“Will you read it to me?” I ask.
Jamison opens the book to the first chapter, and sometime later, I drift off to the sound of a turning page.
10
HARMLESS
River stays in his room all of Sunday. I don’t see him, not that I would know what to say. When we run into each other Monday morning in our shared bathroom, I attempt to bring up what happened, but he cuts me off quickly.
“Whatever, Amoris. I was drunk. Get over it.”
I want to say more, but all I hear in my head is River calling me a hypocrite. On some twisted level, he might be right, and that only makes this whole situation worse. But it’s true—Chris is a pothead and I have never judged him for it. And yet River gets drunk once, uses the word “faggot” in a plastered stupor, and I yell at him. He’s a kid. He’s supposed to make mistakes, but Chris is an adult. Why do I let my dad’s behavior slide and not River’s?
But as the day goes on, I reason that maybe it was better I didn’t say anything. River is obviously upset and rebelling, or he wouldn’t have gotten so drunk. Piling on isn’t going to help. And neither will bringing the issue to Rayne. In fact, outing River might just make it worse. Rayne is balancing enough right now. It’s not like River is spray painting Sam’s locker with hateful slurs, or beating him up in the hallway. In fact, Sam is completely ignorant.
Ellis picks me up early for school on Tuesday. She has a Senior Senate meeting. They’re discussing homecoming and potential prom locations. She’s already decided she wants prom to be held at this fancy resort in the mountains just outside of town, and she’s determined to get her way. I apologize for the vase again, though it should be River apologizing, but Ellis is blasé about it. Apparently, Matt came home from Joshua Tree sunburned, dehydrated, and no closer to enlightenment. Ellis sees the broken vase as payback.
The hallways are quiet. I find myself drifting down toward the guidance office, where Lori’s light is on. Even as I poke my head in the door, I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here.
“Amoris?” she asks. “Did you want to discuss the college packets I gave you?”
“No . . . I’m . . .” For whatever reason, Lori makes me comfortable. I like her. She lacks the arrogance of the other adults at school, which makes her easy to talk to. And I feel like I need to talk right now. Get out what’s in my head. “I . . .”
Lori stands. “Are you pregnant?”
“What?”
“Because if you are, I can help. I know it can feel overwhelming, but there are options.” She starts rummaging around the papers on her desk.
“I’m not pregnant.” Being pregnant feels like it would be easier than my problems. At least it would be concrete. A problem with multiple possible solutions. What happens when there’s no brochure for your problems?
“What is it? You can tell me,” Lori says. “Everything that’s said in this office is confidential . . . unless it’s potentially harmful to you or others, then I’m a mandatory reporter. You should know that.”
What constitutes “harmful”? Was what River said harmful if only Jamison and I heard him? Is Chris’s weed smoking suddenly harmful, when it never bothered me before? Are all my preoccupations with Jamison harmful to Zach if Zach is none the wiser? It’s tempting to just lay it all out there, spread my problems on Lori’s desk along with the papers. But I’ve never been brave with my own words. I’m a cover song, not an original. Words are Jamison’s talent.
“I’m thinking of taking goat yoga, but I lost the flyer. Do you have an extra one?”
Lori knows I’m lying. I can see it on her face. But she doesn’t push me. Another reason to like her. She just hands me the paper and says, “I hear it’s relaxing.”
I never say another word to River. Days pass, and life slips into a routine. Jamison settles into school, his presence becoming familiar in the halls and at lunch. It’s like he’s always gone to Alder Creek. Seeing him daily, and the intensely warm feeling I get each time, makes me wonder how I ever went to school without him. My days are so much better with him here. I become used to his presence, and I like it. How did I survive all those years, waiting for that one glorious month every summer when we were together?
