Just a Crush

by Tabatha Kiss

  “What about school?” he asks. “How are you paying for that?”

  “Scholarships, a little. Mostly loans that I have no idea if I’ll ever pay off but...” I chuckle lightly, “it wouldn’t be Vegas without some gambling, am I right?”

  Jonah doesn’t reply to that. He merely gazes past me toward the house in the dark. I dread that a look of pity will wash over him but it doesn’t. He just furrows his brow in thought, quietly absorbing information as it comes.

  “Anyway...” I say as my hand moves toward the handle again, “I should get going. Mom usually waits up for me.”

  I open the door and set one foot on the street.

  “Marla,” Jonah says, stopping me. “You know that if you ever need anything, I’m here, right?”

  I nod politely. “Thanks, but... like I said, we’ll manage.”

  “No, really. You need money?” he asks. “How much?”

  I hold my breath. “We’re okay.”

  “I’m not using it.”

  “My mother would never accept it in the first place. I have to twist her arm to take money from me.”

  “I’m not offering it to her,” he says.

  “Jonah.” I smile kindly. “Thank you, but no thank you.”

  He surrenders. “I hear you and I respect your position.”

  I step out of the car and close the door behind me as the window quickly crawls down.

  “Hey—” Jonah leans over the passenger’s seat and his smirk returns. “What’s your schedule look like tomorrow?”

  “Uh...” I pause to think. “I’m in classes until about four, then I have to pick up my brothers. Studying and homework to follow while Mom works, I’m sure. Why?”

  “Would you like to have lunch with me again?” he asks.

  I blink twice. “Lunch? You mean like… hang out, again, twelve hours from now?”

  “Yeah. After what we did tonight, I’ve decided that I’m not going to let you out of my sight ever again.”

  “Uh...” I stop breathing. My chest flutters. I die. “What?”

  “Marla, if tonight has proven anything, it’s that every move you make, every word you say, every breath you take could spark an avalanche of music out of me and I’m not going to let a moment go to waste. So…” His brow piques. “Lunch. Tomorrow.”

  I take a second to catch my breath, slightly taken once more by that authoritative, Botsfordian tone. “Okay,” I squeak.

  “Does one o’clock work for you? If not, I’m flexible.”

  I quickly run through my Wednesday class schedule in my head. “Sure,” I answer. “One-thirty is better, though.”

  “One-thirty it is. Same spot as today?”

  “I’ll be there,” I say with a nod.

  “Awesome.” He slides back into the driver’s seat. “Sweet dreams, Marla.”

  “Goodnight, Jonah,” I reply, my voice shaking as he revs the engine once.

  He drives off down the street and my smile grows even wider.

  Not bad, Gorchinsky.

  Twelve

  Jonah

  “We need a title.”

  I nod at Marla as I suck the last of my soda through a straw. “Yes, we do.”

  “How do you come up with one?” she asks as she dips a fry in mustard. Before I can answer, she chuckles and shakes her head. “I guess the obvious answer is in the chorus. Duh, Marla. Never mind.”

  I laugh. “Sometimes,” I say, reaching for the paper napkin beside my tray. “Honestly, I think we may have accidentally written a song where the title doesn’t pop out of the chorus, if that makes sense.”

  She nods and squints through a lock of her red hair partially obscuring her eye. “I think I get what you’re saying. Why Not could work but it’s also a little…”

  “Bland,” I say.

  “Accurate,” she agrees.

  “It’ll come to us.” I lean back in my chair and scan the cafeteria. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried.” She pauses as if to taste her words first. “So, when are we getting together again? To work on the song, I mean.”

  I smile. “Excited to get back to my hotel room, are you?”

  She blushes, as expected. “No! No. Not at all. I just—”

  “I’m only kidding. Not tonight,” I answer. “Tonight I have a little family gathering to attend.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Nothing special. Just dinner with Mom but dinner with Mom usually morphs into cocktails with Mom and that often becomes us rocking out to old Queen concerts and me crashing in my childhood bedroom after she passes out on the couch, so…”

  Marla laughs. “Swap out the concerts with a Friends marathon and you’ve got me and my mom. Been a while since we’ve done anything like that, though. Just… no time, I guess.”

  “Eh, you’re busy,” I say. “Once you guys are back on your feet, you’ll have more chances to be silly like that.”

  She nods, solemn and quiet. “I hope so.”

  “You know, my niece’s nanny is a pretty awesome dude. I can probably get him to look after the boys for a night while you two—”

  “Don’t push it, Botsford,” she says, a single brow pointed upward.

  I surrender my hands. “I don’t mean it in a charity way or anything,” I say. “Just consider him a possibility if you ever need a babysitter or something, okay?”

  She relaxes with a nod but that stubborn strength never leaves her eyes. “Okay, then.”

  I admire her for a moment. That’s twice now she’s turned down my offers to help her. I won’t need to be told again. She’s obviously got this.

  “So…” I switch subjects, “what do you have going on tonight?”

  “Nothing special,” she answers. “Just watching my brothers while I do homework reading.”

  I squint. “How much reading?”

