The Jasmine Project

by Meredith Ireland

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAVEY’S BOOKMAKING NOTES

  Team Justin Michael: Dad, Aunt Minnie, Uncle Steve, Uncle Edward and Aunt Kim, Cousins Charlotte and Eliza, Cousin Wesley, Uncle Rich and Cousin Teagan, Cousin Clayton, Uncle Jimmie, Cousin Colton

  Team Aaron: Cari, Mom, Nonna, Uncle Carlos, Cousin Joe, Cousins Mabel and Stella, Uncle Vin, Aunt Rosey, Cousin Tom, Cousins Liz and Jill, Aunt Tammy and Cousin Crystal, Cousin Grey, Cousins Max and Mai

  Team Eugene: yours truly, Aunt Jay, Cousin Duncan, Cousins Wylan and Madison (who agree on this and only this), Aunt Regina, Uncle Al, Cousins Jim and Tim, Aunt Jen, Cousin Amberlynn, Cousins Diana and Caster, Grandma Yap

  Team Paul: no one, literally no one

  Abstainers (cowards): Grandpa, Poppy, and the youngest kids

  Bets: Wesley—$20 on Justin Michael Clayton—$20 on Justin Michael

  Joe—$20 on Aaron

  Wylan—$20 on Eugene

  Bragging rights for everyone else—priceless

  CHAPTER NINE

  Work at Berry Plum was surprisingly good. For one, I put my phone away. For another, Katia was awesome. She cornered me and asked what was up since she’d covered two shifts and I’ve never asked for favors before. I told her my tale of woe, and turns out she dated a boy who cheated on her last year. She was all “forget him” solidarity, which shocked me. Sometimes you think you know someone and you’re just wrong.

  I would’ve talked to her more, but we were running around all shift. It’s late May, a billion degrees out, and everyone’s off from school. I was so busy, I didn’t have time to think about Paul for eight hours. It was… blissful.

  My busy streak continued yesterday because Cari and I had to search for a blue party dress. We finally found one that’s more light blue than teal, but close enough. It’s one shouldered—different from what I would normally choose, but Cari talked me into it. And what the hell. The old me wasn’t working, might as well try to be someone else.

  By dinnertime last night I was feeling okay, almost like a person again, but sleep was impossible. I knew today was coming.

  It’s Friday and my graduation day from Winter Park High School. Where I’ll definitely see Paul. And through the hours I should’ve been asleep, my mind played out scenario after scenario. At four a.m. I gave up and watched a Netflix documentary on David Chang.

  I close my eyes for a long blink and try to shake off how I thought I’d graduate hand in hand with Paul. Instead, I wonder how I’m supposed to act today. Should I be aloof and ignore him? Throw my arms around him the way I normally would? Tell him I’m proud of him, which I am, or just do that weird head-nod acknowledgment? Because what does space even mean when we don’t talk anymore?

  There are moments, like now, where I almost wish he’d permanently broken up with me. Where I think this limbo is worse.

  Sixty-eight more days until August 1. Two months and a week for him to realize we’re meant to be.

  “Hey, Jaz, you almost ready?” Mom calls.

  “Just about,” I say. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing in my bedroom in this polyester gown. Probably a worrisome amount of time.

  I rub my face then stop, remembering I have makeup on. Carissa put eye cream and foundation on me after my shower this morning, which was a very kind way of saying I look like hell. She’s not wrong. But since she did my makeup, she hid all the tired sadness. She used to have a makeup tutorial channel and only stopped because her Bachelor podcast took off. So I know the graduation pictures will turn out okay.

  There will be a lot of photos if I know my family. Winter Park High limits graduation tickets to ten per student, and for most people that’s fine. In fact, June and Emily gave me their extras. (Lol, “extras.”) But my family had to have a raffle to decide which fourteen people could come, with grudges kept about Cari’s graduation last year and promises made for Davey’s. Listening to all my aunts argue in the kitchen when I got home on Wednesday was one of the bright spots in a bad week.