Jamison is well liked, which isn’t a surprise. He’s easy to like. Clever and good-looking is an intriguing combination. I’ll hear him laugh sometimes in the hallways, this deep, manly chuckle, and instinctively, I smile. Other times, I find him tucked in the corner of the library, head down, typing on his laptop, a serious expression on his face. Most days I could stare at him and never get sick of the view. But he doesn’t sit on display, purposely attracting attention like most guys do. He’s too focused for that, which only makes him more attractive.
As expected, Jamison starts working at the café. Marnie puts me in charge of his training. We spend days going over the cash register and how to make different drinks. Jamison busses tables, wipes down counters, and cleans dishes. Time goes by swiftly when we’re working together. Jamison brings a level of enjoyment to work that I’ve never felt before. Our shifts together are exciting. I’m better just by being in the same space as he is. Sometimes when a familiar song comes on the radio, Jamison and I look at each other, and I know we’re reliving the same childhood memory. Today, it’s one by the Black Eyed Peas.
“Remember River and the marshmallow?”
When Jamison smiles, I can’t help but do the same. We both break into hysterical laughter. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my face as I remember River frantically running around Jamison’s backyard with a flaming marshmallow stuck to his shorts. He was showing off around the campfire, claiming he could jump over it without touching the flame. It was a supremely dumb-ass venture to begin with, but then right as River was about to try it, Jamison’s marshmallow caught on fire. He flicked his stick to put the fire out, but the marshmallow went flying. It landed on River, who panicked, the marshmallow too hot to touch and too sticky to get off his clothes. He ran around the backyard, screaming as Jamison chased him with a hose. The Black Eyed Peas played in the background.
By the time “I Gotta Feeling” ends, Jamison and I are laughing uncontrollably. Customers are staring. I can’t believe I ever worked this job without him and enjoyed it. He makes it so much more fun.
Life at home settles down, too. I begin to feel much more grounded. River is busy with football, and when he’s home, he’s mostly silent at dinner or locked in his room. Rayne sees her usual stream of clients. Even Zach texts and calls less.
But the problem with getting too comfortable is that the moment life decides to shift, you’re caught unawares.
In late September, I’m smacked off kilter. During my Saturday double, Eddie announces that this is his last shift. “I’m moving,” he says casually as he cleans the espresso machine.
“What?” I ask. “Where?”
“Ohio,” he says. “My mom’s not really doing that well. She’s, you know, old. And there’s no one else to take care of her except me, so . . . I figure, she put up with my shit all her life. It’s about time I pay her back for dealing with me. I’m just glad Marnie hired Jamison. I don’t feel so bad about leaving. And let’s face it. I probably slow this place down more than help it. Jamison’s way more responsible than I am.”
“But Jamison isn’t . . . you,” I say. “I’m going to miss you, Eddie.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine without me. Better than fine. You won’t have to cover for my ass all the time.”
“I don’t mind covering for your ass. I like your ass.”
Eddie chuckles. “I’ll miss you, too, Amoris.”
As the day goes on, I feel the weight of Eddie’s departure more and more, not only from the café, but from Alder Creek. Eddie’s leaving feels like the end of an era. My grandma’s era. He’s the only person left at the café who was here when this place was hers. Now that he’s leaving, it’s like the café is solely Marnie’s. Like I really am just an employee of someone else’s business.
Eddie’s leaving feels like abandonment. Like he’s moving on from my grandma and, in some way, me.
By afternoon, the café has calmed. A few people sit with laptops and earbuds. A table of older men huddles together, talking quietly. Eddie’s bluegrass station plays lightly in the background. What I wouldn’t give for a Black Eyed Peas moment right now. Jamison came in to help with the afternoon shift, and he leans back on the counter, his apron messy with coffee and milk stains.
“You have . . .” He gestures to my cheek.
“What?”
He wipes away a fine dust of cocoa powder.
“Thanks,” I say, watching his face for any hint that he feels as unhinged as I do in these moments of warm, skin-to-skin contact.
The café door chimes with the arrival of another customer. Both of us step back from each other and turn. Wendy Betterman approaches the counter. She owns the Knitting Circle, a yarn shop in town.
