***
Dominic MacKenna was a sneaky guy. Without a hint of what he had planned, when we got back to my house, he unpacked coolers with everything we needed for dinner and drinks. He wouldn't tell me what he planned. He wouldn't let me help carry a thing. I pulled open the front door, happy to see him in without interference from a parent, and there he stood all glorious mischievous smile and laden with supplies.
“Enough with the suspense. What did you bring me?”
“Us.” He slid past me and fully into the house. “I brought us tacos and margaritas, in their raw form.”
“Raw form?”
“We have to make them.”
“Right. Cool.”
We went to the kitchen. I had never cooked with anyone other than my mama or Alyssa. My mama on a regular basis, mostly out of necessity on account of sharing a house and kitchen, but also because she liked to bake and I liked to help. Alyssa because she was into making cookies and a couple times a month we met in my kitchen to do so. Dominic in my house and in my kitchen was a wholly different experience. I was unprepared for how to handle such a situation. Nerves ratcheted up my spine and left me more unsure than usual how to proceed. I unpacked his reusable shopping bags, spreading ingredients across the laminate counters, and took stock, for lack of other ideas what to do.
“Blender? Tell me you have a blender.”
“I do. Bottom cabinet to the left of the fridge.” I pointed and watched as he located the appliance and placed it on the counter top. His priorities were clear. “I see you're starting with the drinks.”
“Correct.” His laugh was a low rumble. It served to remind me there hadn't been a man in this kitchen in ... many years.
We blended tequila into icy slightly syrupy drinks. Then we began preparations for tacos. The longer we spent working together in the kitchen, the more fun I had. I was still on edge, jumpy, unable to drop off that feeling of weird that came with him being in the house. But I found I could ignore it for longer and longer stretches of time.
“Hey, you okay?” Dominic placed a hand on my low back and looked down at me. He had pulled me out of my thoughts, and I looked up at his pretty soft blue eyes.
“Uh huh.” I said with no conviction. “Sorry.”
“Dating tip number 47: don't apologize for spacing out.”
I leaned in so that I nudged his chest with my shoulder, then continued stirring the pan of beans and peppers and taco makings.
“Next level dating tip number, hmm, 13: share your thoughts.”
“Next level?”
“You heard me.” He paused, looked at me closely, then explained himself. “First date, not sure about the guy: you don't have to tell him everything. Boyfriend type, you're connecting with the guy and taking it to the next level: he wants to know. It's good to share, Maggie.”
Dom didn't precisely fall under the boyfriend type. But we were getting closer and he obviously cared enough to want to know what was going on in my head.
“I was thinking about my brother. Not exactly about him, more like the lack of him.”
Dominic stilled. I was aware of the air in the room, and how it altered to be more still too, and thicker.
“Not like that.” My words tumbled out in a rush to make it better. “God, I can't get my thoughts out.”
“Try again, Peach.”
I rolled my eyes at the pet name. He was somber and listening. My chest warmed, filling full. I wasn't used to this, a connection with someone so real and easy that I could say anything. Not even with Alyssa who was my best friend in the world. She got weird when I brought up family stuff.
“You, being here, it made me think that there hasn't been a man in our house in a long time. It feels ... weird. But not bad.”
“Yeah. Okay. I can see that.”
He was too quiet. Thoughtful. I didn't know what to do with that. Dom was normally joking, doing more than his fair share of the talking. I left him to it and turned the heat off on the pan of food.
“Your mom doesn't date?” He asked, still quiet and thoughtful.
“Yes. No. Well, not really. She has over the years, but not in a long time.”
“You haven't dated much. Until Berry.”
That one was a statement rather than a question. I sighed. We had sort of talked about this up front, which led to our fake dating in the first place. Rather than get into my confused feelings where Vincent Berry was concerned, I brought up the past.
“I went out with Tiny Douglas in high school.” I didn't mention the guy I had briefly dated during college. It had been an epic disaster, and he hadn't been a Fox River boy so chances were Dom didn't know anything about it. I didn't bother with the string of first dates that had stemmed from my mama's best intentions gone awry.
“Oh my God, I forgot about that.” He offered me a smile, and I focused on that to get me through.
Tiny had been a large guy, tall and broad and proud of his spot on the football team. One grade ahead of us, and the sweetest guy around by a long shot. His name was James, and his mama called him Jamie, and he had been nervous to hold my hand. We progressed to kissing, which never failed to leave him without a deep scarlet blush on his cheeks. I hadn't thought about him in a long time either.
“He's in Montgomery, Alabama now. Married with like three little girls.”
“Dang. He has three kids? He's like twenty five.” I was only sort of surprised that Dom didn't know the details. Seeing as his brother was married to Tiny's sister, but they'd been estranged for a number of years. And of all the MacKenna brothers, Joseph was the one that lifted out. The one least likely to be around.
“Yep. He met his wife freshman year of college. They were married and had the first baby before they graduated.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“Social media. You aren't friends with him?”
“Guess not.” He shrugged. They hadn't been friends in real life. Plus family drama.
“I'm not actually friends with him. His wife said no.” It had hurt my feelings at the time, when he unfriended me. But he was happy, and I saw updates occasionally through other friends. Social media was a complicated web.
“Hey, promise me something.” Dominic said in a sudden urgent tone.
I paused arranging tacos on plates and looked him in the eye at his urgent tone. I nodded.
“Whoever you end up dating, and eventually marrying, don't let them make you unfriend me.”
“I'm not sure you and I are friends.” In my mind, I flicked through my Facebook friends.
