Tied Up in You

by Erin Fletcher

  “Yeah. It’s hard because she isn’t out to her family or most of her friends yet, but we can work with that. She’s the kind of beautiful that doesn’t need makeup, and she’s so sweet—did I tell you that she volunteers every week at the Ronald McDonald House?—and she’s funny without trying, and did I mention she’s absolutely gorgeous? Lina…”

  Uh oh. I knew what was coming. Yes, Izzy and Kylie had only gone out a couple of times, but there was no other way Izzy knew how to finish that sentence.

  “…I think I’m falling in love with her.”

  Yep. That was my Izzy. The girl fell hard and fast. I only hoped Kylie didn’t get freaked out or take advantage of it or any of the many other things Izzy’s exes had done. It was a true testament to Izzy’s character that she was still hopeful and optimistic enough to fall so freely after all she’d been through. Yes, she took breakups hard, but then she bounced back.

  “Have you told her that?” I asked, switching over to Snapchat.

  “Not yet. Maybe this weekend. I’m sure we’ll do something romantic. She told me about this little art museum in her town that she wants to show me around. And she knows one of the artists, because of course she does.” Izzy sighed. “Perfect girl is perfect.”

  I looked over at her and smiled. Every time she went through a breakup, I wondered if she’d get back to this place again. If she’d make it through the tears back to this smile. “You’re happy.”

  “I am. And you? Tell me about this Troy character. Is he gorgeous? Do you like his…Adam’s apple? His narrow hips and big calves?”

  I laughed. “You really have zero clue what it’s like to be straight, don’t you?”

  “Possibly even less than zero.”

  Thoughts of Troy didn’t fill me with the same tingles as thoughts of Jackson had lately, but that didn’t mean anything. Tingles took time. “I only met him once, but he was nice. And cute.”

  “Cute? Not gorgeous?”

  I looked up from my phone and tried to picture Troy in my mind. “I don’t know. He looks like a hockey player, I guess.”

  “Like Jackson?”

  Jackson, on the other hand, was easy to picture. Too easy. “No, a little different from Jackson. I don’t know. His picture’s on the NTDP website if you really want to see him.”

  “Fine. So what did you like about him when you met him? What made you willing to go out with him?”

  “Well, he was really nice, and he used to be into STEM before he got into hockey, so we have a lot in common. And he was funny. And…” If I were being honest, the real reason I agreed to go out with him was because of how interested he seemed in me, and how I thought doing so might help me get my mind off Jackson. But saying any of that out loud, even to Izzy, felt wrong, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “And you’re hoping to get to know him more tonight so you can decide if you’re really into him or if agreeing to go out with him was a terrible, drunk decision?”

  “I wasn’t drunk,” I said.

  “But I’m right about the rest,” Izzy said.

  I didn’t disagree.

  The doorbell rang. I froze and pressed the home button to see the time on my phone. “That’s him.” Suddenly, I hated the crewneck shirt I was wearing, desperately needed more lip stain, and wanted to rewash, dry, and straighten my hair just so I could delay this and make sure I was perfect before seeing him. Why did people think this dating thing was fun? “I’m not ready,” I said. “I need to fix my hair.”

  Izzy stopped my hand midair on its way to my scalp. “No you don’t. You’re perfect, and even if you weren’t, he’d only be worth it if he thought you were anyway.”

  “But I have that paper due, and I already took one night off to go to the party, and now I’m taking tonight off? I’m going to fail my classes and—”

  “Malina.” Izzy put both hands on my shoulders. “You’re far from failing any of your classes. It’s one night. This is why I’m here, remember? To prevent this last-minute freak-out we both knew you were going to have. Come on.”

  She stood, took my hand, and pulled hard enough that I wasn’t positive my arm was going to stay in its socket. My parents had taken Tutu to a doctor appointment in Ann Arbor and weren’t back yet, so Izzy had volunteered to be the approval/send-off committee. She motioned for me to open the door, which I did. But then I froze. It wasn’t Troy standing on my front porch. It was Jackson.

