One True Thing (10 page)

Every feeling I’ve had this week comes rushing back. Missing her. The guilt I felt the minute I walked out of her front door. Hating that guy she met at the Union. I want to rewind everything to her doorway that night and have a shot to do it all over again. “I’m sorry.” That’s it. There’s not much more I can say. Because I am. Sorry.

“
Sorry
?” Jenna throws the word back at me and the passion in her face makes her even more beautiful. “Do you know how many guys I’ve let into my bed this year? None. Not one. Not until you came along and said all the right things. For some reason, I thought you’d be different. So I let you in. I let you touch me and then you couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Who does that?”

People are passing us on the sidewalk but I don’t even care. “Total assholes,” I say, my eyes steady on her. In the past few minutes I’ve started to believe I might actually be able to make this work, keep her from finding out what I really am. It’s not lying, not exactly. It’s just not full disclosure. For both of our sakes. “Only a total asshole would do that to you because you didn’t deserve that. You deserve a lot more.”

That seems to take all of her words away and I see tears spring up in her eyes. I want to reach up and wipe them away. I want to pick her up and carry her to a big, wide bed somewhere and start up where we left off the other night. But I know I have to play it cool this time.

She turns away from me just as a big, white truck drives by and honks at us. We both wave at her mom and her grandparents as they head for the street.

“We’d better go,” I say.

Jenna looks at me in disbelief. “You’re still coming?”

The last thing I want is to let her out of my sight again. “If you want me to.”

She gives the smallest nod of her head and I’m more relieved than I could imagine. There’s still a chance.

“How about we start over?” I suggest.

“Start over how?”

I look at her and put out my hand. “I think I’ve seen you around. My name’s Tyler. But everyone calls me Ty.”

Jenna hesitates, then takes it, her soft skin brushing mine. “Jenna.”

“I live over on Live Oak, if you want to get together sometime.”

“How funny,” she says with a tiny smile. “I live on Live Oak too.”

I snap my fingers. “That’s where I know you from. Black lace panties in the laundry room?”

“Stop,” she says, but I can tell that most of her anger is gone. I feel better than I have in days.

“Where did you park?” I ask, looking around the crowded lot.

“Over there by the light,” she says, and we walk in silence to her car.

“I’ll drive,” I say, holding out my hand for the keys.

“I can drive,” she says, reaching into her bag.

“Look, I may not be from Texas, but I know old guys like your gramps. If we pull up and he sees you driving me around he’s going to think I’m a pussy. The only reason I’m not driving you on my bike is that Mitch drove to the show tonight.”

Jenna hands me the keys and I walk her around to the passenger door. “Why does it matter what Gramps thinks?”

“It matters,” I say, opening it for her. I walk to the driver’s side, but her seat is so far forward I can’t even get my legs in. “Elves must be driving this car,” I say, reaching around the front of the seat and pushing it back as far as it will go.

“So you know they’re going to grill you?” Jenna says as she gives me directions to the restaurant.

“I’m familiar with how this works,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “How long do they think we’ve been going out?”

Jenna looks out her window. “A couple of months.”

I nod and try not to smile. A couple of months. “Right. So how much do I know about them?”

“Let’s see…Gramps is a retired mechanic, had his own shop in Grand Junction for almost fifty years. Gram was a teacher until they got married, but then she stayed at home to take care of my mom and my uncle. Mom is a hairdresser with her own shop just outside of town and sings in the church choir on Sundays. That ought to catch you up.”

“What about your dad?”

I can see her shrug out of the corner of my eye. “Gone. Mom got pregnant with me freshman year of college. They got married and all, but a few months later Dad decided that he wasn’t old enough to have a wife and a kid so he got out of there.”

I suddenly picture Jenna as a little girl with her mom all on their own. I have a sudden urge to take care of her. “And you don’t see him?”

“Nope. He sends me cards on birthdays and Christmas. Sometimes there’s a twenty in it. Sometimes there’s not.”

I feel even worse than I did when she was yelling at me. “That sucks.”

Jenna sits up in her seat. “Take a left here.” She turns and looks at me. “So what about you? If we’ve been together this long, I should know something other than you play baseball and come from San Francisco.”

I pull into the parking lot of a rundown little shack just off the highway. “Not very exciting really. My dad is a weatherman on TV.”

Jenna laughs. “Like the guy in a suit in front of the map, pointing out where it’s going to rain?”

“Yep. That guy,” I say, easing her car into a parking space right up front. “For the past twenty years, KTVI’s most popular meteorologist. Trust me, that doesn’t make high school any easier.”

“What does your mom do?”

“She’s…gone.” I have no idea why I said that, except that I can’t tell her the truth. The truth would lead to more questions and then photos and there’s no way I can ever let that happen.

I can feel Jenna’s eyes on me. “Did she die?”

I nod. I don’t mean to, but it seems like the easiest way out of this.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna says and I instantly feel shitty. I shouldn’t have said anything. We get out of the car and I see everyone waiting for us by the front door. I don’t miss her gramps taking note of the fact that I drove.

“Do you have any sisters or brothers?” Our feet make a crunching sound on the gravel.

“One sister, two years older, in graduate school at Columbia. Her name’s Olivia.” I suck in my breath as I admit that and make a mental note never to show Jenna a photo of her either. Unlike me, Olivia can’t pass—with brown curly hair and golden brown skin, people might not know what she is, but they know she’s something. And she’d rat me out in a hot second if she knew what I was doing.

Jenna plasters on a smile. “That ought to do it.”

“All right then,” I say. I reach over and grab Jenna’s hand like we’ve been doing this for months. It feels surprisingly natural and terrifying at the same time.

