XO

by Melissa Jane

“Did he tell you he beat up another kid because he was making fun of me on the bus when he saw the bloodstain on my skirt?”

  Shaking her head, she smiles in admiration. “No. But he did that for you?”

  “Wrapped his Panther’s jacket around my waist first.”

  “Ah… I wondered why that was on the bathroom floor.”

  “I think I ruined it.”

  “I’ll check it out. Don’t you worry about it. He was a good friend to you today.”

  I take a moment to acknowledge those unfamiliar words. He was a good friend. This could easily have been a situation Jacob could have used to his advantage, but instead, he put himself out there and protected me the whole way.

  “Dad wasn’t very nice to him.”

  My mother bristles if only for a fleeting moment. “Your father is just super protective of you. You’re the apple of his eye.”

  “But it’s Jacob. He’s lived across the street from us for years.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to a father protecting his daughter.”

  I nod, although I feel like I owe an apology to Jacob on my father’s behalf. “Speaking of who, I don’t know if Dad’s told you but he’s having a hard time at work at the moment.”

  This time, it’s not a bristle, but more a hardening of the eyes. “He told you there’s issues at work?”

  I nod, unsure if I should have said anything at all. “I guess he could really use a friend.”

  Mom squeezes my hand, but I feel her pulling away. “I’ll bring it up with him tonight, I promise. I’m leaving tomorrow on another work trip, but I’ll keep checking in on you, okay?”

  I nod again, wishing she’d reconsider work and stay home with a family who needs her. Leaning forward, she kisses me on the forehead and leaves, closing the door behind her. A part of me is grateful we now know what’s been crippling me, but at the same time, the idea that this condition can affect my life choices, even as much if I choose to have kids, weighs heavily on my mind.

  Kicking off the blanket, I cross the room to my window and look across the street. Jacob’s house sits exactly opposite to mine, our bedrooms face each other’s. I still remember the first day he moved in. It was the start of our four-year-long war. Mom had dragged me over to ‘meet and greet’ the new neighbors and handed me a freshly baked apple pie my father had requested for dessert, but was instead used to win over the new family. As soon as I saw the boy my own age helping his father unload boxes from the U-Haul trailer, I did an about-turn only to be grappled back into place.

  Freshman Summer: The beginning of the end.

  “I raised you with better manners, Rosie,” my mother chided.

  At that age, I didn’t know how to tell her that meeting new people upset my stomach. I didn’t know how to explain the anxiety that wanted to cripple me. So, I stuck to her side like a newborn lamb, looking back at the house and wishing my dad was with me. He understood me. My mother didn’t.

  “Well, hello, new neighbors,” she sang out in a tone I’d never heard her use before. Perhaps she only reserved it for ‘special’ occasions like this. Both the father and his son turned on our approach, their faces taking a moment to reflect any form of emotion. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  While the father didn’t hide his appreciation for my mother, his eyes twice traveling the length of her well-maintained body, the boy’s eyes narrowed at mine. Taking a step back, a firm hand on my shoulder put me back in place.

  “My name is Amanda, and this is my daughter, Rosie. We live directly across the street.”

  The man smiled, but I didn’t like it. Only my father should smile at my mother like that. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Amanda. Do you go by the name of Mandy?”

  His familiarity made my skin crawl but seemed to have the opposite effect on my mother, her cheeks reddening.

  “You can call me anything you like,” she replied with a nauseating giggle. Lies. I stared up at her wondering why she’d say such a thing. She hated being called Mandy. Something to do with her drunk father yelling it out at all hours of the night whenever he wanted another beer.

  “Mandy it is, then. My name’s Jim, and this is my son, Jacob.” When Jacob nods, he receives a sharp elbow from his father.

  “Hi,” he begrudgingly says with typical teenage male gruffness.

  My mother turns her sugar-laden voice to the boy. “Jacob, are you attending Beachmont?”

  Before he can reply, Jim cuts in, “He is. He’s going to be a freshman.”

