"Thank you!" I murmur, grasping my journal I had left at the coffee shop just a week before. "I can't believe I didn't notice it missing until yesterday, thanks for keeping it safe."
The barista nods, smiling mischievously. 'Okay, that's weird,' I think, slipping my leather bound book in my purse. 'But it's nice to have it back. Now I can actually start my writing goal again. Every day, Ronnie, you're going to write. Promise yourself.'
I continue my walk to work, and, sipping my latte, I soon forget about the recently recovered book.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Did you have a good day, Ben?" I ask, snuggling into his chest.
He twines a piece of my hair around his skinny finger, sighing. "It was okay, I guess," he answers, leaning on my head. "Yours?"
"I got my journal back!" I reply, grabbing it off the coffee table. I flip it open, and scrunch my eyebrows up. Every page is filled with varying kinds of handwriting.
"What the hell?"
"What?" Ben asks, glancing over my shoulder. "That's interesting."
I open up to the final page of my last entry, rereading it:
"Last night was pretty fun, I do admit. I think Ben is going to ask me something big (hopefully not marriage, eek!)
He wanted me to move in with him. I did.
I'm not ready for that commitment. I'm a big baby. Whatever.
Marissa is getting on my nerves, though. Ugh. It's like being a teenager again. I thought we grew out of talking about eachother behind the other's back, but I guess not. Whatever. If that's how she wants to play it, then it is on.
She better watch herself.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
We slide into our usual booth, me on one side, Kristine on the other. "Hey look, Rollie," she exclaims, pulling a little black book out from her bench. "Someone's journal."
"It's probably Tom Riddle's! Put it down!" I scream, flailing my arms, jokingly.
"Oh, you- Hey! There's writing in here!"
"Obviously, Kristine, it's a journal. Gasp!"
"Shut up, let's read," she grumbles, winking. "Ben is pretty cute. Maybe he'll ask me out-"
"BARF!" I scream, taking the book from her. I flip to the latest entry. 'Commitment troubles, I see,' I think, pulling a pen from my pocket. I quickly scratch a message on the next page, signing it with a quick "Yours truly, Rollie D."
"Shit," Kristine mutters, staring at her phone. "Mom needs us home. Now."
"Why?"
"She's crazy, remember? We probably didn't put the laundry away or something."
I nod, capping my pen and putting it in my pocket.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Marry Ben. If you're scared he's gonna ask you something like that, you want it. Don't worry. It'll be fine.
Marissa's a bitch.
Don't pay attention to her.
I had bitchy friends.
Ditched 'em for my sis.
Love her.
Yours truly,
Rollie D.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Boys, look at this!" Katie yells from the back of the shop. "A book!"
"Like you've never seen one before?" I ask, meeting her at one of the more popular booths. "Oh, it's journal."
"With writing in it!" she cries, tucking her wavy, red hair behind her ear. Her bright red lips grin, revealing her sparkling teeth.
'God, she's beautiful,' I think.
"I saw some kid drawing in it earlier," I explain. "It's probably his."
"No, he was probably Rollie, who signed it. Before that, a girl was writing in it. It's girly handwriting," she explains, showing me. I quickly skim over the last entry.
"She's just some young chick, scared of committing to some dipshit boyfriend," I mutter, throwing it back on the table. "She'll be here tomorrow to get it, probably."
I return the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes we used this evening shift. I hear Katie scurry around the sitting areas, cleaning as fast as she can. She wants to write in the journal. I know it.
I feel kinda bad for being a dick about that chick's problems. Aw, hell, I'll probably write something, too.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I found your notebook, Ronnie.
Ben sounds great.
Honestly, don't worry about the future. Live in the now, and you'll feel better.
I want to talk to this guy, but.... It's a work buddy. I doubt he even likes me. But I love him.
Oh, well. Living in the now means we're just work friends.
I'll take my own advice.
Keep my mouth shut.
Keep living, lovely..
Katie R.
[Next entry]
Holy shit. Katie likes me.
Best day of my life.
Ha. That's what she gets for leaving early.
I'll read her secrets, and I'll ask her out, and she'll say yes, and I'll dance in the kitchen.
She doesn't get to know that last part.
Don't tell nobody, kay?
I'm in love with her.
I'm living in the moment.
I better groom my beard.
and shine my shoes.
and polish my glasses.
and look good.
maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll say yes.
