The Truth About Letting Go (20 page)

For now it’s a beautiful spring Sunday morning, and against all my vows and new philosophies, I’m in church with Jordan. Will stayed at school, and Mom left a note that she would be at the office all day today. I didn’t see her again last night, but the stack of bills disappeared along with my credit card. I take a breath, wondering how we manage to keep shoving each other out when we should really be pulling together.

My eyes drop down to my hand in Jordan’s. Our fingers are laced, and he’s holding me, steady and strong. Sitting beside him is the one bright spot in my whole miserable weekend—even if it is in church. I still haven’t changed my mind about all this, but I’ve completely changed my mind about being with Jordan.

I’m not even in my red dress. This morning, I chose a happy yellow skirt dotted with tiny, white daisies and a white, short-sleeved sweater. He’s wearing grey slacks with the blue shirt I chose because it brings out his eyes. We hold hands the entire service, and when he drives me home afterwards, he stays for lunch.

“So you’re the gourmet chef like your dad?” he says, leaning forward on the bar and watching me dig in the refrigerator.

“No,” I laugh, turning around with two storage containers of leftovers in my hands. The warmth in his eyes makes me lean forward and kiss him quickly right on the mouth. “Disappointed?”

He straightens up and catches my cheeks in both hands. “Not a bit.” Then he kisses me back, softer, slower.

My arms lower the containers to the bar. “You’d better stop, or I’ll forget all about lunch.” He lets me go, and I giggle, setting the food on the counter and fishing out large plates. “Dad really tried to teach me to cook, but I just didn’t care enough. Will’s the true chef in the house.”

I spoon out leftover tortellini with red sauce and heat more of that good tomato-ey bread my brother brought for his visit. Two minutes in the microwave, and we’re both standing at the bar eating. Well, we’re actually leaning toward each other, our shoulders almost touching.

“It’s good to see you eat something again,” he says, watching me finish. His plate’s been clean several minutes. “I was starting to worry about you.”

“You made my appetite come back,” I grin, popping the last little fat-round pasta into my mouth with a smile.

He grabs my plate and his and carries them to the sink, but I grab his hand and drag him into the living room, where I flop on the couch. He sits on the end and lifts my head into his lap. It’s possible I haven’t felt this happy in almost a year.

Sunday afternoon television is mostly golf, infomercials, and old westerns, but I don’t care. We leave it on a classic TV sit-com, and I slide up onto his lap looking for a kiss. He doesn’t resist as I slip my arms around his neck and thread my fingers in the back of his hair. I start with his neck, working my way up to his ear. His hands are circling my waist as I trace a path to his mouth, but he stops me before I get there.

“Hang on,” he whispers, catching my shoulders.

“What?” I smile, knowing what he’s probably thinking. We’re here alone, kissing necks and chins. Soon we’ll be kissing mouths, and then… “I want to see if they find the dog.”

I lean back. “Are you kidding me?”

He smiles and kisses my cheek. “Not a bit. I love this show.”

I slant my eyes until I’m sure he’s joking, but when I go back in to pick up where I left off, he stops me again.

“What now?” I say. “Cat got loose?”

“Garlic breath.”

My hand flies to my mouth, and I drop to sitting beside him. “Me? But we ate the same thing!”

“No, I’m thinking about myself. I’d hate to offend you when it’s just getting good.”

Before he can say another word, I hop over the back of the couch and run to the kitchen. I lift the top off a canister and dig inside. Less than ten seconds and I’m back beside him. He’s pretending to be very interested in the show, so I move onto his lap again facing him. I open my hand to reveal a bunch of those soft mints he likes. Of course, I bought a whole bag after Friday night.

First I put one on my tongue, then I put one on his. His blue eyes are so clear and bright when he smiles. I smooth his bangs off his forehead, then cover his mouth with mine, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tastes like luscious, minty kisses—just like the first time in his room. I hold him close, and his hands toy at the edge of my thin sweater, just barely brushing the skin underneath. It’s electric. I kiss his jaw and he makes a noise. I kiss his ear and he makes another noise. I’m moving to find his mouth again when his hands fumble to my cheeks. He holds my face, and I look deep into his now-darkened eyes.

“We’d better watch the show,” he says, but his voice is thick.