I hold the screen door of the restaurant open as everyone files in ahead of me. It’s not so much of a permanent building as it is a giant portable trailer, broken up with large tables and worn vinyl chairs and a big buffet right in the middle. It smells like all of the best parts of a country fair in here as we wait in line for the cashier.

“Clay’s Fish Barn,” Jenna says, one hand noticeably on my arm. “They’re only open on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. All the catfish, fries and hushpuppies you can eat for one low price.”

I see her gramps dig his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“I’d like to pay for myself. Sir.”

He laughs, his large belly rippling up and down. “That’s right nice of you son, but I won’t hear of it. My treat.”

“Thank you sir,” I say. Jenna gives my hand a squeeze.

After we pay for the buffet and grab our plastic drink cups, we walk out to the main room which is humming with families, truckers and cowboys of all kinds sitting at communal tables or jumping up to get more food. The first thing I notice is that every single person in this place is white and I wonder what would happen if Mitch and Nina had come along. I suspect Jenna’s gramps would have chosen another place to eat. Nobody even glances at me as we walk toward a table and for a second I feel like a spy. I look around at all of the happy families sitting in front of plates loaded with fried food, not having a clue that there’s a black guy walking through the restaurant and sitting at their table. Nina’s wrong. It would matter a hell of a lot if my secret got out. Luckily for me, people usually only see what they want to see. It’s what they know about you that matters and for all any of these people know, I’m as white as they are.

We set our stuff down at one of the long wooden tables and head to the buffet. There are three steam trays full of strips of fried catfish, one of fries and one of little round golden nuggets that I’m assuming are hushpuppies. Not all that different from what Nana makes on a Sunday. “What are those?” I ask Jenna, pointing to small rectangular fried somethings.

“Chicken fried steak strips,” she says. She bumps me with her hip. “It sounds disgusting, but they’re actually good. There’s a salad bar over there.” I glance over and see a mound of iceberg, croutons and ranch dressing.

“I’m good,” I say, piling my plate with fries and catfish, a healthy spoonful of tartar sauce on the side.

“I like to see a boy who can eat,” Gramps says from behind his own heaping plateful of food. “Not like these city boys with their too-tight skinny pants and fancy beards.”

“Dad,” her mom says. “Don’t be rude. Ty’s from San Francisco.”

“That right?” he eyes me suspiciously and leans forward, his belly mounding over the table “Is it true what they say? That there’s all kinds of boys running around kissing boys and girls kissing girls?”

“Jed!” her gram says. “Stop it.”

“Seriously Gramps,” Jenna scolds.

I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin not totally sure if he’s joking or not. “I guess so. Mostly in the Castro, but nobody really cares what anybody else does, as long as you don’t steal their parking spot.”

Her gram shakes her head. “I couldn’t stand all that traffic. Even going down to Austin to go to the airport gets me rattled.”

Gramps sits back and rubs his belly. “It’s not natural if you ask me,” he says.

“What, the traffic?” her mom asks.

“No! The way everyone these days just up and goes off with whoever or whatever strikes their fancy. Men with men, women with women, black people with white people. Pretty soon it’s going to be legal for a man to marry his dog.”

I have a feeling we’re not talking about San Francisco anymore.

“Gramps…” Jenna warns. “Nina and Mitch aren’t any of your business.”

“I mean it,” he says, pointing a thick finger at her. “What do you think that boy’s parents are going to say when he brings that little black girl home with him? They’re like to have a heart attack I bet. And what if she gets pregnant, God forbid? Not all the way black, not all the way white—too much of both and not enough of either one. That’s a horrible thing to do to a child if you ask me.”

That last sentence feels like a punch in the gut. I knew people said this kind of stuff, but it’s different sitting here at the table listening to it in person, watching the hate rise up in his eyes not having any idea who is really sitting at the table with him. I should say something, anything to defend them, but I grip the bottom of my chair with both hands and keep my mouth shut. Going off on him isn’t going to get me anywhere and nothing is going to change the old man’s mind.

“All that matters is that they love each other,” Jenna says, her voice patient, like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Gramps shakes his head and tosses his napkin onto his plate. “The way this world is going, there ain’t going to be no more natural blondes like your boyfriend here. Everyone’s going to be a mixed-up mashed-up race of brown people.”

I try to smile at him, but I know my face is tight and there’s absolutely nothing I can say at this point that isn’t going to get me in a shitload of trouble. I was absolutely right—there’s no way Jenna would be able to go out with me if they knew the truth.

“Come on Jed,” Gram says, patting him on the back. “Let’s get some more catfish before we have to get on out of here.”

With a grunt, Gramps hauls himself out of the chair and follows her to the buffet.

“Sorry about that,” Jenna’s mom says, following them with her eyes. “I know you’re probably not used to that, being from California and all.”

“It’s okay,” I manage, feeling my stomach turn as I think about the conversation. Mom and Dad would never forgive me if they knew I just sat there and said nothing.

“My father’s not a bad person,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince both of us. “He does charity work, belongs to the Shriners, cooks dinner for hundreds of old folks on Christmas. He’s just set in his ways about some things.”

“Hmpf,” Jenna says, sitting back in her chair. “He’s still living in the ‘50’s.”

“I know,” her mom sighs. “But he’s too old to change, so just let it go.”

We manage to avoid the topic for the rest of dinner, finally filing out of the Fish Barn into the warm spring night.

“Now Ty,” Gram says, one hand on my arm. “Y’all must come down and see us soon.”

Jenna looks at me, suddenly guilty again. “We’re both awfully busy Gram.”

“Your grandmother’s right,” Gramps says, one thumb under his suspenders. “We need to see this boy on our own turf. Maybe we can do some hunting. Do you hunt, Ty?”