The List

by Melanie Jacobson

“I don’t know yet,” she shrugged. “I keep getting distracted by the flirting part.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I said. “Carry on, soldier.”

  Chapter 20

  The smashing success of the go-kart racing date Dave took Laurel on snowballed into a dating marathon. Every second he wasn’t at work he spent with her. The first time he brought her to the house, he made sure Celia was at work. She retaliated by threatening blackmail. Who knew Dave had a deep-rooted fear of his middle-school yearbook picture being exposed? Her threat worked, and Dave let Celia tag along to Institute with us one night. She declared meeting Laurel “totally worth sitting through Old Testament stuff.” Pleased, Dave brought Laurel home after class and she chatted with my aunt and uncle.

  I found it all fascinating. My first impression of Laurel had been of someone shy, lacking initiative, and painfully awkward in conversation. In reality, she needed only to find her comfort level with people, and then her quiet prettiness transformed into animated beauty. I’d found her chattering away to Aunt Trudy in the kitchen several times in the last week. Dave couldn’t believe his good fortune, and Celia heartily endorsed his choice.

  I liked Laurel’s sweetness and easy laughter, but the chance to learn about her deafness was a cool bonus. I soaked up every sign that I could bug her to teach me before Dave shooed me off. Within a few days, I had a working vocabulary of twenty-five word signs. Between my short sign language tutorials with Laurel, surfing every morning, and working double shifts almost every day, I managed to fill up the time vacated by Matt.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t make me miss him any less, and that made me mad. I avoided talking to him, afraid it would make me miss him more. I returned most of his voice mails with witty text messages and spent time chatting online with Ryder. Made perfect sense. Ha.

  Somewhere my strategy went awry, though. I think it was The Secret, the self-help book that had been on bestseller lists for eighteen thousand years, courtesy of an Oprah appearance. The premise was that people should self-actualize their outcome, but for me it was working in reverse. I willed myself not to miss Matt or think about him too much, and suddenly I couldn’t avoid reminders of him. Either people were constantly asking me if I’d talked to him (not lately) or when he was coming back (in about a week). Every time someone asked me about him, I felt a pang in my heart parts. So annoying.

  The Thursday before he was due back, I walked into the house after work to find Laurel and Dave scrambling apart on the sofa and then looking red-faced.

  “Uh, did I interrupt something?” I asked.

  Dave shook his head. “No.”

  “That didn’t sound guilty at all, Dave,” I said. His blush deepened.

  Laurel tried to change the subject. “Is Matt coming home soon?”

  Since I had just deleted another voice mail from him that made me feel all squirmy and twisty inside, I scowled. “Next week,” I said.

  Laurel scrunched her forehead and turned to Dave. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked him.

  “Yeah. Matt’s name. She barks at anyone who mentions him.”

  “Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room,” I complained. “And I didn’t bark. I just don’t know why everyone thinks I’m his personal secretary. He’s back when he’s back.”

  Laurel looked wounded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just thought you might be excited for him to come home.”

  Feeling guilty, I slumped down in an armchair across from the two lovebirds. “I am.”

  “Yeah, you look it,” Dave said.

  “No, I mean it. He’s been gone three weeks already but it seems like way longer. I feel like I haven’t talked to him in forever, so now I’m thinking it will be kind of weird when he gets home.” I spoke clearly so Laurel could read my lips.

  “Do you guys talk on the phone at all?” she asked.

  “Sometimes. I’m busy a lot.”

  “Too busy to talk on the phone?” Dave pressed. “Wouldn’t you be spending time with him in person if he were here? What’s the big deal about talking on the phone?”

  “You can only small talk for so long,” I said. “Then it gets all serious and stuff.”

  “Serious how?” Dave asked. “You guys chitchat for a few minutes and then spend the rest of your time professing your undying love?”

  “Don’t be a dork. Of course not. But it’s hard to keep it light for more then a few minutes on the phone. Then it gets into deep thoughts and stuff.”

  Dave and Laurel exchanged confused glances before he spoke again. “I guess I’m dumb because I have to say . . . so?”