  For a second, my brain struggled with this. It had been Troy who asked me out, not Jackson, right? The whole point of this thing, or most of the point of this thing, was to get my mind off Jackson. But seeing him standing on my front porch, dressed in his nicest pair of jeans and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows despite the cold, my mind wasn’t off him. Not even a little bit.

  “Jackson,” Izzy said. “What are you doing here?”

  Apparently her lips weren’t frozen shut from shock like mine were.

  But Jackson wasn’t looking at Izzy. He was looking at me.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  “Duh,” Izzy said. “Of course she does. But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Where’s this punk Troy?”

  “Right here,” Troy said, jogging up.

  I forced my attention to him. He was wearing dark jeans and a gray polo shirt. He was also carrying a rose, which he held out to me.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I forgot this in the car.”

  The feel of one of the thorns against my thumb snapped me back to reality. Troy. I was going out with Troy. He brought me a rose. I held it up to my nose and smelled the petals.

  “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Izzy held out a hand to Troy. “I’m Malina’s friend Izzy.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. And the rose is sweet and all, but I still don’t understand why there’s two of you and only one Malina. Is this some kind of polyamorous thing? Because you know I’ll be the last person to judge anyone’s preferences, but it seems like—”

  “You didn’t tell her,” Jackson said, turning to Troy. “I thought you were going to tell her.”

  Troy held up his hands in innocence. “I thought you were going to tell her. This was your idea, so it was your job.”

  “Tell me what?” I asked, looking back and forth between the two.

  “That this is a double date,” Troy said.

  Oh. I’d been on a couple of double dates and group dates before, and they were actually fun. But wait. A knot started to form in the pit of my stomach. If this was a double date and Jackson was the other guy, that meant there was going to be another girl. That meant I was going to have to sit and watch him smile at and flirt with some other girl. Could I really do that?

  “Where’s your girl?” Izzy asked. “Or guy,” she added quickly. “Again, don’t want to make any assumptions.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Jackson said. “You and I are still working with the same half of the population. We’re picking Krista up on the way to the restaurant.”

  “Didn’t you already date Krista?” Izzy asked.

  Jackson shook his head. “Nope. Kristy with both a -y and an -ie, but never Krista.”

  Izzy rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. My mistake.”

  “Krista Crawford?” I asked. I didn’t mean for my voice to sound incredulous, but it did. He liked her? The girl’s personality was as exciting as a piece of Wonder bread. She was pretty, though. Prettier than me. Was that why he liked her?

  “Yeah. Is that okay?” he asked me.

  No. No, no, no. It wasn’t okay. Not at all. But I forced a smile and, as casually as I could muster, said, “Sure.” Then I handed the rose to Izzy to take care of for me and turned to Troy. My date for the evening. The guy I was going to have to stay focused on all night. “Ready to go?”

  He grinned. “Ready. Nice to meet you, Izzy.”

  “Have her home by 6:30,” Izzy said.

  “It�
��s already 6:02, and this isn’t your home,” I said.

  “Oh, right. Then I guess have fun.”

  “Thanks,” I said and gave her a quick hug.

  “Later, Izzy,” Jackson said. “Next time we’ll have to do a triple date.”

  Izzy wrinkled her nose. “A threesome with you? No thank you.”

  Then before Jackson could respond, she nudged me out the door and closed it behind us, no doubt going to eat some of the malsadas Tutu left on the counter with her name on them.

  “You look beautiful,” Troy said as we walked down the sidewalk to Jackson’s car.

  His arm brushed against mine, and I hoped to feel that jolt, that first date jittery excitement, but I didn’t feel a thing. Maybe the surprise of seeing Jackson was still too much for me.

  “Thanks. You look nice, too.”

  “What about me?” Jackson asked. “Don’t I look nice?”

  Thankfully, Troy stepped in before I had to respond. “Dude, she’s my date. Quit that.”

