
Another ten minutes and nothing.
Mom calls from the kitchen. “Maybe eat a little dinner before you go, Jackie? Take your mind off things.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
I dial Kate’s number and get her voice mail.
I call again, same result.
I take off my suit coat, drape it over the living room ottoman. No sense in letting it wrinkle. Take a seat beside Dad on the couch. He squeezes my shoulders, grunts his support. I grunt my appreciation back.
I hear a car pull into the driveway. I hop off the couch, pull the curtain away from the front window, only to see the car reverse and zoom away.
“False alarm,” I announce.
“Maybe call her house,” he suggests.
I shrug. “I only have her cell number.”
“You could try the phone book?”
I smile. “What’s a phone book?”
I call Kate and this time I leave a voice mail.
Thunder rattles the living room, rain falling in sheets outside.
My phone chimes. But it’s only Franny.
FRANNY: Time to turn up!! You ready to make some history, bro?!?!
I don’t reply.
I text Kate again.
Mom comes out of the kitchen balancing two dinner plates, sets them down in front of us, kisses my forehead, then Dad’s.
“Thank you, baby,” Dad says.
“Thanks,” I manage.
Dad spears a broccoli head. “Son, maybe you should go find her. Maybe you—”
But before he can finish I’m throwing on my jacket, slipping on shoes.
Mom mat
erializes at the front door, the yellow orchid in one hand, her car keys dangling in the other. “Be safe, Jackie.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. I take the keys, the flower, and rush outside, forgetting that it’s raining elephants.
“Jackie, umbrella,” Mom calls after me.
But there’s no turning back now.
I’m soaked before I make it into the car.
And then I’m speeding past cookie-cutter blocks of cookie-cutter houses and cookie-cutter yards. I merge onto the highway, rain slapping the windshield, puddles spitting away from my tires.
My phone beeps.
JILLIAN: Where are you, man?! You’re supposed to hook up AFTER prom is over!!! LOL Hurry your ass!!
I lean into the gas.
I nearly miss the exit, swerving Mom’s car over two lanes, fishtailing along the median. But I make it. Still, part of me wonders, What are you doing, Jack?
What do you think is gonna happen?
You show up to her door and she answers—and then what?
Then what, Jack?
I don’t have an answer.
GPS on my phone screen, her address plugged in, I still pass her house. I turn around in a neighbor’s driveway.
There’s an opaque window on Kate’s front door; it’s mostly dark inside. It’s quiet, too.
My phone rings.
“Jack, I’m so so sorry,” Kate says into my wet ear.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
A long pause. “I can’t go to prom. And I know this is sooo messed up, but I promise you if I could . . .”
“Did I do something, Kate? I don’t understand.”
“You did nothing wrong. I don’t know how to explain.”
“Just try. Try to explain.”
“I just wanted you to know . . . I’m so very sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say something, Kate. Because so far you haven’t said anything.”
“Jack . . .”
“Prom started two hours ago. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“So, you didn’t go?”
“We were supposed to go together, Kate. We were supposed to . . . where are you? Are you in your house?”
“No. Look, it’s a long story . . .”
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