  “It gets in the way of the no-attachment thing.” I appealed to Laurel. “The plan is to go to BYU in the fall with no regrets. I don’t want to be sad when I leave. I don’t want to have a messy relationship to figure out while I’m trying to start my grad program. Especially not a long-distance relationship.”

  Dave interrupted again. “Let me get this straight. You think you’re less likely to get attached in person than you are on the phone?” He shook his head. “You’re a nut.”

  I shot Laurel another look of silent appeal. She looked at Dave, obviously torn between wanting to help me out and standing by her new man.

  “I wish I could say I understand about the phone thing,” she said. “But it’s not the best way for me to get to know someone. Spending time with them in person is definitely more important.”

  Dave slipped his hand into hers and smiled.

  “Oh, and suddenly I feel queasy,” I teased. “I’m going to go sit on my bed and see if I can figure myself out.”

  “Good luck with that,” Dave said, but the gibe was halfhearted, his attention already back on Laurel.

  I headed for my room and once again, I pulled out my cell phone and laptop, trying to make a decision. I could call Matt or chat with Ryder. The upside to chatting with Ryder is that I knew I would be in for laughs and some serious conversation without worrying about where it led. Then again, I could have a great conversation with Matt if I wanted to. If I dove in instead of guiding the conversation back to shallower waters every time it got too deep, then I’d have all the depth and humor I found in my online conversations with Ryder, plus those delicious butterflies mixed in.

  Choosing the coward’s way and knowing it, I decided to find Ryder online. Sure enough, he was there.

  TwinkieSmash: You really do live here in Lookup, don’t you?

  BoardRyder: Yes. I never, ever leave.

  TwinkieSmash: How sad.

  BoardRyder: The Internet is actually pretty spacious. Lots of elbow room around here.

  TwinkieSmash: You’re an odd, odd guy.

  BoardRyder: Talking to an odd, odd girl. How do you know I’m here all the time unless you are too?

  TwinkieSmash: Let’s focus on your issues and hang-ups instead of mine. Like your online obsession.

  BoardRyder: I’m here probably less than you think, you know.

  TwinkieSmash: Oh, really? Prove it.

  BoardRyder: All you have to do is watch your laptop screen all day so you can tell when I’m connected and when I’m not. You have time for that, right?

  TwinkieSmash: Totally. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.

  TwinkieSmash: Less.

  BoardRyder: Then you’ll just have to take my word for it.

  TwinkieSmash: Fine.

  BoardRyder: So I know you really are pretty busy . . .

  TwinkieSmash: Yeah?

  BoardRyder: And yet we talk a lot . . .

  TwinkieSmash: Yeah?

  BoardRyder: So where do you fit in your conversations with Mr. G?

  TwinkieSmash: I don’t.

  BoardRyder: You don’t talk to him?

  TwinkieSmash: Not much.

  BoardRyder: Why not?

  TwinkieSmash: Don’t know.

  BoardRyder: Imagine me shaking my finger at you right now. You’re a bad girl, and I think it’s time for me to play love guru again.

&nb
sp; TwinkieSmash: How do you spell the sound of me blowing a raspberry at you?

  BoardRyder: Uh . . . pbflttttttttttt?

  TwinkieSmash: Pbfltttttt!!!!!

  BoardRyder: Nice. Are you going to hear me out now?

  TwinkieSmash: Wait. One more. Pbfltttttt!

  TwinkieSmash: Okay, I’m listening.

  BoardRyder: So why aren’t you talking to him? Doesn’t he call you?

  TwinkieSmash: Hey! I thought I was supposed to be listening. Not answering a bunch of probing questions into my utterly boring personal life.

  BoardRyder: We’ll get to the part where you quit typing and read soon. Just answer the question.

  TwinkieSmash: What was it?

  BoardRyder: Do you not understand the function of the scroll up arrow?

  TwinkieSmash: You have a bad attitude, Love Doctor.

  BoardRyder: You’re a terrible patient.

  TwinkieSmash: All right, the answer is that yes, Mr. G calls.

  BoardRyder: But you don’t talk to him?

  TwinkieSmash: Right. Because I don’t answer.