  Aunt Minnie was furious at the thought Aunt Tammy would get the nod and not her. And Aunt Regina was laying out logical arguments for why she should be there, like the litigator she is. Then they all lost out because my grandparents pulled their guilt cards, and there were only six tickets left after that.

  I should be so grateful that fifty people desperately wanted to come to a high school graduation on a Friday afternoon. Seriously, who actually wants to go to one? Cari’s ceremony was like reading a phone book, and aside from worrying about seeing Paul, today is sure to be just as dull.

  But my family is so proud of me. They love me and their love is what got me here. And they’re waiting.

  I force my shoulders back and stand straighter. This is my day. My family’s day. I can smile and bear it for them. They’ve always been there for me.

  I slip the gold sash over my head that marks honors students and straighten the large blue tassel for community service. Then I put on my cap. There are some people who look good in this square cardboard hat—Cari was one of them. I am not.

  All in all, I look like an oversize key chain.

  Awesome.

  My cheeks puff out as I exhale a long breath.

  It sucks, but I can do this.

  I open my bedroom door and nearly trip over my parents. They were waiting in the hallway with their phones, recording a video no one unrelated to me will ever want to watch.

  “There she is! There’s my baby girl in her cap and gown!” Mom says.

  From my parents’ bright smiles, you’d think I’d come out in a Miss America crown.

  Mom’s phone obscures most of her face, but I know her eyes are tear filled. She’s a bit of a helicopter parent, but she never takes credit for our success—it’s all just pride.

  My dad’s light brown skin crinkles by his eyes as he smiles. His black hair has turned salt-and-pepper, which my mom calls “sexy,” which makes me want to crawl into a shell and die because it’s cute but so gross at the same time.

  I do an awkward little wave at them.

  “Winter Park’s best and brightest. Are you excited for today, Jazzy?” Dad asks.

  “Jazzy” is a nickname only he gets away with. It used to be Jazzy Jay, as my middle name is Josephina like my aunt, but he shortened it down to Jazzy. The petite yet still embarrassing nickname.

  I widen my eyes and nod enthusiastically, but I fear it looks like I’m constipated rather than excited. I’ll know tomorrow when we rewatch this moment in front of my entire extended family and whoever else can fit in our backyard.

  Cari and Davey wait in the living room. My sister lounges, looking effortlessly cool. My brother… does not. He must’ve grown since Mom last bought him dress pants, because he looks like he’s waiting for a flood. Yet his jacket is about three inches too long in the sleeves. Additionally, one side of his dress shirt hasn’t made it into his pants.

  Mess.

  “Congratulations, sis,” Cari says.

  “We’re proud of you,” Davey says. He sounds like a robocaller.

  “Thanks, guys,” I say.

  “Davey, your shirt,” Mom says. She tsks at him, clucking her tongue.

  He stands, hastily tucks his shirt in, and somehow it looks worse.

  Dad stops recording. That exchange will hit the cutting- room floor when Dad splices this together.

  “Maybe a polo,” Cari says.

  Davey looks at her like she’s pardoned him from a life sentence. His big brown eyes plead over to Mom.

  She sighs. “All right, fine, just hurry. We don’t want to be late.”

  Note: we will likely be the first car in the parking lot, arriving before whoever turns on the lights.

  “Let’s take some pictures. Get in with Cari,” Dad says.

  Oh, God.

  Dad has a few vices. One, he has a treasure hoard’s worth of bookmarks but brings home more seemingly every day. Two, he does the worst impressions known to man—seriously, they’re unimaginably
bad. And three, he’s a shutterbug. He used to look like a NatGeo photographer carting around a Nikon before iPhone came out with its fancy camera. We got him the phone and he promptly took a thousand pictures, mostly of our family. He posts the pics everywhere, completely oversharing. Who knows how many photos of me are floating around in the Philippines as the extra-extended Yaps get bombarded with updates?

  I smile thinking Paul and I may be the most recognizable faces in Manila.

