Right of Way

by Lauren Barnholdt

  Jace holds Hector gingerly around the stomach, and I pull down the shower sprayer to rinse Hector off. “It’s okay, boy,” I say. “It’s just some nice warm water, it’ll feel good.”

  Hector acts like he understands me, and raises his head up to the water. “Good boy,” I tell him.

  “You know he can’t understand you, right?” Jace asks.

  “Yes, he can,” I say, even though I know it’s not true. “He’s a very smart dog.”

  Jace scoffs at me.

  “He is!” I say. “And he doesn’t like you saying that he’s not smart, do you, boy?”

  As if on cue, Hector works his way out from Jace’s hands and puts his front paws up on the side of the tub.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jace says, lowering him back down into the water. “What are you doing?”

  “I told you,” I say. “He didn’t like you saying that he doesn’t understand English.” And then I add, “And also you were hardly holding on to him. You don’t have to be afraid of him, Jace, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “I’m not afraid of him!”

  “Then what’s the big deal?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugs. “I just don’t like him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a pain in the ass.”

  “God, you are really mean, you know that?”

  “I’m mean?” he says, and shakes his head. “Okay, fine, Peyton, you want to know why I’m being weird around Hector?” He takes a deep breath and then looks away from me and down at the bathroom floor.

  “Yes!” I say. “I do want to know why you’re so weird around Hector.” I take the showerhead and point the stream of water down around Hector’s back legs. He wags his tail, shooting little drops of warm water onto my arms.

  “Fine,” Jace says, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He takes another deep breath in and then closes his eyes for a second. “When I was seven I had a dog. He was a golden retriever named Mork. That was the year I was getting teased at school, and Mork, he . . . he was always near me. He was the only one didn’t care about my speech impediment.”

  “You had a speech impediment?” I ask, frowning.

  “Yeah,” he says. “That’s why I got teased.”

  I frown. “You don’t have it anymore.”

  “I had to work with a speech therapist,” he says. He sounds annoyed. “But anyway, back to Mork. He was my best friend.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes, and I’m not sure, but I think he’s even getting a little choked up. “At least, he was my best friend. Until that year’s Christmas morning.”

  “What happened on Christmas morning?” I ask. My stomach is already clenching in dread, anticipating where this story might be going. I cannot deal with stories that have to do with animals dying.

  But I can’t just tell Jace to stop. Obviously this is something that has scarred him for life, something he feels like he needs to get out. And more importantly, he’s decided to pick me to talk about it with. It makes me feel connected to him, and I can’t help it, but I love that feeling.

  “On Christmas morning, I came downstairs.” He shakes his head, getting that same faraway look on his face. And I know it’s not my imagination now—he really does have tears in his eyes. “And I immediately ran to look in my stocking. There it was, on the fireplace, with Mork’s stocking right next to it.” He swallows hard, and as if by instinct, I reach over and take his hand. If he’s surprised that I did that, he doesn’t show it. His fingers tighten around mine, and my breath catches in my chest. I don’t know if it’s because the moment is so emotional or because we’re holding hands, but my body suddenly feels like it’s on fire.

  “And I immediately called for him. Mork! Mork! But he didn’t come. I looked at my parents, you know, and asked them where he was. Usually he slept with me in my bed, but I’d been so excited about Christmas that when I woke up, I hadn’t thought to look for him.” He sniffs. “And then my parents told me he went to the farm. But he wasn’t at the farm, Peyton. He . . . he wasn’t at the farm.”

  “Oh, my God,” I say. A lump rises in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “That’s horrible. What did he die from?”

  “Cancer.”

  “Cancer?” I frown. “And you didn’t notice he was sick?”

  “No.” Jace shakes his head. “I was only seven, after all.” It’s very brief, less than a second even, but I think I saw the sides of his mouth twitch. Almost into a smile. Which makes no sense. Why would Jace be smiling? Unless he’s thinking about Mork and remembering him fondly. Or unless . . . I snatch my hand away from his.