“I got this one,” Jamison says, moving toward the register. Wendy says hello to me as she examines the menu, even though she always orders the same thing—a coconut milk latte, extra hot.
“Marnie finally hired more staff,” she says to Jamison.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “What can I get you?”
She orders a coconut milk latte, extra hot, and then says, “Are you new in town?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just moved here.”
“From where?”
“Kansas City?”
“Kansas?” Wendy says. “You don’t have an accent. I thought people from Kansas had accents.”
“An accent to you is just speech to someone else,” Jamison replies.
“Smart observation. Tell me, what’s Kansas like?”
“Missouri, actually.”
She smiles. “What’s Missouri like?”
“Not as bad as you think.”
Wendy laughs. “I bet you’re happy to be out of there. People can be so backward in the Midwest. They need to get out and see the world a little more. Are you enjoying our little slice of paradise? There’s something about mountains that makes a person more open-minded, don’t you think?”
“Nowhere is perfect,” Jamison says. “But the mountains are nice.”
“Isn’t that the truth. I bet the girls at the high school were happy to see you.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Jamison shoots me a sideways glance.
Wendy grins and hands him her credit card. “Sure you don’t. Well, I think Marnie is lucky to have you. You’re so polite and well-spoken.”
Jamison runs her card. “Thank you, ma’am.”
But he puts almond milk in her latte, instead of coconut milk. It’s the first time he’s ever slipped on an order. It’s not like him. Jamison is meticulous. And when she asks him to redo the drink, Jamison abruptly says he’s going on break, and he’ll have Eddie or me do it.
After Wendy’s order is fixed, I find Jamison in the back room, laptop open, typing away.
“Sorry about that. I needed a break,” Jamison says. “I’m just a little stressed. I have to submit a short story along with my application to be considered for the creative writing program at Western and I’m nowhere near done.”
I lean on the table, attempting to snag a peek at the screen, but Jamison hovers too closely for me to see what he’s written.
“I’m sure your story will be great, Jay.”
“I’m glad you believe that.” He continues typing, but then he groans and says, “Damn it.” He picks up the laptop and shakes it.
“I don’t think that’ll help.”
“It constantly does this. Just dies on me, and I have to reboot it.” He plugs it into the wall outlet.
I sit on the table, my legs dangling toward the floor. “Maybe it’s time for a new one.”
“No way. I’m a loyal man. She’s been with me forever. I can’t just let her go. She just needs some extra love.”
“Do you always reference your laptop with female pronouns?” I ask.
“She’s the best and longest relationship I’ve ever had with a woman.”
“You’re so weird.”
“And you’re short.” Jamison nudges my dangling feet.
“I prefer vertically challenged.”
“Whatever, shorty.”
I shove him playfully. “Yeah, well, I can still beat you in basketball.”
“Don’t get on your high horse. That’s only one thing.”
I scoff. “Did you have another challenge in mind?”
“Maybe. Unless you’re scared I’ll beat you.”
“Scared? If I remember correctly, you were the one who needed the night-light until sixth grade.”
“This from the girl who wouldn’t set foot in our basement.”
“There were big spiders and old Halloween masks down there,” I contend. “And it smelled bad.”
“I’m telling Kaydene you said that.”
“Don’t!” I would never want to insult Kaydene’s house. But truly, the basement is scary and damp. I extend my hand toward Jamison. “Fine. Thumb war.”
“Seriously?” he taunts. “My hands are, like, double the size of yours.”
I jump off the counter and get in his face. “Size doesn’t matter. It’s all about skill. And I’ve got the skills.”
Jamison takes my hand and leans down toward me. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Like I’m afraid of you.”
I’ve been playing guitar for almost thirteen years. If there is one part of my body that’s in exceptional shape, it’s my hands.