  Then I’m hit with the same wave of sadness and doubt that’s plagued me for a week. Paul and I were happy then. Weren’t we? He should be here patiently taking these photos alongside my family. I apologized the first time Dad really got us with his camera, but Paul laughed and said it made him feel like a celebrity. And he looked good in every pic. He always looked good, even when he was clowning around.

  I should be posing with his little sister, Gloria—the only nondistant member of the Reyes family. His parents weren’t cold just to me, which I’d thought at first, they’re cold to Paul too. That was why he and I were going to move in together so young. He said he wanted to live with someone who actually cared about him. He’d even offered to pay for the whole apartment, but I didn’t want to freeload. I was willing to save up to pay my share.

  But now what? Will that still happen? And in the meantime, where are we? What are we?

  I close my eyes and wish for the eightieth time I’d never seen that post. I barely use my Instagram account. I could’ve stayed ignorant—it might’ve been nicer. Is there real value in knowing the truth when it tears your world apart? Or is it better to stay in comfortable denial and be a fool?

  “Jaz?” Cari says.

  I lose my stupor to find my family staring at me, including Davey, who’s now in a blue polo that’s remarkably wrinkle-free considering it was balled up on his floor.

  “I’m sorry. Coming,” I say.

  Cari’s worry wrinkle shows between her sculpted eyebrows. The little dent has appeared all week. It seems like she wants to say something, but she smiles and wraps her arm around me. We stand by the overgrown bird of paradise and I wait while Cari arranges her curls and adjusts my hair so it flows over my shoulders.

  “Ready,” she says.

  “Say ‘graduate,’ ” my dad says.

  I force a smile, then a dozen more, then another dozen as I pose in every room with every family member. We go outside and repeat the process as I try not to melt in the heat. Then we pile into my mom’s Explorer to go to the graduation ceremony… two hours early.

  At least my grandparents will bring food like it’s a tailgate. And who can be sad when there are meatballs and lumpia? I hope not me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DAVEY’S NOT NORMAL FAMILY GROUP TEXT

  MAY 24

  Cari

  We’re all set for tomorrow. The boys will show up late to blend in. If she asks, Dad ran into Justin Michael and invited him. Mom will claim Aaron is the nephew of a work friend. And Aunt Jay will say Eugene is helping out. The boys all know what to say

  Uncle Carlos

  Okay, got it

  Cousin Crystal

  Yes!

  Aunt Minnie

  Okay. How was graduation?

  Boring

  Mom

  Beautiful. Stop it, Davey

  Dad

  Paul stared at the back of her head all through the ceremony, but after, he walked by Jaz like he didn’t even see her. His sister said hi to her and his parents said hi to us, though

  Mom

  Barely. You know how those people are. But at least the bimbo wasn’t there

  Cousin Madison

  Aunt Dee…

  Cousin Wylan

  Maddy, shouldn’t you be writing your thesis or pining over that girl who doesn’t like you?

  Cousin Madison

  I stg, Wylan. At least one of us has had a real live girlfriend. Instead of an online girlfriend who lives where? In Russia? Seems totally legit

  Aunt Regina

  Enough or I’ll block you both from this chat

  Cousin Wylan

  You don’t have the tech skills for that, Mom

  Aunt Regina

  I will email IT

  Cousin Madison

  Uh-oh

  Cousin Wylan

  Oh shit

  Cari

  ANYHOW, I know we’re all excited, but it’s important everyone be normal tomorrow

  Cousin Wesley

  Good luck with getting this family to act normal. And why bother with this? Justin Michael wins. Period

  Cousin Joe

  I think tf not. Do you not know Aaron is a professional baseball player

  Cousin Wesley

  Because she knows so much about baseball? Oh, yeah, right. She doesn’t care at all

  Cousin Wylan

  No. She’ll go for a local boy

  Cousin Joe

  Maybe, but his name is Eugene. Least attractive name in history

  Cari

  ANYHOW

  Nonna

  Everyone will behave or so help me I will get out my wooden spoon. Will there be pasta, Jay?