  “You’re lying!”

  “No, I’m not.” He shakes his head sadly. “Poor little Mark.”

  “You said his name was Mork.”

  “That’s what I said . . . poor little Mork.” But I can still see the smile playing on his lips.

  “You jerk!” I say. “I cannot believe you would make up a story about a dog with cancer!”

  He laughs. “Oh, come on,” he says. “It was funny. You should have seen the look on your face.”

  “Of course there was a look on my face,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air, exasperated. “Anyone would have a look on their face when they heard about some poor kid losing their dog.”

  Hector whines.

  “See?” I say. “You’re upsetting him with all this talk of dog diseases. Have a heart.”

  “I have a heart!”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do,” he says. “Look, I’ll prove it to you.” He reaches into the tub and wraps his arms around Hector, suds and all. “Oooh,” he says in a baby voice. “Ooooh, Hector, you’re such a good boy, oooh, I love you, Hector.”

  Hector’s tail immediately starts wagging, and he pushes his snout into Jace’s face and starts licking it. “Oh, Hector, you’re so sweet,” Jace says. “You’re just the best dog.”

  Hector moves and Jace’s elbows slip, causing Jace’s whole upper body to slide over the side and into the tub. For a second, everyone freezes. I’m afraid Jace is going to be mad, since now he’s soaking wet, but instead he just says, “Oooh, Hector, that’s okay,” and then slides his whole body into the tub, clothes and all.

  Hector gives a happy bark, glad to have a friend with him, and then plants his front paws on Jace’s chest.

  “Oh, my God,” I say, laughing as water sloshes over the side and onto the bathroom floor. “You’re soaked.”

  “Oh, you think that’s funny?” Jace asks me playfully, and then before I know it, he’s pulling me into the tub with them. But there’s not really enough room for the three of us, and so Hector jumps out and then starts running back and forth in front of the tub, getting soap suds and water all over the bathroom.

  I’m laughing hysterically now, my pajamas and tank top totally soaked.

  When I catch my breath a few moments later, I realize that I’m lying on top of Jace. I can feel his chest underneath me, and the warmth of his breath on my cheek. Our legs are tangled together in the water, and my whole body flushes hot.

  “Sorry,” I say. I don’t know why I’m saying it. He’s the one who pulled me in here with him, not the other way around. But he pulled me into the tub as a joke, as a way to get back at me for laughing. He was just messing around, and the last thing I want is for him to think I planted my body on top of his on purpose.

  “What are you sorry for?” Jace asks. His voice is deep and husky, and I pull my gaze toward his face. He’s looking right into my eyes, and then he reaches up and slides a finger down the side of my face, over my cheek, and down over my collarbone. His touch is soft and sends shivers exploding through my body. My heart is beating so fast and my stomach is turning and I feel like I should say something—anything—but I can’t.

  Which turns out to be okay. The fact that I can’t talk, I mean.

  Because before I can say anything, Jace pulls my face toward his and kisses me.

  Saturday, June 25, 6:58 p.m.


  Siesta Key, Florida

  I am going to be totally cool. I am going to be totally cool and totally in control of the situation. There is nothing to get all worked up about. It’s just a stupid wedding. Yes, a stupid wedding that a girl I have a history with is going to be attending. But fuck that. My history with Peyton was a long time ago. Well. If you consider three months a long time ago. Which I do.

  When the ceremony starts, I sit there with my parents, scanning the rows of people, trying to look for Peyton without being all obvious about it. I’m so distracted that I don’t even hear the vows. Not that I really care. In my opinion, weddings are pretty much bullshit. I’m not saying that I don’t believe in marriage—I just have a hard time understanding how you’re supposed to be all happy and excited for the couple getting married when you’re pretty sure their marriage is going to end up completely shattered.