Thanks, Ronnie.
- Joel P.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I found it sitting on the magazine table in the middle of my favorite group of chairs. It was just sitting there, so I opened it.
And now, here I am, reading along, when, suddenly, the hand writing changes, and strangers are writing in this young woman's diary. Seems rather strange to me.
But, I might as well join the fun.
I've got nothing better to do.
That's what getting laid off does to you.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
At least you have a job, Ronnie. At least you have a fucking job.
All I do is skim the want ads.
I'm willing to do anything.
I leave the house everyday, telling my wife I have interviews to go to, but, really, all I do is wander these streets, hands shoved in my pockets, my feet dragging. I get a lot of time to think.
To think about the shitty life I'm about to give my kids.
Lucille is six. She's just started first grade. She's a lovely girl. She laughs at everything, and thinks I'm all that.
Johnny is four, ready to start preschool. But we can't afford it. He's going to be so disappointed. He's been dreaming of preschool ever since Lucille started.
God, I'm a terrible father.
I don't know how long I can hold up this facade, honestly. For God's sake, I'm sitting in a coffee shop, writing my problems out to a stranger. Four strangers, actually.
It's nice to see love still exists, but I resent Katie and Joel. I hope it fails.
It's spiteful, yes.
But, honestly, if they were in my situation, they would feel the same.
You would, too. You know you would.
I'm here every day.
For an hour.
I sit in this soft chair, sipping the cheapest thing here, watching people.
Well, today, I've buried myself in this writing project. It's a clever idea.
I like this, actually. It's relaxing.
Writing is good.
Ronnie, I hope you keep it up.
Katie, Joel, I'm sorry. I hope you do fine.
Rollie, well, you seem pretty well off. I can't wish you anything except a happy life.
Too bad mine's going to suck.
Allen C.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I didn't even read all of Allen's. I just pull out my pen and scribble in big letters my phone number and a short note on the next page.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
ANYBODY WHO NEEDS WORK, LISTEN HERE. ALLEN, I HOPE YOU COME BACK TO READ THIS.
I HOPE SOMEBODY PASSES THE MESSAGE ALONG.
I'M HIRING THIRTY PEOPLE.
FOR A CONSTRUCTION BUSINESS.
NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED, I'LL TEACH YOU ANYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW.
CALL ME AT FOR MORE INFORMATION.
-PETER F
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
The book is almost full, only about fifteen pages left unfilled. Allen's note took up a lot of space. He writes big and loopy, with lots of space between the lines.
All I know is I'm writing in it. All of a sudden, I just want to meet these people, but there's no way I'll ever get in touch with them.
My only connection is this pen on this paper.
I'm going to write to them like there's no tomorrow.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I write for a living. A little pamphlet published every month.
I'm not going to share with you.
It's political, but I know very little. I just grab the headlines and paraphrase the words in the newspaper.
It's bad, I know.
But I don't want to do this.
Ronnie, I don't want you to get caught in some shitty writing project like this.
If you want to write, go write. But don't get tied down by something you don't absolutely love. Write a novel.
As for Ben, I think you like him.
You should give him a chance.
See where this secret question takes you.
If it's marriage, the answer you'll want to say will be there instantly.
In fact, I hope he asks you to marry him.
Just so you can find out if you're serious about Ben.
I think you like him a lot.
A lot.
But, I get it if you want to focus on your career first. I'm doing that exact thing.
Precisely that.
But I'm lonely as hell.
I want a husband.
I'm insanely jealous you get to have someone you think would want to marry you.
I'd kill for that opportunity.
But, y'know. Whatever.
I'll get over it, eventually.
Whatever.
Whatever.
I might call Peter for a job, I dunno. I don't want to lie about my work anymore.
I'm going to.
I've decided.
Hopefully, he'll accept a woman.
I hope you listen to my advice. Think about it.
Rosie K.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Ben looks mildly upset after reading the entries with me.
"Ben, I can e-"
"Ronnie, don't," he mutters, pushing me off of him and standing up.
"Ben, I like you!" I exclaim, trying to hold his hand.
"That's just it. You like me," he replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He takes them immediately out to run them through his hair.
"Ben, I- I love you," I whisper, a few tears trickling out of my eyes.
His features soften for a moment, taking in my words.