  BoardRyder: I assumed that. Otherwise it would mean you answer but then just sit there not saying anything. I don’t think he’d keep calling if you did that.

  TwinkieSmash: Ha ha. You don’t know him. Maybe some people like those kind of calls.

  BoardRyder: Do you not want to talk to him?

  TwinkieSmash: I do. Sometimes I even answer when he calls.

  BoardRyder: But not all the time?

  TwinkieSmash: Not even most of the time.

  BoardRyder: This is what I’m trying to figure out. Why not? Is it a play-hard-to-get thing?

  TwinkieSmash: No, not really. It’s more that he makes me nervous.

  BoardRyder: It’s not good to be uncomfortable with someone.

  TwinkieSmash: I’m not uncomfortable with him. He makes me nervous. That’s different.

  BoardRyder: Explain.

  TwinkieSmash: He’s super easy to talk to. As easy as you. But you don’t make my stomach knot up, and he does.

  BoardRyder: That’s it. I am so not going out with you when you get back up here for school.

  TwinkieSmash: No, I’m not going out with you. Remember I did a preemptive dump when we first started talking? It’s still in effect.

  BoardRyder: Fine. So Mr. G is just as hilarious and brilliant as I am, but he makes you all goofy and I don’t. This stomach issue . . . is it the kind that makes you want to throw up? Because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that’s bad too.

  TwinkieSmash: No, it’s not throw-up twisty. It’s more top-of-the-roller-coaster twisty.

  BoardRyder: Ah ha.

  TwinkieSmash: You don’t have to act like this is rocket science. I know what that means.

  BoardRyder: Which is?

  TwinkieSmash: It means that I like him.

  BoardRyder: And now you get a gold star.

  TwinkieSmash: Thanks. I’ll stick it where the sun don’t shine.

  BoardRyder: Hey, hey, this is a G-rated site.

  TwinkieSmash: What is wrong with you? I was talking about putting it in my journal so the sun can’t fade it, and I can always remember you. What did you think I meant?

  BoardRyder: Nothing. I thought you meant the journal thing.

  TwinkieSmash: Well, don’t renege on my star. I demand payment in full when I get back to school.

  BoardRyder: See? High maintenance.

  TwinkieSmash: Totally.

  BoardRyder: So you like talking to him.

  TwinkieSmash: No, I don’t.

  BoardRyder: But you said he’s super easy to talk to.

  TwinkieSmash: But I hate that top-of-the-roller-coaster feeling.

  BoardRyder: Interesting. I would have taken you for an adrenaline junkie.

  TwinkieSmash: Sure, if it’s only a bone or something at risk of being broken. Not my heart.

  BoardRyder: I think I feel a tear coming on. That’s beautiful.

  TwinkieSmash: Shut up.

  BoardRyder: Why would it be the worst thing in the world to get close to the Mr. G guy?

  TwinkieSmash: It just won’t work in my life right now.

  BoardRyder: Here’s a news flash. Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.

  TwinkieSmash: Hm. Fortune cookie or bumper sticker?

  BoardRyder: A magnet on my mom’s fridge. She’s a wise lady.

  TwinkieSmash: Her magnets are, anyway.

  BoardRyder: So why won’t this work in your life? I need to know in case I want to date you in the fall.

  TwinkieSmash: I’m not going to date you, remember, you troll?

  BoardRyder: Right. Just answer because I’m nosy, then. Does he have some obvious flaws that need major overhauling and you can’t commit the time or something?

  TwinkieSmash: Nah. He’s kind of perfect.

  BoardRyder: Oh, brother.

  TwinkieSmash: No, seriously. He’s mellow but fun, smart but not a smart aleck, he’s funny, he’s adventurous, seems pretty solid with the Church . . .

  BoardRyder: No one’s that perfect. Is he ugly?

  TwinkieSmash: Sorry. He’s kind of hot.

  BoardRyder: I think I want to beat this guy up. He’s making the rest of us look bad. Could I take him in a fight?

  TwinkieSmash: I doubt it. I think he might be pretty tough.

  BoardRyder: I definitely hate this guy.

  TwinkieSmash: Good. So you’ll quit nagging me about him?

