Page 42 of Absorbed

“Okay,” she said in a monotone as she accepted her change.

“Great!” he said. “Meet you back at the car.”

A sour taste crept up from the back of her throat. Stacey was no longer hungry.

Jessie rejoined the group, taking someone’s board to jump it over a parking block. He landed in the middle of the parking space a car was pulling into. The driver honked at him, gesturing through his window for Jessie to move. His friends laughed.

Stacey stood against the faux-Alamo wall, her arms crossed, watching him, as she awaited their order, and considered canceling their date.

Back at The Plunge parking lot, after she parked and pulled the emergency brake, Jessie put his hand on hers. “Pick me up at eight?”

Stacey searched his blue eyes, the ocean she’d been lost in two nights before. He looked away, toward the pool. Now she felt lost with him in an entirely different way, yet she couldn’t stop herself from nodding. Hoping.

“Stellar!” He put his finger on his lips and whispered, “Our secret.” He jumped out of the car and walked ahead of her, back into the main office.

Stacey left her food in her locker and took over Melissa’s tower for the second shift of lap swim. Watching the two senior citizens slowly paddle back and forth, she was hit by wave after wave of conflicting thoughts.He’s such an ass. You deserve so much better. He’s only avoiding drama with Melissa. What’s so wrong with keeping it quiet while we get to know each other?Closing her eyes, she could feel Jessie’s hand on her thigh and recall the taste of his lips on hers from their kiss. But when the afternoon swimmers arrived at one, and he took over her tower to watch the shallow end, he said nothing. Didn’t even make eye contact.

Gabe would never ignore me, even in front of his guy friends.She considered blowing off the date. Calling Gabe. She could apologize, go to Tower Records andCable Guy, and make herself forget all about Jessie Thomas.

She looked across the pool at where Jessie sat in the deep end tower. There was a megaphone by her feet. She could pick it up. Tell him something came up.

Jessie stared straight at her, then slid his glasses down his nose. Smiling, he winked at her, then slid the sunglasses back on and turned back toward the diving board.

Stacey felt a flutter in her chest.This is dumb. I have a date with JESSIE THOMAS! I’m being too sensitive.

When the pool closed, Stacey planned to offer Jessie a ride home. But as the last family filed out through the locker rooms, he took off on his skateboard in the opposite direction from their neighborhood.We have a date in three hours, and he doesn’t even say goodbye?

In her car, she pulled out the Violent Femmes album she’d wanted to play that morning. She flipped through to “Kiss Off.”With the windows down, navigating all the turns of the winding road back home, she screamed the lyrics, feeling their truth through every inch of her body.

Her mom’s minivan was in the driveway when she pulled in. There was a large, white pick-up truck parked on the street that Stacey had never seen before. The front door was closed and she could hear the loud hum of the AC fan on the side of the house.Mom has company?

“I’m home,” Stacey announced as she opened the front door. She perked up at the smell of sauteed onions and garlic.

Murphy barked once and ran to Stacey, her tail wagging.

“We’re in here,” her mom called from the kitchen.

Stacey followed Murphy through the living room. The counter was cluttered with the chopping board and large knife set, scraps of carrots, celery, peppers, onions, and garlic strewn about. There was a box of pasta and an open bottle of Chardonnay set atop a folded grocery bag. Stacey’s mom leaned against the counter, sipping a glass of wine. A large man was at the stove, his back turned, stirring something.

“Hey, Doodle Bug,” her mom said, smiling as Stacey approached. “This is Greg!” She patted Greg’s shoulder. “Greg, this is my daughter, Stacey.”

The man turned toward Stacey, waving with the spatula and smiling.

“Hi, Stacey. Nice to meet you.”

His voice was deep, but not raspy like her dad’s. Stacey guessed he wasn’t a smoker. He was tall with thick brown hair and a Tom Selleck mustache. He wore her mother’s red-checked apron with white eyelet trim. It framed the collar of his blue dress-shirt, the sleeves rolled up, tucked into jeans with a belt. Stacey had loved to wear that apron when she was little and they baked Christmas cookies, but hadn’t seen it in years.

“Hi.” Stacey tried to sound friendly. She was taken aback by the entire scene. It was unusual for anyone to prepare a real meal in their house unless it was a holiday, but she couldn’t think of a time in her entire life when a man had cooked for them. She rarely even met the men her mom dated.

Greg went back to stirring.

“He’s making us dinner!” Her mom beamed as if she’d won the lottery. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Smells good. What is it?” Stacey asked, matching her mother’s enthusiasm. She hoped to be offered a plateful too, but was afraid she was the odd man out.

“Chicken cacciatore,” Greg sang out in a bad Italian accent, then kissed the tips of his left fingers.

“Sounds delicious.” Still unsure if her mom’s “us” meant the two of them, Stacey asked, “When do we eat? Do I have time to shower?”

---