NineNow that I know Jason’s been in love with me our whole lives, I feel like I’ve been re-analyzing every interaction we’ve ever had. It seems like everything he’s ever said to me takes on a new meaning.
For instance, I remember one summer when we were thirteen, our parents decided to take our families on a group trip to a large amusement park. Now, you have to understand something, and I say this with all modesty: when I was thirteen, I was hot. I wasn’t awkward or frizzy haired or whatever like a lot of other thirteen-year-olds. I was freaking hot. My mother rejected three outfits I tried on before she finally approved a skin-tight pair of jeans and a tank top that clearly outlined my perky little nipples. (God, I’m a little jealous of my thirteen-year-old self.) I was wearing my usual globs of black eye makeup, which I had only recently discovered and was smearing on without much restraint. I don’t think it looked bad, but in retrospect, I’m sure I looked like a huge whore.
Jason’s older brother Randy was sixteen, and he had begged out of the trip, saying there was “no fucking way” he was going to a lame amusement park with his parents. He was sitting in the living room watching football when I walked in with my parents and I could see his jaw drop open. He sat up straight on the couch and practically did a wolf howl at me. “Wow, Tasha,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Well,” I replied, trying my best to act cool around Randy. “You’re seeing me now.”
“I sure am,” he said. He looked me up and down. “You going to that amusement park?”
“Yes,” I said.
He grinned at me. “Well, maybe I am too, then.”
Now as you recall, Jason was (and is) a good-looking guy, and there was a strong family resemblance between him and his brother. Except Randy Fox wasn’t in a wheelchair, so there was nothing to get in the way of his hotness. He actually had a reputation at the local high school for being kind of a ladies’ man, a reputation that I knew about and excited me. I never thought that I had a chance of dating Randy, but now it seemed like it might actually happen.
Of course, Jason was in the room, and he looked really upset by our interaction. He took his brother aside, and naïve me, I thought he was putting in a good word for me or something. After all, Jason knew I dated and I didn’t think he’d deprive me of going out with one of the hottest guys at the high school. But when I listened in to their conversation, I was surprised and angered to find that this wasn’t at all Jason’s intention.
“What are you doing?” I could hear Jason hiss.
“What do you think?” Randy retorted. “How come you never told me how hot Tasha was?”
A hot flush came into my cheeks. Randy Fox thought I was hot! Even though I was just a dorky middle-school kid.
“Look,” Jason said. “Tasha doesn’t want to get hit on by some creepy high-school guy.”
“Yes, I do!” I almost yelled, just as Randy said, “It doesn’t look like she minds so much.”
Jason was quiet then and I could hear Randy laugh. “Come on, Jason,” he said. “You don’t think that you have a chance with her, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Jason said. At the time I didn’t think much of it, but in retrospect, I remember the frustration and pain in his voice.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Randy,” Jason said. “I’m begging you. Please, please don’t hit on Tasha. Please.”
I was holding my breath too. I wanted Randy to tell his brother to fuck off and say that I was too spectacular and he had to have me. But instead, Randy laughed again. “Shit, I never saw you get like this about a girl, bro. Okay, I won’t.”
Randy backed out of the trip, declaring once again that it was “stupid,” but I knew the truth and I was really pissed off at Jason. I was fully prepared not to speak to him the entire day. And I probably would have stuck to that if we hadn’t arrived at the entrance to the park to see huge lines to get admission.
Jason’s father clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s go to the front. I’m sure they’ll let us all right in when they see you.”
It was obvious what Mr. Fox was getting at. Jason was in a wheelchair, so they’d never make him wait in line with everyone else. He and his family would get instant admission. Probably free admission.
“No, Dad,” Jason said quietly. “Let’s just wait in line like everyone else.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jason,” Mr. Fox said. “The line is huge. Don’t be difficult about this. What’s the big deal?”
I could see Jason’s cheeks turn red and my anger at him melted away. I guessed his dad made him do this all the time and he hated it. Jason finally mumbled an okay, and I watched as he and his father made their way to the front entrance and spoke to a manager about Jason’s disability, possibly throwing in some story about how he was dying and this trip was his last request. A minute later, we were all waved inside, free of charge.
When we got inside, I could see Jason eying the roller coaster and the accompanying worried look on his mother’s face. “We talked about this,” she said to him. “I told you that if we were going to go, no fast rides. There’s plenty for you . . . the carousel, the Ferris wheel . . .”
Jason made a face. “The carousel? Come on, Mom, that’s for kids. I’ll be fine.”
“Jason . . .” his mother said in a warning voice.
Except, unlike me, Jason always did what his parents told him. So he was stuck riding the carousel. And he didn’t even get to ride the horses. He had to sit in a stationary carriage, after his parents instructed the ride operators on helping him inside. They stood on the sidelines, watching us and holding Jason’s wheelchair. “This is ridiculous,” Jason mumbled to me, since I had agreed to sit next to him. “Paraplegics ride horses. I mean, real horses. Not just fake ones that only go up and down.”
“If it were me,” I told him, “I’d give them the finger and ride whatever the hell I want.”
Jason grinned at me. “I know you would. But I’m not like that.”