  BoardRyder: Heck no. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in a long time.

  TwinkieSmash: You don’t have much going on, then.

  BoardRyder: I have tons going on. Most of it’s just not interesting.

  TwinkieSmash: Uh-oh. He’s calling.

  BoardRyder: Not uh-oh. That’s good. All kidding aside, and as much as I’ll be lining up first if this thing falls apart, I wouldn’t touch a relationship with you with a ten-foot pole unless I knew you’d really exhausted all your options with him. You know, really checked it out? You should answer the phone.

  I stared at Matt’s name illuminated in my phone’s window. For once, I didn’t want to deny myself the little thrill I got from hearing him say my name when I answered.

  I tapped out a quick sign-off.

  TwinkieSmash: If I fall for him more, it’s your fault. TTYL.

  BoardRyder: Peace out, homie.

  I snatched up the phone and answered at the last second before it went to voice mail. “Hi, Matt.”

  “Hi, Ashley.” And there they were, those predictable and delicious tummy flutters. “It’s been hard to get ahold of you lately.”

  “I know. Sorry about that. I’m working more than I thought I would when the summer started. Trevor puts me on the schedule about twice as much as I want him to.”

  “Why does it always have to be you?” Matt asked.

  “Hello? Because I’m awesome?”

  He laughed. “I meant to say that.”

  “I forgive you. It’s been so long since we’ve talked that you might have forgotten.”

  “Oh, but you’re unforgettable, Ashley.”

  I suppressed a nervous giggle. “Are you trying to be smooth?” I asked.

  “How am I doing?”

  “Not so awesome, since I saw that line coming from a mile off.”

  “I thought you might have seen through it because I don’t ever actually use lines, and I’m really bad at it.”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and his dry tone called up another bubble of laughter in my throat. “So what have you been up to besides work? Getting any surfing in?”

  Even as I related some of my more spectacular wipeouts, part of my mind kept time on the conversation, wondering when the small talk would run out and I would have to choose between ending the call or moving past the chitchat.

  “Are you there?” he asked, startling me.

  “What?”

  “I just asked you if you wanted
to try surfing San Onofre when I get back,” he repeated patiently.

  “Sorry. Um, sure. That sounds good. That’s south, right?” I tried to reorient myself in the conversation.

  “Yeah, maybe an hour. Great surfing, though. It sounds like you’re ready for it.”

  “Now that you bring it up, when exactly are you due back, anyway?” As segues go, it was totally obvious.

  “Uh, Thursday, I think? All my stuff should be done by Wednesday, and I won’t have to come back here for a while.”

  “You’ll have to go back?” I kept my voice neutral by reminding myself that it wouldn’t matter to me past the end of the summer, anyway.

  “Probably. If Jay makes me,” he said.

  “That’s your partner, right? He’s lucky you’re willing to do it.”

  “I’m used to it, but I’ll be glad to get this trip over with. Did I mention that I’m sick of living out of my duffel bag?”

  “It’s come up,” I said.

  “Trust me when I say I couldn’t possibly overstate that.”

  “Okay, I trust you.” I meant for it to sound light, but it came out more serious.

  “That was beautiful,” he said. He sniffled.

  I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t talking about—”

  “Shhhh,” he interrupted. “I’m enjoying the moment. You said it, I heard it, no take backs. You do trust me, right?” Even though his tone was joking, I could sense the underlying seriousness of the question.

  I grimaced. This is what avoiding his phone calls had been about. Spend enough time talking to someone, even dating casually, and real stuff came up. I tried to figure out how I felt about the drift of the conversation as it moved from the shallows. I could toss off a quick comeback, yawn, and excuse myself to bed on the grounds of exhaustion. I’d said or done similar things to avoid conversations like this with other guys in the past. One part of me, the visceral part of me that chose flight over fight every time the danger of a relationship loomed, wanted nothing more than to drop the subject. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Some other part of me, a part that felt suspiciously like it was growing, answered the question.

  “Yes, Matt. I trust you.” It felt like the three hardest words I’d ever uttered.

  “No joke? I thought you’d make a joke,” he said.

  “I can think of one really quick if you want,” I said.