The List

by Melanie Jacobson

  “Hey! I’m learning,” I protested.

  “You’ll learn with the mailbox too, dear,” Aunt Trudy reassured me, then turned her attention back to her needlepoint. It looked like a cross-stitch sampler of two surfboards flanking the word Mahalo.

  I sat back and glared at the mailbox. “Can I just get you a new one?” I asked.

  “I like mine decorated,” Aunt Trudy said. “I don’t have time to paint another one right now.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  “That’s even more work than fixing it,” she pointed out.

  “Painting has to be easier than trying to get this dent flat,” I said. “I’d rather try that.”

  “If you’re sure, Ashley,” she said. “I don’t want to put you to any extra trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble, I promise. I want you to have a happy mailbox, and I don’t think I can make it happen for little birdie here,” I said, with a sad tap of the hammer on Mama Bird’s head bulge.

  “All right, then. Sooner is better than later,” Aunt Trudy said. “Mr. Jimenez doesn’t mind running our mail up to the door, I’m sure, but I hate to make him do it longer than necessary.”

  “I’ll have it done by Saturday,” I said.

  “How are you going to do that?” Celia demanded.

  “You’re going to help me,” I said. “What do you know about mailboxes?”

  She sighed. “I know you can probably get one at the hardware store on Adams and Magnolia.”

  “Let’s go. I’ve got three hours until work.”

  As it turned out, the neighborhood hardware store didn’t keep a huge standard stock of mailboxes, so we chose the one that looked easiest to paint and I paid for it, then jammed it into the back of the Jeep and headed home.

  I undid the cardboard and set the box on the table. It suddenly looked like a huge canvas, considering my limited art skills.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Celia asked.

  “I had this vague idea of finding some stencils and making something happen, but . . .”

  “Are you any good at crafts and stuff?” she asked.

  “Not really. You didn’t happen to inherit any of your mom’s skills, did you?” I wheedled.

  “Uh, yeah. But I don’t have time for a project like this. I work as much as you do, you know.”

  I did know, since it was her connections as a hostess at Hannigan’s that got me my job there in the first place.

  “Okay. I’ll figure this out. I’d better let your mom know that I haven’t abandoned it, and then I need to get ready for work. You want a ride?” I asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m off before you, and I don’t want to hang around waiting.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I popped my head into Aunt Trudy’s craft room to let her know that I’d put the mailbox project on temporary hiatus and then went to my room to scrounge around for my work clothes. While I dressed, I thought about how to solve my Mama Bird problem. I grabbed my phone and punched out a text message to Matt.

  Have to take a rain check on Saturday tennis.

  He answered by the time I finished brushing my hair.

  Why? I swear I’m not getting too attached.

  Ha, ha, I sent back. I have to do a project instead.

  What kind of project?

  I have to paint a mailbox.

  Why?

  I sighed before responding, not wanting to admit to poor driving. I may have accidentally run over the old one.

  Crazy girl. Whose mailbox?

  My aunt’s.

  Ouch.

  Yeah. Anyway, I’m not good at painting, so I need the time on Saturday.

  I think I can help you. Does it have to be repainted with birds or whatever?

  No, just something nice.

  Tell your aunt I’ll stop by to pick up the mailbox after work. And plan on tennis Saturday, OK?

  K.

  I gave Aunt Trudy the message then headed out, curious about Matt’s plan. Work pretty much crowded the curiosity out of my head, though. I ran nonstop to deal with a huge dinner party but earned a small fortune on the tip. By the time I closed out the last of my tables, tipped out the busboys, and limped home, I only had the energy to notice that the new mailbox no longer perched on top of the dining room table. Thankful that it was no longer my problem for the moment, I texted Matt a quick thank you.

  I washed away the lovely meat smell clinging to my curls with a quick shower and my favorite jasmine vanilla shampoo, then crawled into my pajamas and pulled my laptop to me. Maybe tonight I’d have an LDS Lookup message from someone cool like BoardRyder. I sure didn’t want any of the other ones I’d been getting.