  Take Courtney’s dad, for example. Here he is, getting married, taking vows, promising that he’s going to love and cherish this woman forever. When really, he already promised to love and cherish Courtney’s mom forever. Which he obviously didn’t do. And now he’s pledging his undying devotion to another woman? Why should I believe him this time?

  But whatever. No one wants to hear that shit. They just want to be all weepy and blather on about how beautiful it all is.

  After the ceremony, everyone files into the huge ballroom at the Siesta Key Yacht Club for the reception. Of course my parents are among the first people to get there. My mom has this obsessive need to be on time for everything.

  “Did you make sure you fed Hector, Jace?” my mom asks as we walk in. “Because it’s very important that we get him into a routine.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I say, struggling to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “I fed Hector.” It’s true. I did feed him. Of course, I don’t mention that I forgot to bring his dog food, so he had to make do with a McDonald’s quarter pounder. He loved it. I never saw a dog eat something so fast. I guess they don’t get much beef at the pound.

  “Good,” she says, not even suspecting that he wasn’t eating his special, wheat-free, sugar-free, organic-whatever dog food that she picked up for him. I don’t know why she’s so concerned about Hector and his routine. It’s not like we’re keeping him.

  A waiter wearing one of those long-tailed tuxedos passes by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and I reach out and snag two of them. You always have to make sure to take double food at these kind of fancy-pants events, because if you don’t, you end up hungry. You never know when the waiters are going to come by again, or when dinner is going to finally be served.

  I start inching away from my parents little by little, heading toward the bar. The one good thing about weddings is that if there’s open bar, no one’s ever IDing. And I’m definitely going to need a cocktail to calm my nerves.

  Finally, my parents run into some couple they know, and start chattering away. After an awkward introduction (“This is our son, Jace; he’s graduating tomorrow, can you believe it, he’s valedictorian!”), I excuse myself and start walking toward the bar.

  But before I can get there, a voice calls my name. A female voice.

  “Jace!”

  My stomach flips.

  I turn around.

  But it’s not Peyton.

  It’s Courtney.

  “Courtney,” I say as she runs up to me and gives me a hug. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.” She’s wearing a long red dress. I guess she decided to change out of her bridesmaid dress before coming to the reception. Which I think might have been a good choice. I don’t know anything about fashion, but I’m assuming that huge bows and green fabric aren’t exactly what a nineteen-year-old girl wants to be wearing.

  “It’s so nice to see you!” she says. “Have you met my boyfriend, Jordan?”

  “Not officially. We never really got a chance to talk at the Christmas party.” I hold my hand out to the guy standing behind her. “What’s up, man?”

  “Not much,” he says. His eyes are darting around the room, and he seems distracted.

  I wonder if this is really weird for him. He’s Courtney’s boyfriend and also the son of the bride. Yup, Courtney’s dad married Jordan’s mom. Courtney and Jordan were together before their parents were, but still. That’s got to be so weird. Are the four of them all going to live together now or some shit? I want to ask, but honestly, it’s really none of my business.

  “Don’t mind him,” Courtney says. “He’s just looking for his friend B.J.”

  “What the hell,” Jordan says, his eyes settling on something over my shoulder. “I told that asshole not to wear white!”

  I turn around to see a kid about our age walking through the door, wearing a tight white suit, a white tie, and a white fedora. He’s even got on white shoes. When he sees Jordan, he tips his hat and gives him a big smile.

  “Excuse me,” Jordan says. “I have to go talk to him. But I’ll see you guys later—you’re sitting at our table, right, Jace?”

  “He is,” Courtney says. Jordan gives her a kiss on the cheek and then heads over to the kid in white, who’s now doing the moonwalk on the dance floor, even though no one else is dancing and the music that’s playing is definitely not moonwalk appropriate.

  “Should we get a drink?” Courtney asks.

  I nod, then take her arm and lead her through the crowd to the bar. She orders a Diet Coke, and after a second, I order a Sprite, mostly because I don’t want to seem like the jerk who ordered alcohol at her dad’s wedding when she was drinking soda.