“You should be!” I said.
“No, I’m a wuss,” he said. “I was just hoping they’d change their minds.”
“Parents never change their minds,” I told him. “That’s never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do.”
Jason eyed my outfit. “Yeah, I can see that.”
At that moment, a wonderful inspiration struck me. After we got off the carousel, I told Jason’s parents that we were going to go get corndogs, and of course, they believed us, having an undying trust in their youngest son (who actually also believed that we were going to get corndogs). Except instead of corndogs, I led Jason to the biggest roller coaster in the whole park.
“Tasha,” he murmured, looking nervous. “I’m not supposed to.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I said. “I’ll never respect you if you do everything your parents say all the time.”
Jason smiled weakly. “Yeah, but it’s really . . . big.”
I shrugged. “So what? What’s the worst that could happen? You’re already paralyzed.”
Jason laughed and agreed that I was absolutely right. We got on line with everyone else in preparation to ride the freaking-huge roller coaster. Jason was practically giddy and I was pretty damn proud of myself until we got to the front of the line, the conductor looked Jason over, and shook his head.
“You allowed to ride on this?” he asked.
Jason nodded, although the hesitation was clear on his face. “Yeah, I just need some help getting on.”
I knew right away that wasn’t going to work. “Where’s your parents?” the conductor asked.
Jason’s face turned white and I spoke up, “It’s okay. He’s with me.”
The conductor looked me up and down, then turned back to Jason. “I’m going to need to get permission from your parents before you can ride.”
“That’s bullshit!” I cried. “You’re letting lots of kids younger than he is ride without their parents’ permission.”
<
br /> “Look, miss,” the guy said. “Our insurance doesn’t cover this. So if you want to ride yourself, go ahead. Otherwise, please step aside.”
I heard a voice from within the line yell out: “You can ride with me, baby!” My face burned and I was ready to start giving the conductor and everybody on line a piece of my mind, but I could see Jason shaking his head. “Let’s just go, Tasha,” he said. “It’s not worth it. Let’s get corndogs.”
I realized that my getting pissed off was just going to end up making a huge scene, which was the last thing that Jason wanted. So instead of riding the roller coaster, we ended up going to get corndogs, just like we promised our parents we would. Jason ate two of them and I just ate a half because even at age thirteen, I was watching my weight.
“Sorry, Jason,” I said. “I feel like I dragged you all the way over to that ride and then we didn’t end up getting on.”
“Well, you did drag me all the way over to that ride,” he said. “But that’s okay. I mean, it’s just a ride. Who cares?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Roller coasters suck anyway. I hate them.” That wasn’t really true, but I felt like I should say it, considering Jason had never experienced one and probably wouldn’t for a long time, if ever. “But if you really want, when we turn eighteen, we can go to Great Adventure or something and just go nuts.” (We actually did end up doing this the summer after high school ended. We went to a smaller amusement park and rode a couple of roller coasters and some other rides. It was a blast.)
Jason smiled at me and reached across the table at the snack bar to give my hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Tasha,” he said.
I remember at that moment, thinking how glad I was that Jason was my best friend. And at the time, I assumed he was thinking the exact same thing. Except little did I know, he was probably just thinking about what I looked like naked or something.
***
I had no idea how much I talked to Jason in the course of a day until we stopped speaking to each other. It felt like there were at least a dozen times when I reached for my cell phone to text him, then I remembered and put it down. On his part, he didn’t text me either. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone a whole week without talking to him at all.
I was beginning to wonder how long our mutual silence was going to last when Larry said he invited Jason out to dinner with us. “You did?” I asked, trying not to let on that I was actually really pleased.
“Well, yeah,” Larry said. “He’s seemed really down lately, what with breaking up with Melissa and all. He’s such a nice guy and I hate to see him seem so depressed. I’ll bet you could cheer him up.”
Yeah, I’ll bet I could.
We meet at a restaurant after work. Larry and Jason go together after work and are already seated at a table when I arrive. I’m not sure why, but somehow my eyes are drawn to Jason when I walk in. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks now and sometimes I forget how good looking he is. I mean, if he weren’t in a wheelchair, he’d have absolutely no trouble meeting women. He’s wearing one of his green ties and it makes his eyes seem really green, and it looks like he got a haircut since I last saw him. He smiles at Larry and his eyes crinkle adorably. He looks . . . hot. Not devastatingly, dangerously sexy like Hugh Jackman or something, but he’s very “boy next door” kind of hot. Well, objectively speaking, at least.
“Tasha, hi,” Larry says when I come in. He stands up and gives me a chaste peck on the lips. Larry isn’t ugly or anything, but he’s definitely not what anyone would call sexy. “You look great.”
Jason doesn’t stand up, obviously, but he gives me one of his half smiles. “Hey, there,” he says.
“Hi,” I say, my voice catching a bit in my throat.
As I slide into my seat, Larry conveniently excuses himself to use the restroom, leaving Jason and me alone. I was feeling angry at him last week, but I don’t feel that way now. I’m just incredibly glad to see him again. “I’m sorry I was a bitch last week,” I say.
Jason grins. “You were, weren’t you?”