  Chapter 16

  Even though my Friday shift ran later than usual because Hannigan’s stayed open until eleven on the weekends, I woke up early Saturday morning, eager to play some tennis.

  Okay, in the interest of honesty, I couldn’t care less about tennis. But I wanted to see Matt. I’d gotten a couple of mysterious texts yesterday with questions like Does your aunt like surfboards? And Does she have strong feelings about hibiscus? I’m pretty sure the text reading, Country kitchen–style geese, yes or no? was a joke. I hope.

  When Matt knocked a few minutes after eight, I’d been flipping through the cable channels for twenty minutes already. I opened the door to find him holding the coolest mailbox ever. The plain silver box I had bought now sported a painted row of brightly colored surfboards stuck in straight, clean lines in the sand, with the ocean in the distance. When he turned it around, I could see small intertwining purple hibiscus flowers forming a border around my aunt’s house number.

  “Whoa!” I said and reached out to touch it in disbelief. “How did you do this?”

  “I helped the guy who paints our boards do it,” he grinned. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it!” I assured him. “Aunt Trudy’s going to flip! Do I have time to show her right now?”

  “Sure, of course,” he said.

  I fetched her from her craft cave and drew her into the living room where Matt still stood cradling her new mailbox. Her eyes lit up when she saw it.

  “That’s mine?” she asked.

  “If you want it,” he said.

  “I do, I do! Oh, it’s beautiful, Matt. Did you do this?”

  He nodded, his cheeks suddenly pink. I grinned at him, and the pink deepened.

  “This is wonderful. I’m making Joe put it up right now. Go get your young man some breakfast, Ashley,” she added before taking the mailbox and heading off in search of my uncle.

  It was my turn to blush at her calling Matt “my” young man, but I did as ordered and headed toward the kitchen.

  “How hungry are you?” I called over my shoulder.

  “I’m at about a six on a scale of ten.”

  “That’s breakfast smoothie hungry,” I said.

  “Sounds good. What’s in it?” he asked.

  “Lots of protein to start your day. Raw eggs, tuna, mayo to thicken it, a little celery for roughage.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I meant I was only like, a two, on that scale.”

  “I’m just kidding, Matt,” I said. “How about a banana and strawberry version?”

  “And just like that, I’m back to six. It’s amazing.”

  He sat, and I threw together enough fruit to make two smoothies, then plopped his down in front of him and took my seat.

  “Where are we going to play tennis?” I asked after enjoying a few swallows.

  “Um, about that . . .” he started.

  I eyed him.

  “I kind of can’t go this morning,” he said.

  “So you came here to stand me up in person?” I asked.

  He smiled. “No. I have to go out of town for a while and I’m taking off today.”

  “Sounds mysterious. Are you on the lam from the law?”

  “No, but I owe my business partner a big favor, and we have some stuff out of town, so I’m stuck.”


  I sat back, nonplussed. Unsure what to think, I managed to ask, “How long are you going to be gone?”

  “Four weeks,” he sighed. “I’m not happy about it but it has to be done.”

  “Wow. Where are you going?”

  “I kind of have to travel all over the place. It’s going to be a long, boring trip.”

  I struggled to maintain a neutral expression and Matt could tell.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

  “Of course not! Work is work,” I shrugged.

  “You look kind of bummed,” he said. “Ashley, are you getting attached?”

  “No,” I said, trying to keep the sulk out of my voice.

  He grinned. “Just checking.”

  “So what are you doing on this trip?” I asked, attempting to dig for details again.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll be checking out new retail space, scouting locations, stuff like that.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “It is if you have to live out of a duffel bag and eat cardboard-tasting drive-thru food,” he said.

  “Those might not be my favorite parts, either,” I admitted. “I feel for you.”

  “Maybe it’s good timing,” he said, which I found ironic since I’d been thinking what incredibly bad timing it was.

  “How so?” I asked.