"I wrote that a week ago, and, sure, I felt the same, even today," I sigh, wiping the streams away. "But, in the last hour, reading those with you, made me realize how much I love you. I want to be with you forever, Ben."
"Ronnie," he answers, sitting down again. "Are you asking me to marry you?" He cracks a grin, joking with me.
"You know what, Ben, eventually, I will," I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck. He kisses my lips softly, tucking my hair behind my ear.
"C'mon, let's eat dinner," he says, pulling me up gently.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I got an idea.
All those people gave me an idea.
I left another journal at the coffee shop.
First, I wrote an entry about life. In general.
My life.
Ben's life.
How I'm going to marry him.
Then, at the end, I wrote, Please continue this collection of lives, for me. Ronnie S (soon to be , Ronnie D).
Hopefully, it'll work again.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Visiting the 'Rents
"I honestly have no idea where the hell we are," I sigh, flicking my gaze to Justin, sitting in the passenger seat. He tosses his hair across his face, covering his forehead just a little.
"I honestly had no idea, Tilly," he jokes, sarcastically. I glower at him, and he puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure we'll be there in a moment. It can't be that hard to find your parents' house, can it?"
"You never know," I reply, resting my head on his hand before nudging it away. "They probably bought some little shack in the boondocks, y'know? Just to make it difficult." He laughs and resumes his staring out of the window.
Justin and I have been best friends since high school, and we even got into the same college. My name is Matilda, but he insists upon calling me Tilly, so I call him Fart-Faced McGee. It's a fair trade, is it not? I've never loved him, and I'm nearly certain he's never loved me. Maybe a little before we started being besties, but that doesn't count.
Suddenly, the guts of the car begin to sputter. "Oh no, oh no, no, no,no," I hiss, guiding the car to the shoulder. "C'mon, Buddy. You can do this." I plead the car to jump back into motion. Justin leans over and taps the fuel gauge.
"It don't work unless you've got gas, Tilly," he points out, ruffling my short, black hair.
"Justin! This isn't funny!" I screech, throwing my car door open and walking to the front. I slouch on the hood of the car, feeling close to tears for no apparent reason. I hear Justin do the same, only, instead of slouching, he perches. "I mean, this meant a lot to my parents. It still does. Just the fact that I would come all the way to their new house...." I trail off.
Justin wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Hey, Matilda," he whispers. "We can still get there. I know we will," he crosses his other arm in front of me, clasping his hands on my left shoulder, "because you, my mighty fine friend, have a keen sense of direction."
"Justin, seriously," I mutter into his arm. It smells so genuinely ... Justin. Almost like a tropical drink, lightly sprinkled with an earthy smell. "I need to find this ****in' house, and it seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth." A single tear of frustration leaks out of my eye, landing on the sleeve of his shirt.
"Oh," he says, pausing for a moment to think. He stands up, pulling me with him, and pulls me closer to him. "Tilly, listen to me closely, please?" I nod, looking into his striking blue eyes. "You are smart enough to do this. I'm barely smart enough to open a can of beans, you know that, right? I'm barely surviving. Have you seen my BMI recently?"
I laugh softly, a few more tears spilling over. "I wondered how you were always so skinny," I murmur, my voice rough from my fit of panic. "So very, very skinny."
All at once, Justin leans his head down and kisses me lightly on the lips. 'Oh, no. Nope,' I think. 'This is wrong. I don't like Justin like this. But...what if I do? This is a pretty awesome kiss, I have to admit...' I trail off in my head. I suddenly realize I need to breathe, so I pull away, taking in a lungful of air.
"Sorry, Tilly," Justin whispers. "But I've wanted to do that for a long time."
"Justin, I-"
"I know what you're going to say," he sighs, dropping his arms. "You're going to tell me that you don't like me like that and that you have a boyfriend, and I have a girlfriend, but, Til, I just..."
"Couldn't help yourself," I finish, patting his arm. "We can, er, talk about this later. Now, a car is coming, way over there," I point to a speck on the horizon, "and we're going to hitchhike back to the gas station, okay?"
Justin nods, going around the car to retrieve our small bags from the trunk. As the car approaches, I step up to the side of the road and stick my thumb out. The black SUV slows, and the window rolls down.
"Matilda!" my mother's shrill voice cries. "We were just looking for you! George, help the boy with their bags."