  Mom

  Told you

  Aunt Jay

  There will be paella

  Nonna

  Okay. I’ll bring some spaghetti and meatballs

  Aunt Jay

  Mom, you really…

  Nonna

  I still have some from yesterday. It’s no problem

  Mom

  I’ll make lasagna too

  Aunt Jay

  … you know what? I’m going to go check on the food I was hired to make

  Nonna

  Sounds good, sweetheart

  Cousin Wesley

  I rest my case

  Cari

  Stick to med school, Wes. See you all tomorrow!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It’s five o’clock on the day of my party, and I’m outside working like a mule. You might think that because it’s a soiree being thrown in my honor, I would get out of manual labor. Nope. Not in this family.

  The rental company set up tables and chairs in the backyard this morning, but then it rained—the way it rains every summer day around three o’clock—and Mom freaked out like she’s never seen water falling from the sky.

  Note: She grew up here. In Orlando. Florida.

  It’s now sunny, the air has the consistency of chowder, and I’m sweating through my shirt as I wipe down chairs and tables… again. We had to rearrange everything earlier to avoid the muddy grass and Mom’s freak-out.

  At least the lasagna smells really good.

  Cari has been more of a housekeeper, cleaning and helping Mom do whatever inside, but Davey’s so sweaty, he looks like he just got off Splash Mountain as he moves furniture from the house to the outside.

  “Present table,” he says, breathing hard. He had to carry the antique oak table down the deck steps and all the way across our giant yard.

  Cari comes out of the screen door and has a box of something. Decorations. More decorations. There are already balloons, garlands, and flowers everywhere, courtesy of Uncle Vin’s flower shop. I can’t imagine the tables need anything other than the plates Aunt Jay is bringing, but Cari places lantern candles between the vases and it looks even better.

  The whole place will be magical in a few hours when it’s not so frigging hot.

  Mom appears on the deck looking frazzled. She puts one hand on her hip and one finger to her lips.

  Uh-oh. Nothing good comes from that pose.

  “Should we do something else with the tables instead of the U shape?” she says.

  Davey and I exchange horrified glances. My parents rented farm-style tables and wrought iron chairs. Everything looks amazing but is heavy as hell.

  “No, I think this is best because everyone will be focused on Jaz in the center,” Cari says.

  I’ll be impossible to miss sitting with a hundred balloons tied to my seat. I’m surprised the chair isn’t float
ing away.

  “And it leaves room for dancing later,” Cari adds.

  “Hmm, I guess that’s true,” Mom says.

  I have no idea what we’d do without Cari. Actually, I do—we’d be moving all these effing tables around again.

  “But where’s the dance floor?” Mom says. “I’m going to call them again. This is ridiculous! They said it would be installed between four and five and it’s almost five!”

  Mom turns and heads back into the house and I exhale. Better she go harass whatever poor soul works at the party rental place. We, the family who loves her, have borne the brunt of this all day. Well, not Dad. He’s been conspicuously absent “running errands” this afternoon.

  He’s the smartest one of us.

  Davey sighs dramatically. “That was a close one.”

  “You’re telling me,” I say.

  “She just gets worked up with so much to do,” Cari says. She tilts her head, frowns at a lantern, turns it about thirty degrees, then moves on to the next. “You know entertaining is important to her. They’ve spent a lot of time and money on this, and she wants to make sure everything is perfect for your big day.”

  Cari, as per usual, is right. Mom is stressed out because she wants the best for me. And despite my protests that I didn’t need it, they did spend a lot of money. Money they worked overtime for, that should’ve gone to paying down their loan. I’m going to try to be less of an ungrateful shit about it.

  “You should go get showered and changed, Jaz,” Cari says. “I’ll finish up then do your hair and makeup.”

  Everything is pretty much done outside now that we don’t have to move every single piece of furniture again. Still, knowing Mom, there’s more to do. She’s never idle. It makes her a great nurse because she’s always checking on patients, restocking, or doing paperwork when she’s at the hospital. But it kicks into overdrive with parties like this. Probably because, with the exception of Cari, we’re all useless.