“He’s not that funny.” Actually, he was.
“They have other methods, Jackie.”
“So you’ve said.”
Her mother glared at her for a long minute, weighing the necessity of repeating the lesson she’d been drilling into Jackie for three years since her father left—or was forced to leave. She went back and forth on which it was, and mostly it didn’t matter because it was her mother she had to deal with. Jackie did like Matthew quite a lot. He was goofy and smart and hadn’t been put off by her pretending for the longest time he didn’t exist. He’d broken through her mother’s training, and now every time she saw him, her stomach was full of squirrels. It had to mean something.
Her mother released her death stare, satisfied for the moment that her daughter would not fail her and fall stupidly in love. “Grace is at Natalie’s, and I’m working through dinnertime, so just order whatever sounds good, okay?”
“Got it.”
Jackie ditched her backpack, grabbed a snack, then went upstairs to do her homework. At seven fifteen she ordered pad thai from her favorite place and watched a Saved by the Bell rerun while waiting for it to arrive. The episode was one of many featuring Kelly getting her heart crushed by a guy, a funny guy (are they always funny?), a seemingly nice guy. He even looked a bit like Matthew. Jackie skipped what she knew would be a happy ending; why bother? Kelly would find a different boy, a better one. It would be romantic, but not realistic. There aren’t that many funny, nice guys. Her mother was right. If you get your heart broken, it’s your own stupid fault.
The next morning Matthew found Jackie in the hallway outside her English class.
“Hey.” He stood close, but not too close, and smelled like soap and peanut butter. He smiled, and his dimples showed, setting off that jumpy feeling in her stomach.
“Hey.”
“I’ve got a skateboard thing tonight at the park. A competition.” He spun his cap on his index finger. Prowess. “Want to come?”
He cared enough to ask her, but everything else about him—the way he stood, hands loose at his sides, the way he didn’t notice the kids having to go around him to get inside the classroom—said he might not care about her answer, or that he was determined to give that impression. Jackie pictured herself at the park, elbows propped on the railing with the other girls, each claiming a skater or hoping to, not paying attention to the tricks or even the falls, only the possibility of a boy—a look, a kiss, a feel—like catching a wave and riding, just because it’s there, riding it to . . . nowhere.
“Not really,” Jackie said.
“How come?”
She shrugged one shoulder. Matthew seemed perplexed. He must’ve thought everything had been going so well. He’d scratched her surface and discovered she wasn’t all that shy, and now he wanted a reward, she could see that. He wasn’t getting one.
The bell rang. The clusters of kids around them shifted and broke.
Jackie tilted her head at the classroom door. “I gotta go.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be fun. Starts at seven thirty, but you could come whenever.” He smiled again, another dose of dimples.
Jackie’s heart squeezed but she ignored it. “I don’t actually like skating. Watching people skate.”
His eyebrows went up, then knit together in a frown. “Okaaaaaay . . .”
“But good luck.” A bone. Jackie didn’t want to be mean. She was just being realistic. Adults were always saying twelve (or eleven or thirteen or whatever) was too young for dating, but for Jackie, twelve already felt too old.
Matthew stood waiting for her to change her mind. She could see that he expected her to want what he wanted, to adore him at the skate park, to kiss him back when he wanted to kiss her. This must be what her mother had been getting at. Jackie wasn’t positive, but thinking about it made her tired, and she had a class to get to.
“Bye, Matthew.” She said it a little like she was dismissing him. Which she was.
He actually pouted. Then he turned away and walked slowly down the empty hall.
Jackie felt a surge, like clean, cool water in her veins. She’d made the choice. She’d made him leave. Her mom would be proud.
Jackie squared her shoulders and followed the other kids into the classroom, feeling like she’d already learned the most important lesson of the day, or maybe even her whole life.
Miles drives up Winthrop to the top of the hill, turns around, and rejoins Middlebrook Road. Jackie is quiet. The businesses thin out and are replaced with fields and farms. The sky is clear and a shade of blue she never sees in DC. Miles gives up on the radio, having lost the only decent station. Twenty minutes out of Staunton, they veer onto a gravel road and wind along a slope bordered by woods on the right and open pasture on the left. The road bends, and an old brick farmhouse appears, with scattered outbuildings that seem to multiply between visits. In the summer, towering walnuts and silver maples shade the house; now they are bare-branched sentinels. Grace and Hector bought the property six years ago when they had only Daniel. Hector, a professional builder, recognized the bargain and has been renovating since.
They pull up alongside Hector’s black F-250.
Now that they’ve arrived, Jackie’s mood brightens. She can’t wait to see her sister, Hector, each of the children. Jackie gets out and opens the rear door to retrieve the food. “You haven’t been here since July, right?”
“Right.” Miles unfolds himself from the car, stretches his arms above his head, casts his gaze over the house and the view of the fields running golden and russet over the near hills.
“Wait until you see the new kitchen.”
“I remember we had to use the outdoor grill to cook everything. Like camping.”
Jackie laughs. Miles does not camp.
He retrieves the wine, shuts the door, and catches Jackie’s eye over the roof of the car. “You look beautiful, by the way. I’ve been looking forward to cooler weather just so I can see you in that coat.”
The coat, made of deep-green felt with intricate hand stitching, was a gift from Miles last Christmas. “You’re sweet. And you have excellent taste.”
Jackie leads the way along the curved walk and up the front steps. The porch serves as a mudroom; a dozen pairs of boots and shoes in all sizes are scattered on either side of the door.
Miles holds open the glass storm door for Jackie.
“Brace yourself,” she says.
Miles shrugs and smiles. “It’s a party.”
“Every day’s a party here. And sometimes the guests get put in time-out.”
“Praying it’s not me.”
She opens the door. A jubilant sea of children and dogs crushes into the hallway.
Grace wades through, arms outstretched. Her hair has mostly fallen from its clip, and her T-shirt has stains where little hands have pulled at it. Jackie gets a lump in her throat as Grace hugs her around the box of food she’s carrying.
“Happy Thanksgiving, you two!” She kisses Jackie’s cheek and wipes the spot even though she’s not wearing lipstick. “I’m going to change later. Don’t worry.”
“You look great.”
“Liar. Go put that food down somewhere.” She gently pulls one of the five-year-old twins away from Miles’s leg. “Mommy’s turn, Maria.” She hugs and kisses Miles. “God, you’re cute.”