by Jeff Zentner
I sigh. “Still sounds great.”
“We’ll have a nice Christmas. So things are good there with you?”
“I mean, you know. Fine.”
“I overheard you telling Pep you were going to send him the poem you’d written. Mind if I read it too?”
“Course not. How you doing? You getting any time for yourself?”
She smiles wearily. “I get to catch my stories now and then. Like as not I fall asleep while watching, but that’s from getting old more than anything.”
“I wish I were there to help.”
“Don’t you worry about that. Focus on your studies. We’ve got it handled.”
“It’s pretty up here this time of year.”
“I bet.”
“It’d be nice if y’all could visit someday.”
“We’d love that.”
A dense fog of sadness descends on any conversation about something wonderful that will never happen, and it blankets us now.
“They’ll have things for you to do for Thanksgiving?” Mamaw asks.
“Surely. A lot of kids stick around for Thanksgiving. I imagine Delaney will. Heck, probably thirty percent of the school is from countries that don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.” Like Vi. That’s a bright spot, I guess.
“All right. Well, sweetie, I best go help Pep get ready for bed. I love you.”
“Love you, Mamaw.”
“There anything you need?”
Need is the only thing I have plenty of. “No, ma’am. All good.”
We sign off. I sit there for a while, unmoving. I’m tired of living on the leading edge of a storm front, being buffeted by the rising winds.
I get out my poetry notebook and pen to seek my new shelter, the only one I know anymore.
I’ve come to relish Alex’s and my sessions in Koch Hall’s basement laundry room. It’s always just the two of us, talking and working.
“I really think it could take off,” Alex says.
“You think people would watch a YouTube channel called Laundry Boys?”
“I guarantee people are YouTubing laundry and ironing tips.”
“Probably, but.”
“You done with the spray starch?”
I hand Alex the bottle.
“So we give laundry and ironing tips and show techniques and add a funny spin,” Alex says, spritzing starch on one of his shirts.
I hold up the white oxford button-down I was ironing, shake it, and put it on a hanger. “Dude. You do not have funny things to say about laundry.”
“Yeah I do.”
“Say something funny about laundry.”
“Now?”
“No time like the present.”
“Okay.” Alex claps and rubs his hands together like he’s about to perform a magic trick. “So…uh…we’re doing laundry because Cash here has pooped his pants again.”
“There’s three seconds of content. Say something else funny.”
“I gotta get paid. I’m not just gonna say funny stuff for free. Gotta know your value, bro.”
“Now that is funny.”
“We sell ads. YouTubers make bank, son. Get sponsorships. Get that OxiClean coin, baby. Make enough we could get laundry service like everyone else.”
“If we get laundry service, we won’t have any content for the channel.”
“Good point. See, that’s thinking like a Laundry Boy.”
“That how you want to begin your political career? Laundry tutorial tycoon?” I start ironing a crease into a pair of khakis.
“It’s honest work, man. We’ve had elected officials who’ve never done honest work.” Alex nods at my detergent bottle. “You should switch to Tide, dude. Consumer Reports says it cleans better.”
“It’s expensive, and the Arm & Hammer reminds me of my mamaw. By the way, I’m not going home for Thanksgiving.”
“For real?”
“Found out it won’t work for me to go.”
“I’m not going home either. We gotta Thanksgiving it up here. I’ll cook. Is Delaney going home?”
“Don’t know.”
“Bro, you guys need to kiss and make up.”
“You sound like my papaw.”
“Anyway, that’s three, probably. And I bet Vi won’t bother going home. Which I know you’ll like.” Alex waggles his eyebrows.
My face grows hot. “Of course, Vi’s great,” I say casually.
Alex keeps waggling his eyebrows.
I laugh and block his face with my hand. “Dude. Stop.”
More waggling.
My face reddens further. “We’re friends. That’s it.”
“I’d keep doing the eyebrow thing, only my eyebrows are the only part of me that doesn’t hurt after our last erg session, so I’ll spare them. But imagine me doing it.”
“I will not.”
“Bro, I have eyes. I’ve seen you two over the past while.”
“Dude, fine. I’m into her.”
“Thank you for finally admitting the extremely obvious.”
“Think she’s into me?”
“Honestly?” Alex holds up a shirt, scrutinizing it for wrinkles.
“Yes.”
“Hold nothing back?”
“Just say it.”
“I do.”
A swell of joy rises in my chest. “You messing with me?”
Alex’s dryer buzzes. He opens it, checks on his clothes, and starts pulling them into a basket. “Naw, bro. When you two are hanging out, she gets the look. It’s as obvious as your own look.”
“I love being around her. Everything about her. She makes me happy, man.”
Alex vaults up to sit on top of a dryer. “I wish I had a mirror to show you your face right now. It’s kinda like—” Alex gives me a blissful, moony expression.
“Come on.”
“You gonna tell her how you feel?”
I hop onto the dryer directly opposite from Alex. “Should I?”
“The answer to the question you never ask is always no, right?”
“Look at you dispensing wisdom.”
