And it’s true. I stopped searching rental websites every day. I even ignore the Apartments.com new-listing emails. I wanted to move for Paul, not for me, and this break has made that clear.
Emily and June exchange glances, but I can’t understand their meaning. And it’s strange because I’ve been able to read June since we were eight.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing,” Emily says.
“Nothing,” June says.
Sure.
Maybe they don’t like that I’m unsure about my future. Maybe they think I’m weak for waiting on Paul. We’ve had more than one discussion where they’ve questioned my desire to stay local at a community college instead of going to a university. But it feels like I’m missing something bigger this time. It feels almost like they know something I don’t. But what?
“Something is up,” I say. “What?”
Emily’s lips part, but June shakes her head. They stare at each other and it looks like they’re in a silent war, and that’s so weird. Finally, Emily sighs.
“I’m probably being a little overdramatic with wanting to move,” Emily says. “But I can’t believe my parents.”
Note: Emily has never once admitted to being overdramatic. Even when she spent half the day crying because Shawn liked a pic of a girl’s dog on Instagram, Emily felt justified. What fresh nonsense is this? How did Emily switch gears so quickly? Why is June oddly quiet?
“Have you eaten breakfast?” June asks.
“No,” Emily says. “Well, unless you count the coffee. Thanks, by the way.”
“Anytime,” June says. “But maybe Jaz will make us real breakfast. Pancakes?”
June stares at me and her eyes shoot over to Emily like, Offer to make her pancakes now, you donkey.
I’m slow on the uptake because I’m still trying to figure out why they’re acting off, but I didn’t have breakfast either and pancakes do sound really good. Also, the Underwoods have an amazing gourmet kitchen.
“We can help,” Emily says.
I squint one eye. Neither knows how to cook, and Emily started a small fire in her microwave… twice.
“By ‘help,’ I mean we’ll talk to you while you cook,” she says.
“And we’ll do some dishes,” June adds. Emily nods her agreement.
“All right,” I say. “All the dishes.”
“Done,” Emily says.
We head to the kitchen, and even though I can’t shake the thought that I’m missing something, it’s not like they’d ever keep anything important from me, so I focus on what kind of pancakes to make. Blueberry sounds perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
June pulls into the parking lot of the animal shelter a few minutes before noon. After spilling batter on my shirt and a lot of badgering from Emily, I agreed to take a shirt from her. I’m not sure why she was so adamant I change, but the sleeveless shirt is much nicer than anything I’d normally wear. I think it’s silk and probably cost as much as my graduation dress, but Emily said it was too small on her and to keep it. I’m afraid to get dirty, but I’ll be at the desk today, so I shouldn’t get anything on me.
Famous last words.
I thank June for the ride, get out of the Mustang, and face the squat beige building.
With a deep breath, I pull open the door and walk in. I take my seat at the empty front desk and get to work.
Over the past two years I’ve done just about every volunteer job here, from walking dogs to sorting paperwork, but lately I’ve focused on upgrading the website to help get more animals adopted.
It’s a little after three o’clock when I’ve finished updates to the website, social media, and answering emails. The door chimes open and it’s my job to greet people. I always hope it’s a family who’ll adopt, but usually on a Wednesday it’s deliveries and sometimes it’s a surrender. Pets wind up here when they get lost, when their owners die, or commonly when they’re just not wanted anymore.
I look up from my paperwork. It’s one person bringing in a box so large, it obscures half their body. It doesn’t appear to be FedEx so it must be donations, which is great. We can always use more.
But the box lowers to the floor revealing Eugene across from me.
“What?” I say.
Note: of the million things I’ve thought to say to him since Publix, “what” was not one of them.
“Oh my God. Hey,” he says. He blinks a few times.
We stare at each other, and I really wish we could start over. Maybe from the second he saved me from falling in the mud, but definitely today.
“Why… uh… I mean, what are you doing here?” I ask. My heart pounds like it’s trying to break out of my chest and run away. There’s a terror in being around a boy you kind of like.
“I’m dropping off some donations,” he says. “Delivery boy extraordinaire, at your service. Well, at my dad’s service.” He bows gracefully.
“Oh, that’s really kind,” I say.
“Do you work here?” he asks. “Or did you hijack the desk?”
I laugh. “I volunteer.”
“That’s cool,” he says.
Suddenly, I’m extra grateful to Emily for the shirt, because I could not have let him see me in Winnie-the-Pooh gear and a stained five-dollar tank back to back. When he’s not looking, I run my tongue over my teeth, praying I don’t have blueberries in them.
“It’s my first time here,” Eugene says, looking around. “My parents do a charity each month and this one was animals, so we’re donating to a couple of rescues, here, and the Humane Society.”
“That’s really nice of you,” I say. “We’re not nearly as well funded as the Humane Society. They get a ton of support and charge higher fees, but we stretch our budget as far as we can, so I’m sure whatever you brought will be appreciated. I can give you a sheet for taxes, but just know we’ll use everything. And…”
I pause, realizing he’s staring at me.
“And… now I’ll step off my soapbox,” I say.