  “So are you excited about graduation tomorrow?” she asks. She takes a sip of her drink.

  “Not really.” I plop down onto a bar stool. “It seems kind of pointless.”

  “Graduating?”

  “Not graduating, just the graduation ceremony itself. Most of those people I never want to see again in my life.”

  “But then isn’t it a good thing?” she asks. “To celebrate moving on?”

  “I guess.” I shrug. “But it’s like we’re all supposed to be moving on to the real world, celebrating this big achievement together. I don’t know, it all just seems melodramatic and over the top.”

  “Yeah.” She looks down into her drink thoughtfully, swishing the little red cocktail straw around in the liquid. “Your mom said your speech is amazing.”

  “My mom told you that? Jesus.” I take another sip of my Sprite, then signal the bartender. Fuck this soda shit. I need something stronger.

  “Well, she told my dad,” Courtney says, “who told me.”

  I cringe. “Sorry.”

  She shrugs. “It’s okay.”

  Ever since Courtney started dating Jordan, her dad hasn’t exactly been thrilled. I don’t really know the particulars, but for some reason, he doesn’t like Jordan. I don’t know why. Courtney’s always struck me as someone who has her head on straight when it comes to things like relationships, and I don’t think she’d be with a bad guy.

  Anyway, Courtney’s dad doesn’t like Jordan, and it seems like lately he’s been doing this weird thing where he’s always trying to talk up other guys to Courtney, namely me. As if she and I are going to end up together or something. Which is ridiculous. Courtney’s a really pretty girl, but there’s never been anything like that between us. Ever. She’s like my sister.

  “I just wish my dad would stop trying to get me interested in other guys. He needs to realize that I love Jordan, and that we’re going to be together whether he likes it or not.”

  “Why doesn’t he like him?”

  She sighs. “It’s complicated.” She bites her lip. “But the thing is, he can’t make my decisions for me. Especially when it comes to relationships. Hell, I have a hard enough time controlling who I fall in love with.”

  “I hear ya,” I say. I understand exactly what she means.

  Right then more than ever.

  Because at that moment, Peyton walks into the ballroom.

  Her dark hair is
pulled back on the top, the rest of it loose and flowing around her shoulders. She’s wearing a blue-green dress that’s tight and yet sophisticated at the same time.

  Her body has always driven me crazy.

  She looks even better than I remember.

  My body feels numb and my mouth goes dry.

  “Bartender,” I call again, louder this time. “I need a drink.”

  Friday, June 25, 8:10 p.m.

  Siesta Key, Florida

  I walk into the reception late, which is a bit of a tactical error on my part. Actually, a lot of a tactical error. I thought that if I got there early, if I got there first, I’d be forced to sit at some table with my parents, waiting and wondering when Jace was going to show up. Definitely not good for my mental state.

  So I decided that arriving late, when I was pretty sure he’d already be there was a good strategy—that way I could just come in and find my seat and not have to worry about watching the door every five seconds, wondering when he was going to show up. Then, when I was finally ready, I’d very casually scan the room until my eyes landed on him, and then I’d just make sure to ignore him for the whole night.

  Of course, this plan had not been decided on lightly. At first I thought maybe I should be the bigger person, that I should go up to him and at least say hello. Brooklyn and I even spent a whole afternoon in my room coming up with opening lines. It was like a scene from a movie, where the heroine keeps practicing what she’s going to say when she finally gets up the nerve to talk to the guy she likes. Of course, in those scenarios, it’s usually a guy she’s never talked to in her life, not a guy who she has a kind of history with and thought she was in love with. Thought being the operative word. As in, past tense.

  After we came up with the perfect opening line (“Hi, Jace, it’s nice to see you. You’re looking very well,” which would be followed by me pushing past him and going to talk to some imaginary person whom I just noticed was at the wedding), I realized that was a horrible plan. To be the better person, I mean. After all, he never replied to my text. And taking the high road is overrated anyway.