“The big question is: Can you be cool if she shoots you down? Because I like our squad and I don’t want weirdness.”
“I can handle disappointment.” You say that now.
“Then go for it. You’re a catch, bro. Look at those shoulders and guns. Dang.”
“Literally the only upside of the erg torture. I’m gonna do it.”
“Sometimes you gotta take the plunge.”
“Sometimes you gotta take the plunge,” I murmur back.
“While you’re taking plunges, do Laundry Boys.”
“I’m not ever doing Laundry Boys.”
I find out from Vi when Delaney’s going to be at the lab, and I wait outside in the dark, shivering, while I try to get some homework done. She finally emerges, looking deep in thought. When she spots me, though, her face takes on a grim cast. She looks at the ground and walks faster.
“Red? Red.” I hustle to walk beside her. “Hey. Can we talk for a sec?” I touch her elbow, but she flinches away deftly. I see people gawking, but I don’t care. Just another marital spat, everyone.
“Red, come on.”
“Fuck off.” She walks faster.
I stop and call after her, “Okay, but I miss you really bad. I’m just gonna follow you, loudly telling you how much I miss you.”
She slows. I hurry after her again. Time for my secret weapon. I pull from my jacket pocket a wrapped candy cane I had hoarded away in my get-out-of-trouble supply for just such an occasion. I extend it to her. Without meeting my eyes, she darts her hand out and grabs it, like a snake striking. The offering has been accepted. My heart lifts.
“You don’t have to for
give me,” I say. “But I’m not gonna let our friendship end without telling you I’m sorry and how important you are to me.”
She finally turns her face to mine. “You can be a real piece of shit sometimes.”
“I know.”
She unwraps the candy cane and starts sucking on the end.
“We’ve all missed you,” I say. “It can’t be easy to avoid us all so much. This place is even smaller than Sawyer, and it was hard to dodge people there.”
“I’m pretty good about things I set my mind to.”
“Oh, no shit?” I open my arms to her.
She sighs, holds the candy cane in her mouth like it’s a cigar, and comes in for a hug. Her body fits perfectly against mine. We were built to hug each other. I rest my lips on the crown of her head. Her hair smells like cold wind and dandelions. We embrace for a long time.
“What’re you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask as we start strolling again.
“What are you doing?”
“Mamaw said it wouldn’t work out for me to come home, so I’m sticking around.”
“Me too, I guess. Got no reason to go home.”
“Alex is staying.”
“So’s Vi.”
“Yeah?”
Delaney gives me an oh-come-on look. “You telling me you didn’t know that already?”
“I didn’t.”
“Thought you two were getting pretty tight. The way she talks about you, you’d think she’d replaced me as your best friend.”
My stomach jumps. But just as quickly, I remind myself to focus on the most important part of what Delaney said. “Hey.” I touch her arm to signal her to stop. “No one will ever replace you in my life.”
“Better not, jackass. I got you here, remember?”
“I do.”
“Seriously, though, what is going on with you and Vi? It’s something, so don’t say nothing.”
Papaw’s voice reverberates in my mind. You best make sure. I guess if I told Papaw, I can tell Delaney. She’s gonna find out sooner or later. “I think I’m into her. Kinda. Sorta. Like into her.”
Delaney’s eyes flash with hurt. “You gotta be shitting me. You’re such an asshole. We don’t talk for a couple weeks, and you go and get a boner for my roommate?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. You’re pathetic.”
“Well. Yeah. I am.”
“I should go another couple weeks without talking to you.”
“I hope you don’t. What’s wrong with Vi?”
“Nothing,” Delaney says sullenly.
I still think Papaw is nuts for thinking Delaney’s into me in that way, but I have to admit I’m seeing why he thinks that. “Wouldn’t you rather me be with her than some random girl?”
Delaney sighs and gives me a look that I can’t quite read. It’s a strange mixture of sadness and resignation. Her moods can be as much of a mystery as the workings of her mind. “I mean, you have traditionally had pretty shitty taste. She’s a huge improvement on Jade Sutton. There’s that at least.” She looks away.
“Thought you might feel that way.”
We don’t say anything for a while.
“You miss me while we weren’t talking?” I ask.
Delaney rolls her eyes and crunches off the end of her candy cane.
“I hope you did.”
“Gee, I wonder if after risking my scholarship offer to get you here with me, I missed you.” Delaney furrows her brow and taps her lips with the remnant of her candy cane.
“Just wanted to hear you say it.”
“I missed you, jackass.”
“Wanna go skip rocks for a while?” I ask. “We have a little time.”
“Sure.”
We walk to the lake. Delaney bends down, selects a rock, contorts her tiny frame, and hurls it into the water.
“How are you still this bad at this?” I ask. “Don’t you know, like, angles?”
“Don’t I know, like, angles?” Delaney mimics. “These rocks don’t skip right.”
“You’re calling rock error?” I say.
“I am. We’re working with defective materials.”
“Pick me one at random.”