"No, no!" Justin calls from the back of my car. "I've got 'em." He shuffles to the rear of my mother's new car as I clamber in the backseat.
"Hello, Dear," my father says, patting my knee. "How is the city?"
"Filled with zombies. Nothing else. Just me, Justin, and zombies," I joke, winking at him. He chuckles, somehow rippling his mustache.
"I knew it! The city is dangerous, Matilda," he laughs. Justin opens his door and slides in, guiding his hair to the right to clear his vision.
"Hello, Mrs. Weber," he mutters, patting my mom on the shoulder. "Long time no see, huh?"
"Oh, Justin, you are so silly," she laughs, U-turning. "I can't wait for you guys to see the new house."
"Is it another big house?" I ask, buckling myself.
"No, no," my dad sighs.
"I didn't want a house I can't take care of by myself," my mom laughs. "No maids from here on out."
"That's lovely," I reply, staring at the countryside whipping past my window.
"It's funny that you broke down there," my dad points out. "Only about five minutes from the house."
"Really?" I ask, laughing. Soon, we're pulling into the long driveway that leads up to the quaint cottage. The walls are painted a fresh looking shade of pale green. "It's very nice, Mom."
"Thank you, Honey," she sighs, putting the car into park. We all slide out of the SUV and trudge across the gravel to the small, wooden door. Justin holds the screen door open, following me inside. "Do you guys want tea?" she calls from the kitchen.
"Sure," Justin yells back, pulling off his sweatshirt, momentarily revealing his toned stomach. 'Stop looking, Matilda,' I order myself. I look at the ceiling instead.
"Tea would be nice," I also shout, sliding out of my jacket. I move to step into the dining room just off the small hall by the door, but Justin grasps my elbow.
"Hey, do you, uh, wanna talk?" he asks, releasing my arm.
"In a bit, okay?" I reply, patting his hand. A flash of sadness crosses his face, so I tack on, "I promise." I remember my coat, so I attempt to pull open the closet door, but it is locked.
I shuffle into the dining room, dropping my jacket on the table and sitting at the bar, facing the kitchen where my mother is putting the kettle on. "It's lovely here, Mom," I tell her, looking at the wood paneled walls and linoleum floors. "My only issue is your closet."
"What about it?"
"It's locked, Mom," I scoff, rolling my eyes jokingly.
"Is it?" she asks, nodding her head. "That's right. We're going to get new locks put on it. I think I"m going to make cookies while the boys go revive your car."
"No, no," I answer, standing up. "I'll do it. You sit down and rest for a while."
"Oh, Matilda," she sighs. "I'm not a hundred yet, I can make you and your boyfriend some cookies."
"Justin is not my boyfriend," I mutter, rounding the small barrier into the kitchen. I guide my mother's small body to the counter. She settles in one of the chairs beside the bar.
"Isn't he?" she asks. "I just assumed."
"Mo-om," I groan, winking. "But, no, we're not 'an item' currently."
"You will be," she giggles, smirking.
I scoff, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. I flip open my mom's stained cookbook to my favorite recipe: Oatmeal Raisin cookies. "No, we will not be," I reply, getting down the oatmeal and setting to work. "Now, I have cookies to make, Mother."
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Well, I think it's time to hit the hay," I yawn, getting up as the credits to "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" roll.
"Yep," Justin agrees, stretching his arms before standing. "After you, Madame," he laughs, bowing before me. It was my mother's brilliant idea to have us share a room.
"Goodnight, Mom," I call. "Goodnight, Dad. I'll see you in the morning."
Justin grumbles something, too, but I can't hear him. I pull my pajamas out of my blue duffel bag, quickly sliding them on before Justin comes in. He opens the door just moments after I settle on the trundle my mom set out. "You can have the big bed," Justin murmurs, pulling off his shirt and quickly replacing it with his ratty sleep shirt.
"Just because you're in love with me doesn't mean you have to give up your comfort at my parents house," I reply, laying down and putting my arms behind my head.
"I never said I was in love with you," he says, quietly. He steps over my small frame, sitting on the bed with his feet on my knees. "You'll never get out!" he cries in a silly voice.
"Only if I do this!" I giggle, tickling his socked feet. He kicks his feet for a minute, tossing his hair wildly.