The memory of us in his room makes my face hot all over again. I don’t know where I get the strength to drop to the couch beside him for a while. Still, it isn’t long before our hands are again entwined, before I’m snuggling into his arms again, before he is again feathering my mouth with kisses.

By the end of Round 2, my lips are red and pulsing, and I’m desperate to help him out of that nice shirt I picked out for him. But he stands and announces it’s time to go.

“I promised I’d visit nursing homes with Dr. Andrews today,” he says, running his hands through his hair.

“Oh, Jordan.” I can’t help pouting.

He takes one look at me and shakes his head. “Yeah. I gotta go.”

I follow him out and watch him leave, literally burning up. Me + Jordan = crazy. It makes absolutely no sense. And it’s playing with fire. Really hot fire. But I can’t help it. I love snuggling into his arms and kissing him. I love that when we’re together, I don’t think about my dad or Charlotte or Mandy or the problems my mom is having. I love that he knows how I’m feeling, and we can talk about things that matter. I love the sparkle of excitement in his eyes when he tells me about going overseas and helping others and doing God’s work.

I don’t know what’ll happen with us, but there’s no way I’m letting him go. Not yet. I take a deep breath and stare out the window as he leaves, I can’t imagine what in the world our future might be like with us so opposite. But I’m going to find out.

* * *

Less than twenty-four hours later, I’m back at the front window staring out, wondering what’s taking Mandy so long. She always likes to arrive at school at prime foot-traffic time, and we’re about to be tardy. I dig out my phone to text her, when I see her silver Beemer headed my way and run out the door.

“Finally,” she says when I get in and we’re off.

“Wait. That’s what I’m supposed to say to you. You’re super late.”

She shakes her head. “I’m talking about your outfit.”

“Oh.” All I was thinking about was Jordan when I picked out the filmy turquoise sweater I’ve draped over a white tank and khaki capris. “I never had a chance to wear these shoes last year.”

She leans over and inspects my beige stackups. “Cute. And Espadrilles are still in.”

They’ll also put me closer to eye-level with Jordan, I think, smiling at the thought of seeing him in a few minutes. Kissing him again.

I haven’t seen Mom since our conversation-breakdown, and I silently wish again she’d talk to me. I want to tell her I can help. Maybe I can get a job at one of the boutique stores or scheduling appointments at the salon. I can cover my bills, and I can spend less, too. For example, while Jordan did his rounds yesterday afternoon, I dug in my closet inspecting wardrobe leftovers from last spring. I found several items I’d never even worn, which normally I’d donate to Goodwill. But after our talk, I’m recycling. I also did my own pedicure and blowout. But Mandy doesn’t need to know that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m looking forward to chemistry,” Mandy says. “After Friday, it’s like, who knows. I’m hoping for
Boys Gone Wild
this time.”

The mention of Friday makes my stomach feel sick. “Yeah,” I say softly.

She’s still talking about pranks and surprises as we walk to the buildings, but I’m distracted.

“See ya,” I say and head to my locker, wondering if Colt will remember my text. If he’ll act weird after I ran out on him Friday night. I haven’t heard a peep out of him other than our one exchange about this morning.

Jordan’s already at our lockers. I’ve put off telling him what’s happening, what I’ve done and what I’m about to do, but I know I need to tell him now so he’ll understand. The thought of what he’ll say adds to the dread knotting in my stomach.

I broke into the school, planted porn, defaced the mascot, framed Trevor, let him take the blame… My heart beats harder the closer I get to him.

He stands and walks toward me with a curious smile. “Hey. You look great. Something wrong?”

I hold his hand and stop at my locker. I give him a quick kiss, preparing to tell him what I’ve done. I’ll just say it fast, like pulling off a band-aid. And hopefully… he won’t say it’s too much. That he can’t be associated with my criminal behavior.

The very thought makes me want to cry, but I have to believe Jordan will understand. He knows how hard it’s been, how I wasn’t thinking things through. But that’s changed since Friday. Something happened I still don’t understand, and I’m not trying to break everything anymore. I want to fix it.

“What’s wrong?” he says again.

I press my eyes closed, telling myself it’ll be okay. “I’ve got to tell you something—”

I’m cut off by a voice coming up behind me. Colt. “I see you’re back with this guy,” he says.