She hands me one. I hold it theatrically in front of her face between my thumb and forefinger, turning it so she can inspect it. Then, I slowly turn, wind up, and skip it four times across the surface of the lake. I turn back to Delaney.
She folds her arms across her chest. “You’re my best friend, so I picked you a prime rock.”
“Hell you did. You picked a rock you thought would prove your point.”
A sly smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Nope.”
“You oughtta see your face right now. Guilty as all hell.”
She shrugs and picks up another rock. She tosses it into the lake with a plop.
“Hey, question,” I say.
“Shoot.”
“How do geese know where they’re going when they fly south?”
Delaney selects a rock and blows the dust off it. I notice her thumbs. They’re torn up.
“That’s not going to help,” I say.
“You worry about you,” she says. “And I’ll tell you same as I told Vi, right after I told her that she couldn’t turn around and tell you. No one really knows for sure. Some scientists think birds can sense the Earth’s magnetic field. It gets stronger as you move toward the poles from the equator. So it’s like that hiding-and-finding game where you say ‘Hotter’ as you get closer.” She chucks the rock. No skip.
“You told Vi she wasn’t allowed to tell me?”
“Yep.”
“What if I’d looked it up myself?”
We both laugh.
“I miss going to our overlook together,” Delaney murmurs after a while.
“Yeah. This isn’t as good.”
“There was never failure involved in going to the overlook.”
“So now you admit it’s operator error and not rock error.”
Delaney flips me off. She checks her phone. “I gotta head back.”
We walk to her residence hall.
“One more hug,” I say. We embrace again. She has a certain wiry strength and tenacity when hugging. Like each time she’s not sure if she’ll ever let you go. It makes me feel better.
“I’m glad we’re us again,” Delaney murmurs from the hollow of my chest. “I missed you.”
“Missed you more, Red. Let’s don’t be apart again.”
“Good idea. Night.”
“Night.”
I watch her to make sure she gets inside safely. We’re okay for now and I’m relieved. Still, I’m terrified a day will come when we never hug and make up after a fight. I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. I have more experience grieving the dead than the living.
“That’s enough for today. We got some good work done. Think about how to approach that last stanza to tie back to your main theme,” Dr. Adkins says.
“Will do,” I say.
She stands and gathers her things. “Got fun Thanksgiving plans?”
“I was going to go home, but that didn’t work out, so I’m staying.”
Dr. Adkins doesn’t hesitate. “You’re coming over. Desiree’s gonna cook. Low Country and Appalachian Thanksgiving.”
“You’re inviting me?”
“What’s the point of having teachers live on campus if we don’t take in lost sheep?”
“I wish, but my friends are also going to be around, and I shouldn’t ditch them.”
“Invite them too. More the merrier.”
“Serious?”
“Desiree’s background is restaurant kitchens, food trucks, and catering. She doesn’t know how to not cook for a crowd. Come
at eleven. Bring nothing but hearty appetites and good stories.”
* * *
Campus is tranquil and sleepy on Thanksgiving morning. I awake in a miasma of sadness at not being with Papaw and Mamaw today. But, like a fog yielding to the sun, the doldrums quickly burn off after I join Delaney, Alex, and Vi in the dining hall for breakfast. Heeding Dr. Adkins’s call to come bearing large appetites, we eat light. “To put down a base layer,” Alex says. “A house needs a foundation.”
After breakfast, we laze in the common area of Koch Hall, watching a MythBusters marathon until eleven, when we’re to be at Dr. Adkins’s apartment on the third floor of Elm Hall.
Despite Dr. Adkins’s command to come empty-handed, Alex cradles a small mason jar like it’s filled with some precious lifesaving medicine. He sees me eyeing it. “My mom’s kimchi,” he says. “I emailed Dr. Adkins and asked if I could whip up some kimchi fried rice as a side, and she was down.”
“Nice.”
“Here’s the thing, though. You can’t say anything about it to my mom when you meet her. You can only tell her I made regular fried rice if it comes up at all.”
“Why?”
“Korean moms get mad at you if you feed anything but the most accessible Korean food to white people who might not like it.”
“Don’t your folks literally own a Korean restaurant?”
“Parents. I don’t know. I guess they figure anyone who comes in a restaurant knows what they’re signing up for? Anyway, she told me I could only do basic fried rice.”
“Rebel, dude.”
We get to Dr. Adkins’s apartment and knock. A stunning, tall woman with high cheekbones and long braids, a dish towel draped over one shoulder, answers the door. A heavenly potpourri of expensive scented candles, old books, incense, and cooking food joins her in greeting us. The air is humid with kitchen steam.
“Welcome!” the woman says warmly. “Breebree,” she calls behind her. “Our guests have arrived.” She motions us in. “Please, our home is your home. I’m Desiree.”
We enter and introduce ourselves. When it’s my turn, Desiree says, “Oh, Cash! Bree has talked about you. She says you’re a poet.”
I flush with competing pride and embarrassment. “Don’t know about that.” I see Vi’s impressed look, though, and pride wins out.