We count together. One, two, three, four, we both declare a thumb war. Jamison goes right for me, twisting his hand to grab my thumb, but I dodge, spinning out of the way. I attempt to trap his thumb next, and I almost succeed before he pulls it out from underneath my grasp.
Back and forth, our entire bodies get into the game, but neither of us gets the edge. And then Jamison spins his whole body around me, hugging me to him, using his other arm to hold me in place so I can’t fight, and he captures my thumb.
“That’s cheating!” I yell.
“It’s called winning! Don’t be a sore loser, Amoris. Just admit defeat.”
Jamison has me locked to him, my thumb buried under his. I try to wrestle away from him, but he won’t let go.
“Come on. Say it,” Jamison demands, but I keep my lips sealed. Then he starts to tickle me, and I instantly crumble into a pile of giggles. We tangle together.
“Unfair!” I howl at him as he needles my ribs. “You know all my weak spots!” I finally manage to wiggle out from his grasp, winded and giddy, my face sore from laughing.
“Cheater,” I say, pointing at him. “You know I’m defenseless when tickled. I want a rematch.”
“Anytime,” Jamison says. “You know where I live.”
“And work, for that matter,” I say, adjusting my apron and fixing my hair. “Speaking of . . .” I gesture to the front of the store, where I left Eddie to manage on his own. I’d give anything to spend the rest of the day goofing around with Jamison, and judging by his disappointed look, Jamison isn’t keen on the idea of working either.
“You know, it’s totally normal to mess up an order.” I nudge him playfully. “It was bound to happen. No one’s perfect. Wendy won’t hold it against you. She’s harmless.”
“Harmless,” Jamison says, with a tone of sarcasm.
And with that, the pull between us shatters. All laughing evaporates in an instant.
“If only people were self-aware enough to know when they’re inflicting harm,” Jamison adds. He looks right at me. “But people in this town don’t want anything to do with self-awareness.”
“What the hell did I do?”
Jamison stares at me intently. “Did you ever talk to River?”
“What?” I’m utterly confused. What does this have to do with Wendy Betterman?
“Did you talk to River about what he said?” Jamison asks directly again.
“Why are you bringing this up now? That was weeks ago.”
“Because it’s important.”
“He was drunk and angry, Jay,” I say, brushing off his comment. “He didn’t mean it.”
“How do you know, Amoris?”
“River’s just going through some stuff right now. If I called him out, it might make him more upset. And I don’t want to do that.”
“So you decided to protect River instead of Sam?” Jamison says. “You’d rather defend the guilty than the victim.”
“I know my brother, Jay. River’s not a bigot.”
“Bigotry isn’t a disease, Amoris. You don’t just have it or not have it. It’s something you participate in, whether you like it or not. Excusing people for bigotry only makes it worse.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say, turning my back on him.
“What if it was me?” he asks. At that, I spin to face Jamison again. He holds my gaze. “What if River called me . . .”
“Don’t say it, Jay.”
“Amoris, listen to me. That woman, Wendy, felt free to comment on how ‘polite and well-spoken’ I am, which means nothing to you because you’re White, and no one has ever belittled your humanity because of your skin color. But as a Black person, I know exactly what she means. It’s a sugar-coated way of saying, ‘Good job! You’re not like all the other Black people out there, those uneducated thugs raised by single moms in the ghetto.’ When it’s White people who made those ghettos in the first place, who created and perpetuate the system that holds Black people down. Wendy may not have said the actual word, but that’s what she meant. I’m not like all the other—”
“Don’t say it, Jay!”
He steps closer. “You need to ask yourself, Amoris—is your comfort really more valuable than my humanity?”
It’s a question that begs an answer. But this situation is more complicated than that. Jamison is making villains out of good people, making a villain out of . . . me.
Jamison moves to leave. I reach out to stop him, but he slips through my fingertips.
“I guess old habits die hard, as the saying goes,” he says. “This has always been your way.”
Only the Pretty Lies Page 8