His dimple shows. “You’d be taller on a soapbox.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you bring some raisin bran?”
“Ha,” he says. He opens the box and rummages through it. “We have leashes, collars, elaborate poop-bag systems, some fancy dog beds from a very overpriced pet boutique, a cat tree, and a bunch of treats courtesy of Lantern & Jacks.”
“Lantern & Jacks makes animal treats?” I say, knitting my eyebrows.
“Not officially. This is just for the shelter,” Eugene says.
“Do they say Lantern & Jacks?” I come around the desk and peer into the box. There must be three dozen containers. My mind works overtime. This could all be very useful.
“Yeah, they’re in our dessert boxes,” Eugene says as he looks at the containers. “Our sous-chef’s German shepherd loves them, so I assume they’re great. Collins is obsessed with making his dog’s food.”
“Would you mind if I put these into raffle baskets?” I say. “It could be a good way to raise money. Or we could do them as adoption incentives—adopt a pet and get gourmet treats and maybe be registered to win a grand prize gift basket that has an overpriced dog bed. I’ll have to ask my boss which she thinks will be better.”
“They’re both great ideas,” Eugene says. “Whatever helps more.”
We nod, then fall into silence.
“You didn’t text,” I say—blurt out is more accurate.
I stare at the floor like it’s intensely interesting, then finally find the nerve to look up. He’s gazing down at me.
“I was hoping you’d message, honestly,” he says. “Which, now that I’ve said it out loud, sounds weird. I could’ve texted first, right?”
“I… I don’t know.”
We stare at each other for a second before we start laughing. It isn’t funny, but also, it is. We were both checking our phones, hoping the other would break the ice.
“I overthought it.” He rubs his neck and smiles shyly. “I drafted
a bunch of texts but never hit send.”
“Oh, God, I did too.” Many, many, many messages, but we don’t need to get into numbers.
“I’d really like to hang out sometime,” he says. “Are you free this week?”
I think about my schedule, and all of a sudden I have a… life. Justin Michael is coming over tomorrow evening for a movie, I’m working Friday, going to Aaron’s baseball game Saturday night, and Sunday is Cousin Mabel’s birthday. How did this even happen? Normally, I just have Burrito Friday with Paul, hanging out with June and Emily on Saturday, and family time on Sunday.
“I’m free tonight,” I say. I glance at the clock and it’s after two thirty. I was scheduled to finish around three anyhow. “I can leave now, if you’re not busy.”
Note: I sound next-level eager. I try not to sigh at myself.
“Um, I told my dad I’d go back and finish prep,” he says, glancing at his watch.
My hopes deflate, but I force a smile. “Oh, okay.”
“I am free afterward, though. Do you… would you be okay with hanging out at the restaurant while I prep? It should take about two hours, but I could feed you if you’re hungry.”
Excuse me, what? What even?
“Yes,” I say. I break the land-speed record for overeager, because holy crap! I’m going to “hang out” at Lantern & Jacks. No reservation, maybe in the kitchen, and Eugene is going to cook for me? How did this even happen?
“And you’re in luck,” he says. I stare at him like he read my mind. “I don’t have my bike because I had to run around with deliveries today. So you won’t have to try riding on a motorcycle… yet.”
I hadn’t even thought of that, too focused on seeing Jack Matthews’s kitchen in action. Suddenly, I’m a little disappointed I won’t be putting my arms around Eugene. Even if it was to hang on for dear life on his motorcycle. But that word “yet” contains so much hope.
Wait, what kind of thought is that? There’s no way I’d get on his death mobile. I shake off the thought.
“Oh, unless you have your car,” he says. “Then you can follow me.”
I smile brightly. “No, my friend dropped me off, so a ride would be great. Perfect. I need a ride. With you. In a truck. Not on a bike.”
Oh, dear God. Take a vow of silence, Jasmine.
He laughs. “Okay. Do you have to clock out or something?”
“No, but can you help me take the box to the office? By ‘help,’ I mean carry the whole thing.”
He laughs again. “Sure.”
He heaves the box up, and I stare at his muscles as we walk to the office. It’s a small, windowless room with walls covered, and I mean covered, with photos of adopted dogs and cats. If there was a dog and cat conspiracy room, it would look like this.
Eugene sets the box on the floor. I write a note about using the donations to raise money or awareness, then close the door.
We walk back to the front desk, I grab a tax form, stamp it, and hand it to Eugene. Then I take a placard and put it on the counter. It tells visitors to go down the hall for assistance.
“Ready when you are,” I say.
“Great.”
We walk out of the shelter, and as soon as I step outside, I feel relieved. I always do. It’s a heavy thing, volunteering at a place that can’t save every animal. I take a cleansing breath and square my shoulders. Even the muggy heat feels good on my bare arms. I close my eyes for a second and let go of everything. Then I open my eyes. Eugene is looking at me.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Sure,” I say.
“I’m over this way.” He points to a blue F-150. I don’t know what I expected him to drive, but a pickup truck wasn’t it.
“Why do you volunteer here?” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“You could’ve picked anyplace, and the Humane Society is right across the parking lot. This seems… hard.” He unlocks the truck and opens the door on my side. I hoist myself in.