  He hesitated but held my gaze. Dave picked that moment to wander in, bedhead in full effect. He nodded at us and started digging through the fridge.

  “Can we step outside for a minute?” Matt asked.

  “Sure,” I said. I led him to the backyard and the Adirondack chairs my aunt and uncle had set on the deck for barbecuing and visiting. We settled in and I waited for him to speak, my stomach suddenly clenching with nerves.

  “Here’s the thing,” he began, rubbing his hands down the sides of his shorts. I wondered if they were clammy. “I hear you loud and clear when you say you don’t want any attachments. So now is a good time for me to take a break in order to avoid that.”

  I mulled that over for a minute.

  “Did you just dump me?” I asked.

  “No. We can’t break up if we’re not together, right?” he asked.

  “Right,” I parroted back at him, but I felt bewildered.

  “I just think you’re super into me, and I want to give you a chance to carve out a little space for yourself,” he said.

  I stared at him, my jaw dropping a half inch until I saw his sly grin. I grabbed a chair cushion and flung it at him.

  “Very funny!” I said.

  “Come on, that was totally funny,” he argued.

  I sniffed. “It was a little bit funny.”

  “Seriously,” he said. “I promise I’m not attached, but could you try not to date like crazy while I’m gone? You know, leave a little room on your schedule for me when I get back?”

  “That smells vaguely like commitment,” I hedged. I didn’t want to tell him that nobody else I’d seen around interested me even remotely compared to the pull I felt toward him, so I didn’t. Instead I said, “I guess I’ll have to beat off all the guys chasing after me with a stick. Oh, wait. There aren’t any.”

  “That’s only because they’ve seen me hanging around,” he said. “When I take off, you’ll see a feeding frenzy unlike any other happen around you. Just watch.”

  “I’m flattered that you think so, but I don’t really have time for much dating, anyway. You know, unless someone else is willing to hang out with me at eight in the morning,” I said with a smile.

  “So you’ll pencil me in for when I come back?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “But it’s not like I won’t talk to you before then, anyway. Unless your dialing finger is broken.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said. “But I’ll be taking care of business at some crazy hours so I’m not sure when that’ll be.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “We’ll talk when you have time, no big deal.”

  “Cool.”

  “So does this mean I don’t have to go play tennis?” I asked.

  “Have to? I figured you’d pick it up fast since you’re so good at sports.”

  “It’s just . . . you’ve seen my track record,” I said. “I’m athletic but ridiculously accident prone. Maybe I’m dodging a bullet by avoiding the tennis court.” I pointed to my calf, the pink stingray scar on it still visible.

  “You’re off the hook,” he said. “I’ve got my stuff in the Cruiser and I’m hitting the road as soon as I leave here.”

  I nodded, not sure what to say. Matt didn’t say anything either, and one of our rare awkward silences crept in, subtle as the morning fog that hadn’t yet burned off. Eager to dispel it before it grew thicker, I blurted, “So what about kissing?”

  “What?” he asked, a startled laugh escaping.

  I squirmed. “I mean, if I’m not kissing you, does that mean I can kiss one of these imaginary Romeos you say is going to show up?”

  “Sure,” he shrugged. My stomach sank a bit, and it annoyed me to discover that I wanted him to protest. “Can I put a condition on that, though?” he asked.

  “Depends on the condition.”

  “I’m going to kiss you good-bye and do my best to make it good enough to last for a month. If I do, no kissing anyone else. You got a problem with that?”

  I grinned. “Not at all.”

  His return smile spread slowly, starting with the flash of a shallow dimple in one cheek and stretching to reveal his even, white teeth. He climbed to his feet, in no hurry, and I felt my nerves begin to stretch, tension mounting, making my toes curl. He reached down and gave my hands a gentle tug, pulling me up to join him. When I gained my feet, he wound my arms around his neck and then settled his hands around my waist. He dipped his head to whisper near my ear. “Are you ready?”

  “No,” I whispered back, because I couldn’t find my voice.

  “Good.”