  I let them argue while I climbed into the backseat of the car. The familiar smell of Jackson’s cologne washed over me, and I kind of hated myself for how much I liked it.

  “How was practice today?” I asked, hoping to get us all back on neutral ground.

  Troy groaned. “Coach wasn’t there, so he had Pierce run practice.”

  I grinned. That couldn’t have been good. “How are his practice-leading skills?”

  “Intense. He made us do this drill called the iron cross. I’m pretty sure it got that name because you spend the entire time praying for it to be over.”

  “Seriously,” Jackson said. “I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

  “Oh, are you out of shape? Maybe your backup goalie will have to start the next game,” I teased.

  I expected Jackson to joke back. To say something about how the other goalie would start a game when hell froze over, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he said, “Nice, Malina. Real nice.”

  My stomach clenched. “I was kidding.”

  “He’s just jealous that I’m currently the only one in the car with a date,” Troy said, reaching forward to lightly punch Jackson’s arm. “He’ll be better once we pick up Krista. Right, man?”

  “Right,” Jackson muttered, but it didn’t sound very convincing at all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jackson

  The table was part of the problem. The waitress couldn’t have seated us at a rectangular table, where I could sit across from Krista and next to Troy, leaving Malina safely in the corner of my vision. No, she seated us at a tiny square table. Krista had taken the seat to my left, and Malina had taken the seat to my right, which was close enough that I could smell the warm vanilla sugar on her skin and she could brush up against my arm when she reached for her water glass. If I were on a date with her, this wouldn’t be a problem. It would be perfect. I wanted it to be perfect. But it wasn’t perfect because I was sitting across the table from Troy, which meant I had to look at him all night.

  “How’s your salad?” I asked Krista.

  Because yeah. Maybe a gigantic chunk of my attention was on Malina and Troy, but I’d asked Krista out. I was going to treat her well.

  She gave me a funny look, fork poised over her salad plate. “You asked me that same question two minutes ago.”

  Crap. I did? I didn’t remember asking her, and I definitely didn’t remember her answer. “Sorry,” I said. “Still good?”

  She smiled. She was pretty, the light over our table making her dark brown hair shine. She wasn’t Malina-pretty or anything, but still.

  “The salad’s good. Everything’s good.” She gave my arm a light squeeze. “Relax, okay?”

  Perfect. She thought I was nervous. I could work with that. I smiled at her once more before picking up my fork and diving back into my salad. I really was starving after today’s practice.

  “So, Malina,” Troy said. “Your grandma’s from Hawaii?”

  “Tutu,” I said, my mouth still full of salad.

  Troy gave me a strange look.

  I swallowed and said, “That’s the Hawaiian word for ‘grandma.’ Tutu.”

  He gave me a less-than-pleased look before turning back to Malina. “So, Tutu’s from Hawaii?”

  Malina dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Yes. My mom, too. My dad’s from Michigan, but he went to the University of Hawaii, which is where my parents met.”

  “Is your name Hawaiian?” Krista asked. “It’s so pretty.”

  Malina nodded. “It means calming or soothing. And thanks.”

  “Your name isn’t the only thing that’s pretty,” Troy said, as one hand disappeared beneath the table.

  I swallowed wrong and was pretty sure a piece of lettuce got lodged in my left lung. Who did Troy think he was, saying shit like that? And what was he doing with his hand? As I coughed, Krista put a hand on my back and gave me my glass of water.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  I took a drink, coughed again, and nodded. “Fine,” I said, then cleared my throat when the word came out wrong. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

  “Have you been to Hawaii?” Troy asked, ignoring my distress.

  “A few times, yeah. It’s really beautiful.”

  “But you’ve never been to Canada,” I said. “We’ve been to Canada, and it’s beautiful, too. Probably more beautiful than Hawaii.”