  “Oh, so is Rosie. With any luck, they’ll take classes together. It’s a great school, I’m sure you’ll be happy there.”

  “He’s only there for one reason, and that’s football. He’s gotta prove his worth to get on the team, but I have no doubt by the time he’s a senior, he’ll be the Panther’s captain and hopefully, be recruited to college football.”

  “Wow!” my mother says with an impressed laugh. “You got it all sorted. Well, if you need Rosie to show you around campus, I’m sure she’ll be happy to. Right, Rosie?”

  When I don’t reply, I receive a similar elbow jab. “Yes, sure,” I agree, but have zero intention in following through.

  “Hello,” came a gentle voice from the front door. A woman, I guess to be Jacob’s mom, walks down the garden path, neatly dressed and in perfect shape. I can see where Jacob gets his looks. He shares nothing similar with his father, but his mother has beautiful thick, dark hair and tanned skin. They also share envious lashes.

  “Well, you must be Mrs…?”

  “Lynch, I’m Rosita Lynch.

  “That’s easy to remember. Similar to my daughter. I’m Amanda Reign and this is Rosie.”

  Mrs. Lynch nods in greeting and drapes an arm across her son’s shoulders, and I see him visibly relax. I note that while he’s close to his mom, my bond is with my father.

  There’s a strange beat that falls between the adults. Mr. Lynch rubs his jaw while still eyeing my mother, and Mrs. Lynch appears visibly uncomfortable. She clears her throat, and this prompts my mother.

  “My husband, he’s, ah… not feeling the best today, but I’m sure you’ll meet him very soon.” Changing pace, she places her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to take a step forward. “Rosie would love to give you a hand. We all know how full-on moving is.”

  I turned to her in an instant unable to hide the fear in my eyes and my tone. “But, Mom! No, please,” I whisper, pleading with her not to do this. This is possibly the worst suggestion she could ever have made. “I’ve got homework to do. Please, don’t make me go.”

  Mom looked at me as if I were some silly little girl purposefully being a nuisance. “Nonsense, Rosie,” she scolds. “Go, take in the pie and help Mrs. Lynch.”

  Turning me around, she shoves me forward until I fall into step with my new neighbor. I pass Jacob, who rolls his eyes, before turning back to the U-Haul box. I follow his mother up the steps and into the kitchen, placing the apple pie on the counter which is covered in various stages of unpacked boxes.

  “What would you like me to do?” I ask, timidly.

  She smiles warmly, running a hand up and down my arm. Mrs. Lynch has a calmness about her which her husband lacks. “Why don’t you take some of these smaller boxes upstairs. First door on the right.

  I nod and target the smaller boxes I know I won’t have any trouble carrying. Stacking the boxes against the far wall of the room, I look out the window and see that it faces directly across from mine. When the sheer white curtains blow in the breeze, I can see the tops of my pillows and the oil painting Dad brought back for me from Paris, which now sits framed above my bed. I make a mental note to close the heavy curtains.

  With any luck, this room will be a rarely-used study.

  “Decent view?” Jacob’s voice startles me from the door. I turn to face him, feeling suddenly embarrassed. When I don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows in question.

  I shake my head in response and attempt to leave, but he blocks t
he doorway.

  His eyes follow where mine once were. “Is that your room?”

  I nod and loosely cross my arms because I don’t know what else to do. Jacob crosses the room and stares out the window before turning, leaning against the ledge, his own arms crossing. “You’re not like other girls, are you?”

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  He smiles at my frown. Why does he seem so much more mature than boys our age? If I didn’t know he was a freshman, I would place him as a junior.

  I make to leave because being in his presence is both strangely familiar and terrifying. His hand wraps around my upper arm, and I’m stopped in my tracks. “Wait,” he says, and I avoid eye contact with him. “This yours?” He holds up my denim jacket I’d taken off downstairs but had carried up on top of a box. I grip the jacket, but he doesn’t release his hold. Instead, we both stand in the center of his room, in a silent standoff with a denim jacket that will signify the start of years of nonsense and torment. We’re the same age, but he’s a good foot taller than me, and when he peers down, a small smirk forming, I feel a shiver course over my skin.