"I surrender, I surrender!" he screeches, laying back on the mattress. He's slightly too tall, so his head stays propped up on the pale yellow wall. "Tilly..." he trails off.
"Yeah, Justin?" I ask, hoping he won't push the 'he's in love with me' topic.
"Tilly," he sighs. "I've started thinking about some stuff. And I was thinking about how we've been friends forever, and, well, Tilly, I like you."
"I like you, too, Justin," I sigh. "But I like you as a buddy, and I like Lyle as a boyfriend."
"I thought you'd say that," he sighs, pulling his feet up on the bed.
"Besides," I say, sitting up and patting his feet, "you like Katherine, right?"
"Katherine broke up with me, Tilly," he whispers, touching the part of his hair that hangs in his face.
"See? You're just attaching yourself to me in your time of need, Justin. You don't really love me, you just need a, a female influence in your life right now," I attempt to convince him. "And we're really close an-"
"Tilly!" he sighs, leaning forward. "If I wanted a 'feminine influence', I would talk to your mom. Not you."
Suddenly, I feel something click inside me. I remember all the pranks we pulled in high school, all the times Justin was there for me when a boy hurt me, all the times Justin proved he loved me. Suddenly, I see Justin in a different light.
"Tilly, I get it," he says, starting to sit back again. "You just do-" On impulse, I stand on my knees and softly place my lips against Justin's. My hands snake their way into his long, thick hair, twirling the strands around my fingers. He parts his lips, and his tongue plays with mine, dancing for a minute. I sit back on my feet, and Justin stares at me, his mouth gaping. "I-Uh- Whoa," he stutters.
I feel the heat creeping into my cheeks, and I look at the ground. "Er, sorry," I murmur.
"You're apologizing for something I've been desperate for weeks, you know," he smirks, laying down facing me. He quickly pecks my lips again. "Now, would you be a dear and turn off the light?"
"Oh, sure thing, Buddy," I whisper, crossing the cold floor to flick the switch. "You're so lazy sometimes."
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Goodbye, Mom!" I call, sticking my head out the window as Justin pulls out of their driveway. "Goodbye, Dad!"
"Goodbye, Matilda!" my dad bellows.
"Goodbye, Honey!" my mother yells. "I'll send you a box of goodies soon!"
I wave one last time before rolling up my window and sitting back. "Justin," I say, quietly. "Did you know I'm getting a box of goodies in the mail?"
"Hmm," he feigns thinking. "I think I heard that somewhere. I can't exactly place where, though."
I wink, looking out the window. Justin gently grasps my hand as my parents house fades into the distance. Eventually, I fall asleep, only to wake when we jerk to a stop in the parking lot of the dorms.
It was a fantastic nap.
"I honestly had no idea, Tilly," he jokes, sarcastically. I glower at him, and he puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure we'll be there in a moment. It can't be that hard to find your parents' house, can it?"
"You never know," I reply, resting my head on his hand before nudging it away. "They probably bought some little shack in the boondocks, y'know? Just to make it difficult." He laughs and resumes his staring out of the window.
Justin and I have been best friends since high school, and we even got into the same college. My name is Matilda, but he insists upon calling me Tilly, so I call him Fart-Faced McGee. It's a fair trade, is it not? I've never loved him, and I'm nearly certain he's never loved me. Maybe a little before we started being besties, but that doesn't count.
Suddenly, the guts of the car begin to sputter. "Oh no, oh no, no, no,no," I hiss, guiding the car to the shoulder. "C'mon, Buddy. You can do this." I plead the car to jump back into motion. Justin leans over and taps the fuel gauge.
"It don't work unless you've got gas, Tilly," he points out, ruffling my short, black hair.
"Justin! This isn't funny!" I screech, throwing my car door open and walking to the front. I slouch on the hood of the car, feeling close to tears for no apparent reason. I hear Justin do the same, only, instead of slouching, he perches. "I mean, this meant a lot to my parents. It still does. Just the fact that I would come all the way to their new house...." I trail off.
Justin wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Hey, Matilda," he whispers. "We can still get there. I know we will," he crosses his other arm in front of me, clasping his hands on my left shoulder, "because you, my mighty fine friend, have a keen sense of direction."
"Justin, seriously," I mutter into his arm. It smells so genuinely ... Justin. Almost like a tropical drink, lightly sprinkled with an earthy smell. "I need to find this ****in' house, and it seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth." A single tear of frustration leaks out of my eye, landing on the sleeve of his shirt.