  Troy gave me a pretty clear “what the hell are you talking about?” look. “Well, I’ve never been to Hawaii, but I’m pretty sure that’s a false statement. Canada’s cold and gray most of the year. And the only things we’ve really seen are the insides of ice arenas and hotels. You can’t possibly tell me you think that’s better than Hawaii.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe it is.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want Troy thinking Malina was some kind of exotic beauty from some incredible place. Even though she was.

  Malina practically burned holes in my skin with her WTF look. Then she cleared her throat and turned to my left. “So, Krista. You have PE with Coach Green after me, right? Third period?”

  Krista groaned and put her head dramatically in her hands. “Rhythmic. Gymnastics. I can’t believe she’s making us do rhythmic gymnastics.”

  Troy laughed. “Seriously? That’s something I’d like to see.”

  Unlike Troy, who didn’t go to our school, that was something I could see. “Second and third period?” I asked. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. I’ll find some reason I need to be in the gym.” Then I turned to Krista. “As much as you hate it, I’m sure you’re a fantastic rhythmic gymnast.”

  Krista laughed. “Thanks, but I’m no athlete like you. It really is laughable.”

  “Do you know who’s amazing at gymnastics?” Malina asked.

  My stomach churned. No. She wouldn’t.

  “Jackson.”

  She did.

  “Really?” Troy asked. He had finished his salad and leaned back in his seat. “Do tell, Malina.”

  “Don’t tell, Malina,” I said.

  She ignored me.

  “There was this one time—”

  “I’d been drinking,” I said. Tequila. A whole lot of tequila at our end-of-season party last year. I didn’t remember much, but somehow I’d been smart enough to call Malina to come get me. Not smart enough to avoid a gymnastics routine, though.

  “Let the woman tell the story,” Troy said, leaning toward her.

  “He called me to come get him from this party. When I got there, he was the only non-passed-out one in the basement. Apparently he’d been passing the time waiting for me to arrive by going through a bin of old toys, and there happened to be one of those ribbon wands. You know, the pink, sparkly ones?”

  “Oh. My. Gosh,” Krista said, wide smile on her face.

  As much as I wanted to shut Malina up, to remind her that she promised me that video would never see the lig
ht of day or even be mentioned ever again, if I said something then, I’d seem like an ass. Someone who could dish it out, but couldn’t take it. So I grit my teeth and let her continue.

  “Not only did he demand for me to watch while he did his routine for me, but he also demanded that I record it.”

  “Oh, no way,” Troy said. “There’s video evidence of this? I must see it. Immediately.”

  “It’s on my old phone,” Malina said. “I never uploaded it to the cloud.”

  Relief flooded my veins. Thank. God.

  “You’re safe today, Jackson,” Troy said. “But the next time there’s alcohol around, I can’t guarantee there won’t be a ribbon.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said, shooting daggers at Malina.

  She only looked guilty for a second before smiling and turning back to Troy.

  The evening continued like that. Sure, some conversations were fine, but more often than not, Malina took a jab at me, or I took one at her, or we ended up arguing over things we had absolutely no reason to argue about. When we got in an argument about whether NTDP’s colors should change from red, white, and blue, I knew I was out of hand, but that didn’t mean I could stop myself.

  Troy and Krista started picking up on it, trying to direct the conversation to other topics, but I couldn’t help it. Every time Troy flirted with Malina or casually touched her arm or made her laugh, my blood pressure rose.

  But wait. I knew why I was freaking out on her, but why was she freaking out on me? Wondering about that made it even harder for me to stop.

  “Well, I think we’re about done here, don’t you guys?” Troy asked after we’d paid our bills and Malina had made another jab at me, this one suggesting that I wouldn’t be able to remember Krista’s name since I’d already dated Kristy and Kristie. What was up with her tonight?

  “Yeah. More than done,” I said, taking the napkin off my lap and putting it on the table.

  I wasn’t positive, but I thought I heard a, “Finally,” from Krista as we got up.

  Normally, I’d walk next to my date, maybe take her arm or put a hand on the small of her back, but I was fuming too much for that. I walked alone. At least I held the front door for Krista when we got there. But I let it close on Troy and Malina.