“Well, it had the opposite effect on me.”
“Coming to my wedding, you mean?”
“It’s just a powerful thing,” Jake said, “when the first time you ever lay eyes on a woman she’s wearing a silk wedding gown, and a veil, and a garter. Especially when you’re sixteen and new to town. And your mother’s only been dead a year.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry. You woke me up that day.”
“If I’d known, I would have been nicer to you.”
“You were nice enough.”
“I probably should have discouraged you or something.”
“That’s not how crushes work.”
“No. I guess not.”
“Why did you think I gaped at you with my mouth open all the time?”
“I guess I just thought you were a mouth-breather.”
“No,” he said. “Crush paralysis.”
Somehow, the wine bottle was almost empty. I held up my last glass in another toast. “To crushes.”
“To women in wedding gowns.”
“And the teenage boys who appreciate them.”
We clinked again, and Jake held my gaze just a second too long before knocking the rest of his glass back in one gulp.
***
Back in my teenage bedroom, I slipped on an old Garfield sleep shirt from my dresser and turned down the bed. The pillow looked smooth and cool and inviting. I had just crawled in when Jake knocked on the door.
“Go away,” I said. “I’m asleep.”
But he cracked the door anyway and peeked in.
“Jake, it’s late.”
“It’s ten o’clock.”
“Like I said.”
“I just have to ask you a question,” he said, stepping in. He was fresh from the shower, wearing pajama bottoms and no shirt. I averted my eyes from his bare, collegiate torso.
“What is it? Because I’m elderly now, and old people can’t drink wine without getting sleepy.”
“The question is, do you want to play Scrabble?” He held out a box of travel Scrabble for me to see.
Of all things. My favorite game.
“I am way too tired to play Scrabble,” I said. But he stepped closer and sat down on the bed. I let him.
I sat up, feeling weirdly naked and far too bra-less for a social call, and I pulled the covers up around my waist. “Why did you bring that?”