  She shrugs. “Not much. A few chapters but I did most of it on the bus this morning.” Her face shifts as she notices my smirk. “Why?” she asks, suspicious.

  I fold my arms on the table as I lean forward. “Because I want you to write the second verse,” I say.

  Marla instantly shakes her head. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Jonah, I’m not qualified to—”

  “You did just fine last night,” I point out.

  “Last night was… all you,” she says. “That was not me.”

  “It was fifty-percent you.”

  “Five-percent me.”

  I laugh. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then, try.”

  She opens her mouth only to snap it closed again for a second. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jo, but my answer is no.”

  “It wasn’t a request, Gorchinsky,” I say. “You can do it — you will do it — and I expect those words on my desk by tomorrow evening.”

  She begins to snort but stops when she realizes I’m serious. “You really want me to do the second verse?” she asks.

  I don’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”

  “But…” she sputters, “I don’t even remember the tune.”

  “I’ll sit down and record what we have when I get back to the hotel. You’ll get a text within the hour. Listen to it a few times and then keep it going. You know the theme. You know how to rhyme. I’ve seen it myself.”

  Marla looks down, still very much wanting to argue with me but I see the weakness start to fade away. Not fast enough, though.

  “Marla, I trust you,” I say, drawing her eyes again. “Just think of it this way; the first words you put down are literally the first words you put down. They can be changed and fixed and perfected later.” I reach into my back jeans pocket, grab my tattered idea book, and drop it on the table between us. “I think this trash proves it.”

  She breathes a laugh and the little dimples on her chin cave in. “You’re sure?” she asks.

  “Never been surer of anything else.�
�� I nudge the notebook closer to her side. “Take this.”

  Her eyes widen. “Take it?”

  “Yeah, you’ll need it.”

  Marla freezes with her breath held tightly as she regards the thing like a priceless artifact from an uncharted treasure cave. When she finally reaches for it, I smile at the subtle tremble of her fingers and I wonder if I’ll ever grow tired of this crazed fangirl I’ve befriended.

  I hope not.

  Thirteen

  Jonah

  After spending a few days with Marla, going home feels almost strange.

  To go from her world into mine so easily. It’s not guilt I’m feeling, far from it. I have no reason to feel guilt over my upbringing, no more than she or anyone else does. We’re not responsible for where we came from but passing through the front door of the house I grew up in makes my guts twist, almost like I forgot to bring something important.

  Maybe I should have invited her.

  I close the door behind me and someone scurries into the foyer from the top of the grand staircase. The old woman slaps a hand to the banister and another to her heart as she catches her breath.

  “Jonah,” she says, pleasant yet scolding. “You didn’t ring the bell.”

  “It’s my house,” I say.

  “You’re supposed to ring the bell. I thought you were a burglar.”

  “Why would a burglar go through the front door?”

  She begins a slow descent of the stairs and the tiny, gray curls on her head bounce up and down. “You ring the bell,” she says. “I open the door.”

  I scoff. “Milly...”

  “When your parents brought you home from the hospital, they rang the bell. I opened the door.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than open doors?” I ask, smiling.

  “I don’t tell you how to do your job, do I?”

  “To be fair, you did teach me that every good boy deserves fudge.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” Milly reaches the foyer with a laugh and opens her arms. “Welcome back, Jo.”

  I lean over to throw a loose hug around her aging form and she kisses my cheek. “Good to see you,” I say, meaning every word as I smell the air. “Is that your roast I smell?”

  “With garlic mashed potatoes. Your favorite.”

  “Yes.” I grin. “Thank you, Milly.”

  “Anything for you, honey.” She keeps a firm grip on my arm as we take a left and follow those delicious smells toward the kitchen. “Now, tell me about your latest girlfriend.”

  I laugh. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Why not? Graham has a wife. Hayden has a girlfriend. Ira has a baby mama. You need a woman.”

  “Well, are you still single?”

  She slaps my hand. “I’m too much woman for you, dear.”

  “That... was not the answer I expected.”

  She cackles loudly as we enter the kitchen. My mother stands by the stove next to a steaming saucepan with a wooden spoon in her hand and an elegant apron draped around her waist.

  “Jonah,” she greets in surprise. “I didn’t hear you ring the bell.”

  “Because I didn’t,” I say.

  She rolls her big eyes at Milly and they both audibly sigh. I’d argue with them, but... I’d never win.

  “I’m gonna get a drink,” I say, detaching from Milly as I round the island counter toward the refrigerator. I grab the first imported bottle I find in the door and lop the cap off using the bottle opener on the door next to the ice dispenser.

  “So...” my mother taps her spoon dry and sets it aside, “how’s your song coming?”

  “It’s done, mostly,” I answer. “Started a second one last night.”

  She smiles. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, I really seem to be getting back into it. It’s nice.”

  Her smile remains the same but her eyes suspect more. “Mildred, would you check the roast, please?” she asks. “My nose says it’s done.”

  “Mine, too,” Milly says as she slides on a pair of thick oven mitts.

  I shift out of the way to make room for her as she bends over and grabs the oven door. “Need some help, Milly?” I ask.