  “I’ll get you to react to me, Posie.”

  “It’s Rosie!”

  “Okay, Posie,” he says mockingly while celebrating his first win, no matter how trivial. “I’m not usually friends with girls like…” Jacob’s eyes travel the length of my body, “… you.” With his free hand, he raises my arm and grimaces. I see what he’s looking at, and I blame my mother for dragging me from the house without notice. Dark charcoal smudges run from my wrist up to my elbow. I’d been putting together a collection of sketches for entry into the local—anyway, it doesn’t matter. My love for art is only understood by my father. It’s then I notice the charcoal has also made its way onto my light pink shirt. Shit. It no doubt looks like I’ve been rolling down a chimney.

  “You don’t need to show me around campus,” Jacob continues in a tone I find particularly hurtful. He makes it sounds like it was my idea, instead of me being coerced into it by my overcompensating mother. My cheeks redden, but that doesn’t stop him from morphing into an asshole right in front of me. “If you see me on the school bus, ignore me. If we happen to have the same classes, I’m just a stranger to you. And if our parents become friends, doesn’t mean it will be the same for us, and the rules still apply. We’re in very different leagues, you and me, and I would like it to stay that way.”

  Different leagues?

  I realize the heat I’m feeling flushing my cheeks isn’t from embarrassment, it’s rage.

  “Different leagues? How obnoxious. What’s your massive ego overcompensating for?”

  He throws a humored glance at his groin. “You can find out if your theory’s correct, but you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  “Urgh, you’re disgusting!” I pull at the denim jacket we’re both still holding, but he doesn’t let go. “You don’t have to be such a dick,” I snap before immediately regretting my choice of words.

  Jacob laughs relishing in my faux pas, and even when I desperately want to knee him in the balls, I’m thrown off my scent by the disarming smile that reaches his dark eyes.

  “I like seeing you angry,” he admits, tauntingly. “It’s like watching a little French Bulldog puppy take on a shoe.”

  “You don’t even know me, yet you think it’s okay to categorize me. Well… guess what, whoever you are, you can’t stand me as much as I can’t stand you. So, how about you stay out of my way and pretend we’ve never met.”

  I heave a breath and another slow smile spreads across his face. “Nice work, Posie. Told you I’d get a reaction from you. I thought it would take a little longer, but you’ve surprised me.”

  I yank at the jacket, and this time, he lets go. “You’re an asshole.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe, but I think you like it.”

  “Piss off!” Grunting in annoyance, I stalk from the room wanting to put as much distance between my sanity and the conceited douchebag. “You think wrong,” I yell from the top of the stairs.

  “See you at school, Posie,” he replies and judging by the tone, he’s smiling.

  “It’s Rosie!”

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Lynch is frozen in place, a vase in each hand, eyes wide in shock. “Sorry,” I sincerely apologize because her son had managed to bring out the worst in me.

  But Jacob Lynch has set the tone and from here on out, ignoring the asshole will be a piece of cake.

  ~

  Pulling the curtains aside, I look across the street and see Jacob sitting on his windowsill. Legs bent at the knees, his script book in hand. I smile, and my heart warms. Despite all that happened this afternoon, he’s still learning his lines. Rolling his head to the side, he glances my way. Seeing me watching him, he perks up and swivels front-facing, so his legs dangle outside the house. For a moment, all we do is stare. When he gives a small wave, I return the gesture.

  And when he pulls his phone from his pocket and signals for me to find mine, I leave the window momentarily and search my bag. When I find it, I return to see Jacob busy texting. It doesn’t take long for his message to come through.

  Jacob: Are you dying?

  I laugh and it hurts.

  Me: No. The world has to endure Rosie Reign for a while longer.

  Jacob: So, you’re all good?