I feel my shoulders relax. “Look,” I say. “I know you were kind of drunk and you were upset about Melissa, and I know you didn’t mean what you said.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What I said?”
“You know, about . . .” I blush. “Being in love with me.”
“Oh.” Jason leans back in his wheelchair and stares at me. In that position, I can slightly see his gut through his expensive shirt and somehow it makes him seem kind of vulnerable. He grabs his beer off the table and takes a swig. “No, I meant that.”
He’s not drunk and he’s entirely serious. I know him long enough to know the difference. “Jason . . .”
He blinks his green eyes. “What?”
I have always loved Jason’s eyes. They’re so earnest and vividly green—although he’s cute overall, his eyes are his best feature. As I look into his eyes, I feel my heart speed up a notch. His face is close to mine—too close. If he leaned in to kiss me, I don’t think I could react fast enough to stop him. I’m not even sure if I’d want to stop him.
Except, of course I’d stop him. What am I thinking?
I clear my throat. “I think you’re depressed,” I say, pulling my face away from kissing distance. “I don’t think you really mean any of this.”
“Yeah, I’m a little depressed,” he says. “I mean, the woman I’ve been in love with most of my life wants to marry a guy who’s going to make her miserable. I think I have a right.”
“A right to what?”
I jump as I notice Larry has re-emerged from the bathroom. He’s wiping his hands on his slacks, which is a habit that annoys me a lot, but I know it’s dumb so I never say anything. I mean, what are paper towels or hand dryers for?
“A right to . . .” A right to what? I look at Jason, who doesn’t seem like he’s going to help me out. “A right to . . . be part of the wedding.”
“Oh!” Larry’s face lights up. “Well, actually, I don’t know if Tasha mentioned it to you, Jason, but I was hoping you’d be my best man.”
Jason spits out the mouthful of beer he’d been drinking. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. I’m a little amused to see him lose his composure like that.
“Uh, what?”
“It would mean a lot to us,” Larry says. “It’s because of you that Tasha and I met.”
“Right, well . . .” Jason mumbles. “I’m really flattered but . . . don’t you have any closer friends who you should ask?”
“To be honest, not really,” Larry says. “You’re my closest friend at work, Jason. And I know you’re one of Tasha’s closest friends, but you can’t be in the bridal party, so . . .”
I smile, knowing that I’ve got Jason in a corner now. If he’s the best man, he can’t try to break up Larry and me. Ha.
“Um,” Jason says. “You have a brother, don’t you?”
“Mark and I aren’t close,” Larry says. “Really, I feel much closer to you.”
I can see Jason searching for some kind of excuse, but he knows he’s stuck. “In that case,” he says, “yeah, sure, I’d love to.”
“Wonderful!” Larry beams.
As Larry takes another swig of his drink, I just barely hear Jason whisper in my ear: “Don’t think you’re off the hook.”
TenTrue to his word, Jason calls me the next night and I can tell he has an agenda. It’s been noticeable that he hasn’t called me in several days because of our fight, and despite the fact that I know he’s going to bother me, I’m glad to hear the sound of his familiar voice. But I won’t admit that to him.
“I wish Larry were more of an asshole,” Jason says. “That would make it easier. Why does he have to be such a nice guy?”
“Kind of makes you feel bad, doesn’t it?” I retort. “Doing something so shitty to such a nice guy.”
“In a way,” Jason says thoughtfully. “But really, it’s for his own good too. I don’t want Larry to be miserable any more than I want yo
u to be miserable.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But you’re not . . . interested in Larry.” I still feel my cheeks turn pink when I say the words.
“Look,” he says. “Larry likes the idea of you, but he barely knows you. You guys have been together for six months. That’s not long enough to know another person.”
“So what’s long enough? Twenty-five years?”
“Well, you have to admit,” he says, “nobody knows you better than me.”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s true. I know everything about you.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I say, playing along. “If you know everything about me, then how old was I when I got my first period, smartass?” I figure if you want to turn a guy off, the best thing to do is to talk about your period.
“Oh God,” Jason says. “You were twelve. I know because I overheard your mother telling my mother about it in excruciating detail that I really didn’t need or want to know.”
“Fine,” I grumble, because he’s right. “So what’s my bra size? Larry knows that one.”
“So do I,” he says. “You’re 34C. That’s what you get for making me help you with laundry.”
Okay, yes, there were a few times when I had an overwhelming quantity of laundry and Jason had nothing to do, so I convinced him to come over and help me out. That’s not too weird, is it? I guess I never thought about the fact that he was touching my bras and panties. I always felt like Jason and I had this platonic relationship, but now when I think of how I made him fold up my silky red thongs . . . oh Christ. I encouraged his crush, didn’t I?
Just to be fair, I’ve helped Jason with his laundry too. He has a washer and dryer in his apartment, and I’ve helped him hang up some of his shirts on laundry day. For some reason, I think of the feel of the fabric of Jason’s large button-up work shirt in his hand, with the scent of his detergent mingled with the faint smell of his aftershave. Jason’s been wearing the same brand of aftershave ever since I can remember, and there’s something kind of comforting about that smell. There’s something comforting about Jason in general.
The Boy Next Door Page 10