"Oh," he says, pausing for a moment to think. He stands up, pulling me with him, and pulls me closer to him. "Tilly, listen to me closely, please?" I nod, looking into his striking blue eyes. "You are smart enough to do this. I'm barely smart enough to open a can of beans, you know that, right? I'm barely surviving. Have you seen my BMI recently?"
I laugh softly, a few more tears spilling over. "I wondered how you were always so skinny," I murmur, my voice rough from my fit of panic. "So very, very skinny."
All at once, Justin leans his head down and kisses me lightly on the lips. 'Oh, no. Nope,' I think. 'This is wrong. I don't like Justin like this. But...what if I do? This is a pretty awesome kiss, I have to admit...' I trail off in my head. I suddenly realize I need to breathe, so I pull away, taking in a lungful of air.
"Sorry, Tilly," Justin whispers. "But I've wanted to do that for a long time."
"Justin, I-"
"I know what you're going to say," he sighs, dropping his arms. "You're going to tell me that you don't like me like that and that you have a boyfriend, and I have a girlfriend, but, Til, I just..."
"Couldn't help yourself," I finish, patting his arm. "We can, er, talk about this later. Now, a car is coming, way over there," I point to a speck on the horizon, "and we're going to hitchhike back to the gas station, okay?"
Justin nods, going around the car to retrieve our small bags from the trunk. As the car approaches, I step up to the side of the road and stick my thumb out. The black SUV slows, and the window rolls down.
"Matilda!" my mother's shrill voice cries. "We were just looking for you! George, help the boy with their bags."
"No, no!" Justin calls from the back of my car. "I've got 'em." He shuffles to the rear of my mother's new car as I clamber in the backseat.
"Hello, Dear," my father says, patting my knee. "How is the city?"
"Filled with zombies. Nothing else. Just me, Justin, and zombies," I joke, winking at him. He chuckles, somehow rippling his mustache.
"I knew it! The city is dangerous, Matilda," he laughs. Justin opens his door and slides in, guiding his hair to the right to clear his vision.
"Hello, Mrs. Weber," he mutters, patting my mom on the shoulder. "Long time no see, huh?"
"Oh, Justin, you are so silly," she laughs, U-turning. "I can't wait for you guys to see the new house."
"Is it another big house?" I ask, buckling myself.
"No, no," my dad sighs.
"I didn't want a house I can't take care of by myself," my mom laughs. "No maids from here on out."
"That's lovely," I reply, staring at the countryside whipping past my window.
"It's funny that you broke down there," my dad points out. "Only about five minutes from the house."
"Really?" I ask, laughing. Soon, we're pulling into the long driveway that leads up to the quaint cottage. The walls are painted a fresh looking shade of pale green. "It's very nice, Mom."
"Thank you, Honey," she sighs, putting the car into park. We all slide out of the SUV and trudge across the gravel to the small, wooden door. Justin holds the screen door open, following me inside. "Do you guys want tea?" she calls from the kitchen.
"Sure," Justin yells back, pulling off his sweatshirt, momentarily revealing his toned stomach. 'Stop looking, Matilda,' I order myself. I look at the ceiling instead.
"Tea would be nice," I also shout, sliding out of my jacket. I move to step into the dining room just off the small hall by the door, but Justin grasps my elbow.
"Hey, do you, uh, wanna talk?" he asks, releasing my arm.
"In a bit, okay?" I reply, patting his hand. A flash of sadness crosses his face, so I tack on, "I promise." I remember my coat, so I attempt to pull open the closet door, but it is locked.
I shuffle into the dining room, dropping my jacket on the table and sitting at the bar, facing the kitchen where my mother is putting the kettle on. "It's lovely here, Mom," I tell her, looking at the wood paneled walls and linoleum floors. "My only issue is your closet."
"What about it?"
"It's locked, Mom," I scoff, rolling my eyes jokingly.
"Is it?" she asks, nodding her head. "That's right. We're going to get new locks put on it. I think I"m going to make cookies while the boys go revive your car."
"No, no," I answer, standing up. "I'll do it. You sit down and rest for a while."
"Oh, Matilda," she sighs. "I'm not a hundred yet, I can make you and your boyfriend some cookies."