  Me: Yes, they know what’s wrong. I’ll be fine.

  I leave out the part about being cursed with infertility.

  Me: Thank you for helping me on the bus. Your jacket isn’t ruined. My dad’s going to take it to the dry cleaners.

  Him: The jacket isn’t what I’m worried about, Rosie.

  I look up from my screen to him and see he’s still watching me. My heart does a little skip, and I swallow hard before returning the message.

  Me: I’m sorry my dad wasn’t very nice.

  Jacob: He was just looking out for you. More than what my dad ever would. So, I get it.

  Now my heart breaks that little bit more because what Jacob’s saying is true. His father is an asshole and has always lived through his son’s achievements, amounting unnecessary pressures just to live in some personal glory that he failed to reach himself in his own youth.

  Me: You’re important to me.

  I send the message not regretting how cringeworthy it must read. Jacob and I have a lot of history together, and while he’s made it his personal mission to torment me, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without him in it. I look up and meet his eyes. He’s not replying. Instead, he seems lost in thought. Perhaps, I have made him uncomfortable.

  Jacob: That’s all that matters.

  Me: X

  Jacob: O

  ~

  My father places some new magazines on my study desk and sits on the side of the bed, a hand cupping mine. I note the dark circles under his eyes and the new lines forming. His jet-black hair is bearing signs of gray, a recent and rapid development over the last month.

  “How are you today, sweetheart?” he asks. There’s a forced effort to smile.

  “Much better. I’m ready to go back to school.”

  He shakes his head. “Doctor said you have into next week off. I’ve already contacted your teachers.”

  Good old dad, always organizing my life.

  “You look tired,” I say, feeling like the roles need to be temporarily reversed. He’s always looking after me, but right now, I can see he too needs some nurturing, although he’ll never admit it.

  “Just got a lot on my plate at the moment. Nothing to worry about, boo-boo.” He pats my hands and delivers a genuine smile. “I’ve got to run some errands and get you some more medication. Will you be okay for a couple of hours?”

  I chuckle because I feel ready to run a marathon. Well… at least stroll through one. “I’m fine. Go, do your thing.”

  Dad leans forward and kisses my forehead before heading to the stairs. He calls over his shoulder, “I’ll bring home som
e Arby’s for lunch.”

  “Don’t forget the garlic bread.”

  “Have I ever?” His voice fades, and I hear the front door close behind him.

  I text Mom.

  Me: Did you speak with Dad? He still seems out of sorts. Text back, please.

  I wait, and at least twenty minutes pass without a response. Typical. Always too busy for family. Snuggling into the comforter, I close my eyes, and I start dreaming of Arby’s garlic bread when I hear a commotion followed by a knock. I turn to my door, heart pounding because it’s only me at home. No one’s in the house, but I wonder if there’s someone at the front door. Too bad if there is, they can come back. Snuggling back down, there’s another startling bang, this time louder and followed by my name.

  “Rosie! Let me in.”

  I bolt upright to find Jacob cupping his face from the sun to peer through my window. “What the heck.”

  Flipping off the bedsheets, knowing my hair is in all sorts of disarray, I pad to the window and slide it up until I’m face to face with a smiling Jacob.

  “How did you get up here?”

  He points to the giant tree at the side of the house, which has a thick, sturdy branches over the veranda. “I tried the front door, but it’s locked. So, this was the only option.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “How long is your dad out?”

  “A few hours, at least.”

  His beautiful chocolate eyes twinkle in mischief. “Plenty of time,” he says while expertly climbing through the window like a professional burglar.

  My stomach somersaults. “Plenty of time for what?”

  He stands straight and pulls a script from behind his back. “To learn our lines. We missed rehearsal day.”

  Yes, we did. Something to do with bleeding like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. “Why aren’t you at school?”

  He shrugs. “I was. I figured this is more important, so I left.”

  Boys like Jacob Lynch will only break your heart, Rosie. My father’s words play over before I shove them aside.