Page 56 of Told You So
Most of my life, I’ve worried about Jesse, never stopping to think that I might have a learning disability and that’s why I’ve always struggled so much. “My parents would freak,” I say, partially amused.
“Would you like me to give you the name of a clinician friend of mine? Her name is Katy Richters. I referred a few patients to her when I was practicing, and I believe she’s still at it. She would be able to give you a screening assessment—a profile of sorts to show you your strengths and weaknesses. You’d know what tools you need to make your academic career easier.”
It’s easy to fantasize of a day when school is a little less daunting. “I’ll think about it,” I tell her. “Thank you, Mrs. Turner.”
“Please, sweetie, call me Leslie. I feel old enough as it is without the added formality.” She slides the books she referenced during our quizzing back into place on the bookshelf in the living room.
“I’ll try.” I glance up the stairs, hearing Jesse’s muffled laugh, and smile.
“Nick and Reilly used to spend hours up there, playing video games and who knows what else,” Mrs. Turner muses.
I imagine Reilly and Nick in their teens, running up the stairs after baseball practice. It’s the perfect house for having friends over—big yards and lofty rooms. I can almost see Nick in the den, sprawled out on the floor, watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and eating popcorn with his friends.
“Nick’s been really good to Jesse,” I tell her. “Which is everything to me. You raised a very good man.”
She looks at me like she can see into my soul. “Yes, he is a good man, and a good friend to have.” With a dip of her head, Mrs. Turner excuses herself from the room before I can reply. I’m not sure if that was a semi-sweet, sugar-coated message, or if it was a simple statement, but I’m left wondering as I drop my bag off by the front door. According to the wall clock, I have a few hours before work and errands still to run, so I head up the stairs in search of Jesse.
Family photos line the wall as I meander up the staircase, and the carpet is off-white, a little shaggy and outdated but well taken care of. The upstairs of the house is just like downstairs. It’s perfectly furnished and matching, everything in its place, much like my house. Though Mrs. Turner’s taste isn’t like my mom’s. It’s soft and plush where my mother’s design is all sharp angels and monotone colors. The fact that there are happy family photos—photos of Nick and his friends, and framed animal paintings and artwork instead of abstract pieces hanging on the walls—make it seem like a different world than what I’m used to living in.
I smile, a little envious but pleased that Nick’s childhood seemed like a happy one, like I’d imagined.
The floorboards creak as I explore the landing, passing by what looks like an extra bedroom, lightly furnished with a light wood dresser set and a floral comforter on the bed. I pass a bathroom and upstairs office, everything bathed in the light that filters in through the large wall of windows in the front of the house.
I hear Jesse’s laugh through the door at the end of the hallway and creak it open. Peeking inside, I find the two of them sitting on bean bags in front of a large but boxy television, both of their faces contorted as they twitch and squirm in their seats. The cars they’re driving screech and burn out down empty, digital streets.
A neon green convertible flips across the screen and Nick groans.
“Dude!” Jesse says, truly smiling for the first time in a long time, and it makes my chest tighten. “You died, again.”
“Yeah, thanks, kid. I appreciate you rubbing it in.” Nick turns to him and offers a high-five. “Good job, though. You schooled me.”
“It’s all right, you haven’t played in a while.”
Nick chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “True. Let’s go with that.” When he notices me, his eyes widen. “Hey, how did it go? Do you feel smarter?” he teases.
“A lot, actually. Thanks for asking.” I look past him at Jesse. “Come on, J. We have to run a few errands before I take you home. Get your stuff together, okay?”
“Nick’s letting me borrow his comics,” he says, climbing to his feet. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and places the comics on the floor into a large plastic bin.
“He is, is he? All of them, I see.” I eye the storage container.
Nick smirks. “That’s only the first box.”
“Wow. Lucky me.” I bat my eyelashes and walk over to him. Jesse’s cleaning up the piles he created, and I stop beside Nick. “Thank you,” I say wholeheartedly. “Your mom is really wonderful, and I—I seriously don’t know how I would get through this test without her. Without you.” Everything he’s done hasn’t just been for me, it’s been for Jesse too, and the knowledge of that makes my heart melt for him and me question why I’ve been so worried about being around him to begin with.
Nick shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes don’t leave mine, but his brow furrows ever so slightly. “I’m just glad my mom was able to help.”
“She did. I feel a lot better. She gave me some great tips and some things to think about.”
“Good.” He winks at me and grabs the container of comics. “Well kid, you heard the slave driver. We better get these loaded up.”
“Okay,” Jesse says and he and I file down the stairs behind Nick. “Go say goodbye to Mrs. Turner,” I tell him, and Jesse hurries into the kitchen, with more pep than usual. Although I know he’s had fun today with Nick, I’m sure the plate of cookies waiting inside has something to do with it.
“Nick,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry for assuming you were an asshole.”
He looks at me with a cocky grin. “Are we talking about high school again?”
“No—yes. The past ten years, actually. I think a part of me wanted you to be a jerk, so I jumped to conclusions.”