  “No, I’ve got it.” She turns and lets out a grunt as she hoists the pan out and sets it down on the countertop.

  The doorbell rings, echoing loudly through the foyer. Milly immediately drops her oven mitts off and scurries out of the kitchen to go answer the door. As soon as it does, she lets out a loud squeal and my mother and I share a knowing glance.

  The baby has arrived.

  Mom quickly shucks off her apron before Milly returns with Ira. He’s holding a carseat in one hand, a diaper bag in the other, and a few more dark bags under his eyes.

  “He rang the bell,” Milly says, staring daggers at me. “I opened the door.”

  Ira blinks at me. “You didn’t ring the bell?” he asks.

  I shrug. “No, I didn’t ring the bell.”

  “Are you trying to put an old lady out of work?” he quips as he sets the carseat on the island counter and Milly scolds him with a light pat over the old lady description.

  Tiny, pink feet kick around the seat and I carefully step out of the way as the ladies descend on the baby. A chorus of Hello, Michelle! and Can you say grandma? and baby talk fills the space while Ira slips off with me and thumbs up my beer before quickly reaching into the refrigerator for his own.

  “No Veronica?” I ask him.

  He pops the cap off and shakes his head. “She’s picking up a shift at the hospital tonight. I went ahead and gave the nanny the night off since I was coming here and figured our nanny would handle the child-rearing for the evening.”

  I watch as Milly scoops up the diaper bag unprompted and our mother expertly balances Michelle in her arms. “Smart choice,” I say as we tap our bottles together.

  Milly’s grin stretches across her face. “I’ll go set up the high chair,” she says as she exits toward the dining room.

  “And I’ll stand right here and stare at you,” Mom says to the baby as she gently sways in place. “Yes, I will. And then Ira will finish carving the roast and Jonah will set the table. Yes, they will. Yes, they will.”

  I look at Ira and he nods. “We heard the woman,” I say.

  “Let’s do it,” he says, rolling up his sleeves.

  I do the same and grab the stack of plates and silverware preset out on the counter before marching toward the dining room with my orders.

  A large, empty table greets me, stretched out long to accommodate four growing boys, my parents, Milly, plus any frequent dinner guests who happened to drop by. I begin setting the plates down, counting down in my head as I assign the usual spots for everybody; Dad at the head of the table, Mom in the seat to his right. Graham would always be on his left, the one true heir apparent. Then, Hayden and Ira beside him. I’d squeeze in-between Mom and Milly on the left side, forever the baby.

  I set down the final plate and pause. It’s just me, Mom, Milly, Ira, and an actual baby tonight, but there’s an extra place setting waiting to be filled.

  Mom and Milly walk in behind me with the baby and high chair, respectively. “Hey, Mom,” I say. “Is Dad joining us?”

  “No,” she answers. “He’s at the new location in Canada with Graham until the weekend.”

  “Then, who’s the extra plate for?”

  She looks up from the baby for the first time and briefly raises a shoulder, showing the hint of something in her big eyes. “Oh, I set out an extra one. Just in case.”

  “Just in case of what?” I ask.

  “Just in case we had an extra guest.”

  I raise a brow. “Like who?”

  “Like Veronica,” she says. “Or Derrick. Or your nameless muse, perhaps...”

  I sigh. There’s the obvious answer I was waiting for.

  “His what?” Ira asks as he walks in with the tray of carved roast and sets it in the center of the table.

  “It’s
nothing,” I say, foolishly believing that would be the end of it.

  Mom hands the baby off to Milly. “Your brother has a fruitful new source of inspiration in his life that he doesn’t want to talk about.”

  Ira cocks his head at me. “Really? Who?”

  I close my mouth. Nope. I know better than to leak information to Ira.

  “Marla Gorchinsky,” my mother says.

  I twist around. “Mom, how do you know that?” I ask, blinking twice.

  She chuckles. “I know everything,” she says as she turns back toward the kitchen. “Mildred, help me with the salads, please.”

  “Be right there,” Milly says, sadly abandoning Michelle now strapped safely in her chair.

  Ira furrows his brow as he stares at me. “Marla Gorchinsky?” he asks.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, she’s the night desk girl. Or was.”

  “I know. I performed her background check,” he says. “I probably know more about her than you do.”

  “Fair enough, then,” I say, hoping to end the conversation.

  “Marla’s your muse?” he asks, his tone tainted with disbelief.

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “We’ve been hanging out recently and ever since it’s just been a rush of... I don’t know,” I say again. “But I’ve written one song already this week and she and I are working on another one right now. It’s great and I want it to stay great and that’s why I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “So, you two are just... writing songs together?” he asks.

  “Yes. We’re friends writing songs together. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Nothing else to it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckles and I sigh.

  “What?” I ask. “I can’t have platonic friendships with women?”

  “That’s what you think it is?” he asks.

  “No, that’s what I know it is because that’s what it is.”

  Ira rolls his shoulders back and he pockets his hands. “I’m gonna let you in on a secret, little brother,” he says. “Marla Gorchinsky... has a crush on you.”

  I kiss my teeth. “No, she doesn’t.”