"Justin is not my boyfriend," I mutter, rounding the small barrier into the kitchen. I guide my mother's small body to the counter. She settles in one of the chairs beside the bar.
"Isn't he?" she asks. "I just assumed."
"Mo-om," I groan, winking. "But, no, we're not 'an item' currently."
"You will be," she giggles, smirking.
I scoff, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. I flip open my mom's stained cookbook to my favorite recipe: Oatmeal Raisin cookies. "No, we will not be," I reply, getting down the oatmeal and setting to work. "Now, I have cookies to make, Mother."
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Well, I think it's time to hit the hay," I yawn, getting up as the credits to "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" roll.
"Yep," Justin agrees, stretching his arms before standing. "After you, Madame," he laughs, bowing before me. It was my mother's brilliant idea to have us share a room.
"Goodnight, Mom," I call. "Goodnight, Dad. I'll see you in the morning."
Justin grumbles something, too, but I can't hear him. I pull my pajamas out of my blue duffel bag, quickly sliding them on before Justin comes in. He opens the door just moments after I settle on the trundle my mom set out. "You can have the big bed," Justin murmurs, pulling off his shirt and quickly replacing it with his ratty sleep shirt.
"Just because you're in love with me doesn't mean you have to give up your comfort at my parents house," I reply, laying down and putting my arms behind my head.
"I never said I was in love with you," he says, quietly. He steps over my small frame, sitting on the bed with his feet on my knees. "You'll never get out!" he cries in a silly voice.
"Only if I do this!" I giggle, tickling his socked feet. He kicks his feet for a minute, tossing his hair wildly.
"I surrender, I surrender!" he screeches, laying back on the mattress. He's slightly too tall, so his head stays propped up on the pale yellow wall. "Tilly..." he trails off.
"Yeah, Justin?" I ask, hoping he won't push the 'he's in love with me' topic.
"Tilly," he sighs. "I've started thinking about some stuff. And I was thinking about how we've been friends forever, and, well, Tilly, I like you."
"I like you, too, Justin," I sigh. "But I like you as a buddy, and I like Lyle as a boyfriend."
"I thought you'd say that," he sighs, pulling his feet up on the bed.
"Besides," I say, sitting up and patting his feet, "you like Katherine, right?"
"Katherine broke up with me, Tilly," he whispers, touching the part of his hair that hangs in his face.
"See? You're just attaching yourself to me in your time of need, Justin. You don't really love me, you just need a, a female influence in your life right now," I attempt to convince him. "And we're really close an-"
"Tilly!" he sighs, leaning forward. "If I wanted a 'feminine influence', I would talk to your mom. Not you."
Suddenly, I feel something click inside me. I remember all the pranks we pulled in high school, all the times Justin was there for me when a boy hurt me, all the times Justin proved he loved me. Suddenly, I see Justin in a different light.
"Tilly, I get it," he says, starting to sit back again. "You just do-" On impulse, I stand on my knees and softly place my lips against Justin's. My hands snake their way into his long, thick hair, twirling the strands around my fingers. He parts his lips, and his tongue plays with mine, dancing for a minute. I sit back on my feet, and Justin stares at me, his mouth gaping. "I-Uh- Whoa," he stutters.
I feel the heat creeping into my cheeks, and I look at the ground. "Er, sorry," I murmur.
"You're apologizing for something I've been desperate for weeks, you know," he smirks, laying down facing me. He quickly pecks my lips again. "Now, would you be a dear and turn off the light?"
"Oh, sure thing, Buddy," I whisper, crossing the cold floor to flick the switch. "You're so lazy sometimes."
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Goodbye, Mom!" I call, sticking my head out the window as Justin pulls out of their driveway. "Goodbye, Dad!"
"Goodbye, Matilda!" my dad bellows.
"Goodbye, Honey!" my mother yells. "I'll send you a box of goodies soon!"
I wave one last time before rolling up my window and sitting back. "Justin," I say, quietly. "Did you know I'm getting a box of goodies in the mail?"
"Hmm," he feigns thinking. "I think I heard that somewhere. I can't exactly place where, though."
I wink, looking out the window. Justin gently grasps my hand as my parents house fades into the distance. Eventually, I fall asleep, only to wake when we jerk to a stop in the parking lot of the dorms.
It was a fantastic nap.
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