  And he kissed me.

  I thought our first few kisses were good. No, great.

  This kiss? This was something else. When Matt finally broke away after several dizzy, breathless moments, I felt marked. The kiss practically shouted that Matt had staked his claim. I tried not to look shaken while my insides rioted. He backed away, a small smile lingering around his lips.

  “Bye, Ashley.”

  I mustered the energy for a small wave. “Bye . . .” And stood a bit shell-shocked as he let himself out.

  * * *

  Work passed by in a blur and so did a few of my customers’ orders. I found myself serving people the wrong steaks and salads, distracted by the memory of Matt’s good-bye kiss on the backyard deck. I collapsed at home, exhausted at the end of the night, glad my screwups made only a minor dent in my tips. Shoving the wad of cash from my double shift into my drawer without counting it, I lay back and gave myself a good scolding.

  What is wrong with you, Ashley? It was a kiss. Get over it. You’ve had lots of kisses. An embarrassing number, in fact. This one wasn’t that special.

  Except that it was. Even thinking about it made my stomach flip.

  Great. I shared a really amazing kiss with Matt, but it didn’t mean anything.

  Only it did.

  In spite of Matt’s prediction that guys would start lining up to date me once they realized he wasn’t around, the idea, which should have sounded fun, held no appeal at all. I sat up, annoyed that I felt bummed. I needed a shower to clear my head, and then I’d be able to see this all more clearly. I’d put Matt in his proper place: a neat little box labeled “Summer good-time guy.”

  A half hour later, feeling refreshed and far more alert than I expected to at nearly midnight, I returned to my room with a solution. To keep Matt in his place, I needed to remind myself that he wasn’t the only game in town. Or, to put it more accurately, that he might be the only game in this town to catch my interest, but I had a whole other town to consider. My online dating project practically begged for a reboot, so in the dual intere
sts of weakening Matt’s pull on me and crossing off another number on The List, I opened my Lookup account and reviewed the e-mails with renewed determination to find a Utah connection for the fall.

  Despite my best efforts, nothing really jumped out at me from my unread messages. Discouragement lurked as I discarded one message after the next. Until I reached the last one in my inbox.

  It was from BoardRyder, the only guy I’d looked at more than once on the site. Opening his e-mail, I read, “Did you really read Don Quixote? Great book.” I paused in surprise. His question referenced my profile, where I had listed the Cervantes novel among my favorites. Although I had read it for an assignment during study abroad in Spain, I fell in love with it immediately, all thousand-plus pages, and it impressed me that he had read it too.

  Curious, I pulled up his profile to refresh my memory. His picture showed a guy wearing snowboard gear in midair over a mogul. I couldn’t tell much about his face with the goggles on other than that he had a strong jaw. I glanced over his profile again. He lived in Salt Lake, had an MBA, and showed a huge range in his interests. Besides snowboarding, he claimed to enjoy travel, reading, outdoor sports, movies, cooking, and underwater basket weaving. I liked his gentle poke at the standard questions in the site’s questionnaire. He listed several favorite books besides the usual Clancy and Koontz guy titles, even including a couple of classics. Right in the middle, he included Don Quixote. Nice. I remembered liking his taste in music, which included several of my favorite bands. Nothing raised any red flags.

  Clicking reply, I typed, “I read Don Quixote for school, and I thought it was great.” I sent it off and then, feeling encouraged, navigated to the home page so I could do a search for other interesting possibilities. I checked out a couple of decent profiles but decided to let them hunt me down rather than pinging them first. I was in the middle of a fantastic lesson on “Internet Dating Don’ts” in the form of HereForTheLadies and his train wreck of a profile, when an IM alert from Lookup popped up on my screen. HereForTheLadies listed his pet peeves as “Girls who think back hair is gross” and “Freaking idiots in freaking foreign cars,” and although I drove an American-made vehicle, I didn’t feel I could negotiate on the back hair. I closed his profile and opened the IM request. It was from BoardRyder. He worked quickly.