I inhale because the whole cab smells like him, and that’s so much better than the flea powder/bleach scent of the shelter. He gets in on the other side.
“It is difficult,” I say. “There are more challenges with a shelter, but I can do more good here.”
He pauses with his keys in the ignition. He stares at me, his teal eyes scanning before he nods. “Makes sense.”
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Sure.”
“Why do you drive a pickup?”
His brow wrinkles, then clears. “I learned how to drive in one and I’ve always had a truck. They’re handy and I like being useful. Plus, my bike fits in the bed, so it’s easy to take it up to New York.”
“Oh.”
He starts the truck and shifts into drive. I feel the same stomach-churning sadness about him leaving. It still doesn’t make any sense. I barely know him.
“Both will stay here for the rest of the year, though.” He pulls out of the parking lot.
“Really? Why’s that?” I perk up. Maybe he’s decided to transfer to UCF or work full-time at the restaurant and date me forever. Even though I’m still dating someone… kind of.
Ugh, I can’t even think about that.
“Because there isn’t a good way to get them to Spain.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“I’ve looked into shipping my bike,” he says, “but I can buy a used one for less. It won’t be the same, but it’ll get me around.”
“What?” I turn in my seat. “Spain? You’re going to Spain—like the country?” I draw a little box in the air with my fingers that has absolutely nothing to do with the nation of Spain.
He laughs. “Yes. I’ll be at the University of Madrid starting in September, but my program will take me all over. I’ll probably spend my weekends exploring.”
Sure, he’ll see Valencia the city, and I’m going to Valencia the community college. Same thing.
“Why Spain?” I ask.
He looks me in the eyes as we stop at a light. “Why not?”
A million reasons—it’s a foreign country on another continent that’s so far away, filled with new people, new customs, and a language barrier—just to name a few. I sputter, but nothing comes out.
“They’re doing some amazing things food-wise, and I’ll be getting international business credits toward my degree,” he says. “But the real reason is, I went to Barcelona five years ago and I loved it. I’ve wanted to go back to Spain. This is a good excuse for an adventure.”
“Are you going with your girlfriend?” I ask.
I can’t believe I came right out and asked, but please say no.
It’s occurred to me more than once that the reason he didn’t text is because he’s dating someone. Maybe someone in New York.
He looks at me funny. “Of course I don’t have a girlfriend. I figure I’ll make some friends over there. But even if it’s just me, this is my chance to live in Europe.” He shrugs. “I may spend the whole year there. We’ll see how it goes.”
I’m so relieved he’s not dating anyone, but a year? Just like that? Is he serious? The way he can say it so casually…
“We’re so different,” I think. Unfortunately, I also say it aloud.
I put my hand over my mouth. What happens to me when I’m around him? It’s like I’m trying to make him run away from me.
He laughs. “Different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“There’s no way I’d be able to take off to Europe alone for half a year, maybe more. No matter how much I want to.” I add the last part in a murmur.
He glances at me as we merge onto I-4. “Why not?”
I’ve asked myself the same question for months, and he just put it out there. At first the answer was Paul, but it goes deeper than that.
“Because,” I say. “Because that’s not how I am. Because it’s so far. Because I’d be alone and I’m never alone. Because… everything about it scares me.�
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“Being scared is normal, though,” he says. “It means you’re breaking out of your comfort zone.”
I shake my head, my long hair waving. “Nope. No. Being scared means I don’t do the thing that scares me. I like things that are comfortable and predictable. I love my comfort zone. Good comfort zone.” I pet the dashboard.
One side of his lips rises. “I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. If you want to go, you should go.”
My eyes widen because his mind reading is freaking me out. “I don’t want to go.”
“You said, ‘No matter how much I want to.’ So you’ve thought about it, want to do it, but talked yourself out of it because it’s out of your comfort zone.”
I startle. I’ve never been with someone who’s listened to me this closely. And yes, there’s a part of me that still dreams, despite everything. That imagines a life where I can just take off to Paris and become a world-renowned chef. And I never had to deal with that part of me because Paul liked safe, solid, and predictable too. But being around people like Aaron and Eugene and even Justin, who pursue what they want, makes me think…
No. The comfort zone is good. Bad things happen when you step out of the zone. I learned that lesson the hard way. Twice.
“You don’t know me,” I say.
He shrugs. “Maybe not. But I’m learning. And I like what I do know.”
My face feels like it’s on fire as we pull into downtown. But I can’t be too focused on my hellish blush because in the distance, on Lantern Street, is Lantern & Jacks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DAVEY’S PRICKLY FAMILY GROUP TEXT
MAY 29
Cousin Wesley
So when do you all pay up?
Cousin Crystal
Um, south of Never, because Eugene is totally going to win. They’re perfect together
Cousin Joe
Isn’t she going to Aaron’s baseball game on Saturday? Bring vapors, she’s going to swoon
Cousin Madison
Oh, because women are so fragile? LOL
Cousin Wylan
Here we go again. Thanks, pal
The Jasmine Project Page 11