In a blink, I turn to him, hoping to pull him away before Jordan hears anything. I’ll explain it better after I’ve dealt with Colt.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” I say, catching his arm. “We need to talk.”

“Look, I’m not into long goodbyes.”

“It’s not that,” I start, but Jordan interrupts.

“What’s going on? Why do you need to talk to him?”

Jordan’s brow is creased, and I see a look flash in Colt’s eye. The one he wears when he’s about to…

“Hey, before I forget,” he says, flipping open his leather messenger bag. “I forgot to give you these back.”

He pulls out my panties from Friday night. My eyes fly wide. His never leave Jordan’s face. We’re all three standing there with my missing panties on Colt’s finger.

“Sorry, they’re not clean,” he says, that wicked grin is on his lips. “But I kind of like them that way.”

“Oh!” I snatch them and throw them into my locker, slamming the door.

“It was fun.” He pivots on his heel and walks away.

I’m furious and humiliated, but when I see Jordan’s face, I can’t breathe. His mouth is a straight line, and he takes a step back.

“Jordan…”

He holds up a hand to block me. “Not right now, okay?”

“But you knew I was with him! You knew…”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got to get to class.”

“Please don’t walk away.”

But he does, and all I can do is watch him go. My chest is blisteringly tight. My whole body is tense. I reach out to hold the metal doors so I don’t fall down. My heart wants to run after him. Hold him and kiss him and make him remember that no matter what he still wants to be with me.

But why would he? I know what he’s probably thinking. He forgot who I am. He tried to ignore that I don’t believe, that I’m all messed up inside, and now he’s making his choice. The choice I always knew was coming.

Trevor Martin’s forgotten, everything’s forgotten. All I want to do is go. Get out of this place and never come back.

The bell sounds, and I turn and run out the door.

* * *

My phone’s going off when I lift my head from the pillow. As I’ve done so many times in the last several weeks, I came home and crawled straight into my bed. Only this time I didn’t even try to fight the tears. My eyes are swollen and painful from hours of crying, until finally I fell asleep.

My phone goes off again, and I pick it up. It’s Mom. I can only think of one reason she’d be calling. I’ve hit the maximum number of skips.

“Why weren’t you at school today?” she demands. “Are you running a fever?”

I clear my throat and roll onto my back. My voice is thick, but it helps with the lie. “Maybe. I feel really rotten.”

“You were fine yesterday. I expect you to be at school, Ashley.”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t do it today!” I’m angry that once again, the only time she wants to talk to me is to lay down some rule. Not to ask why I couldn’t make it, not to talk about the problems we’re facing. Just to dictate.

“We’ll talk about this tonight,” she says.

I hang up without saying goodbye. Then I close my eyes, and all I can see is Jordan walking away. All I can see is that look in his eyes, like he finally saw the real me for the first time. Like we’d been having this perfect dream, and someone came and shook him hard awake.

My stomach clenches, and I pull my knees to my chest. It hurts so much. I have to talk to him again. He needs to know that even though it looks bad, nothing really happened. Well, a little bit of something happened, but not the most important thing. If he’s going to walk away from us, it should be with him knowing the whole truth.

But who am I kidding? Once he knows everything, my involvement in Friday, it’ll be over for sure. How can he continue working with Dr. Andrews and be with someone like me? I’m the worst kind of liability.

My phone vibrates, and I slide up and look at it. It’s him!

Meet me at the creek
? It says.

Yes
! I type back quickly.

In two seconds, I’m out of bed and running across my room. I run a brush through my hair and find a fresh shirt. My capris are fine, a little wrinkled, but they’re tight. I run to the kitchen and grab the peas out of the freezer again and hold them to my eyes. Hopefully they’ll go down some before he sees me. I clean them up and then grab a few of those mints.

I’m out the door, running down the side of the house and hopping over the low stone wall when I realize I didn’t even ask if he meant right now. I slow to a walk, then I look to the top of the small hill. He’s not there. I climb the bluff and sit in front of the tree, staring out at the water. The soft trickling noise usually relaxes me, but today, with everything on my mind, it makes me restless to know what’s going to happen. I know Jordan’s dreams. I know what he wants for his future, and I know if he says we should call it quits, I can’t argue with him. He’s right.