He looked hurt, severely hurt, for a second. I was hit was a fat tree limb across the gut of guilt. What had I said? But then his face cleared, and he found a small smile.
“Clarify: online or in real life?”
“Oh! Oh God, D. Online. We aren't friends online.” I was relieved that he had misunderstood my statement, and that I hadn't actually caused him too much grief. But I was also oddly confused by his devotion to me; surprised that it would hurt him when I suggested we weren't friends. “I didn't mean it the way it sounded.”
“Good. We came close to needing a pinky swear friends forever moment.” His relief colored his words, along with his wide-open feelings for me. I had never had someone so quickly and resolutely faithful to me.
“I'll pinky swear if you want.”
He hooked his pinky in mine, as our hands hung down at our sides. Just for a second. It was sweet, so incredibly sweet I ached from it. How had we become so close so fast?
We took our tacos, messy as they promised to be, to the couch and set up camp in front of the not flat screen television. He made a fresh blender full of margaritas for refills. I let him flip through our DVDs. His eyebrows had risen high on his forehead when I told him no Netflix, no streaming of any sort to the TV. I explained my mom was old school, if old school meant afraid of technology. After a few minutes of vetoing ideas, he stuck in a movie and gave me no choice.
“Back to the Future? Good
call.”
“Classic.”
“I haven't seen it in a long time. I kind of forgot it was in there.”
“Was it Luke's?” His voice was quiet when he asked, like he wasn't sure if it was okay to bring him up.
“Um, yeah.” I shifted and rearranged my feet under my body, balancing my plate on my knees. “But it's one of the few movies we all liked.”
Growing up there had been a divide, a canyon sized divide, between what my brother liked and what I liked. Our choices were so stereotypical “boy” and “girl” it was funny when I looked back on it. He was all action movies, fast cars, and westerns. I was all rom coms, teeny bopper, and tear jerkers. Somewhere in the magical middle ground we had things like Back to the Future, anything with Robin Williams, and the original Jurassic Park. That divide carried over to all areas of our life. We never shared the same interests in clothes or food, activities and hobbies, morals or anything. I had lived with my brother the majority of my life, and I felt a hollowness when I thought about how little we knew each other.
The opening scene played out. We munched on tacos and slurped margaritas. It was easy. The ease of it freaked me out. Again. Tiny fizzy bubbles of anxiety beginning to rise.
“The clothes are so so bad.” I blurted to break the silence.
Dom's laugh was a rumble while he chewed his food.
“It bugs me every time that it's not the same Jennifer in this one and the next one.” He admitted between bites of food.
“The new Jennifer is better. Elizabeth Shue is better.”
“She ended up more famous, that's for sure.”
We swapped off quoting the movie as we watched it. Plates were discarded to my mama's antique phone table turned end table, and glasses were refilled. I drank more than my norm, allowing myself to fall into the warmth and relaxation of it. I slid down and sat on the floor, with my back against the couch. I sat close enough to Dominic, or he sat close enough to me, that my shoulder pressed against his knee.
“I hate this part!” I wanted to throw a hand over my eyes.
Biff was having his way with Lorraine in the car. Her skirts pushed up, panic racing across her face as she scrambled for freedom. Seconds ticking by as I waited for her to be saved.
“Hey.” Dom's voice beckoned to me.
I turned my head and tipped it back to look up at him. He was at home on my mama's pink and white sofa that matched nothing but somehow worked in the room, with one arm casually across the back and his knees spread wide.
“What?” I asked, thankful for the diversion.
“You remember when Wesley Donovan showed up at the bluegrass jam dressed like Doc Brown?”
I cracked up laughing at the memory before I could even respond. Dominic was sensitive enough to know when I needed distracting. I wouldn't have predicted he would be so in tune with me.
“He was brilliant!” I got up on my knees, so I could face Dom better without craning my neck. “Had the mannerisms down and everything. Too bad he doesn't drive a De Lorean.”
“Can you imagine the business he'd drum up?”
Our voices had risen, the movie forgotten in the background. Wes and his designated driver service became hilarious as we envisioned his driving the infamous car in the movie.
“People would need a ride everywhere they went. Hey, Wes, could you bring me to work, and pick me up, and take me grocery shopping after? Times like a million.” I said it all in a snooty weird voice, not my own, and made a funny face while I did it.
“Oh, that we had a million residents in Fox River.”
We laughed again. I thought through the ramifications. It was unforeseeable because Fox River was Fox River largely because it was a small tight knit community.
“Oh, that we didn't. I can get grouchy about the small town thing, but I think I prefer it.”
“Me too.” He admitted. “We should have a Back to the Future marathon for the next movie series in the park. And have Wes reprise his role. His brother Seth can be Marty McFly. But who will be Jennifer?”
“It doesn't matter. She's interchangeable.” I reminded him.
“That would be awesome.” He was laughing, then he wasn't laughing, and his face had lost some of the hilarity of the moment and I was left with just his smile. “I had no idea you were so ...”
“What?” I blanched. I felt it happen, the blood drain out of my face. Despite all the progress we'd made as friends, my first thought was that he'd tell me I was lame, too sweet, or some other form of not cool enough. When he didn't answer immediately, I asked again. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing, it's just, you're so fun. Different than I thought.” He shook his head and I could tell he wasn't finished, so I let him keep going. “That sounded bad, but it's not how I meant it. You're so quiet all the time. I've never seen you like this, being silly.”
“Oh.” I had to sit with that for a minute. Or several. I had to sort out of this was a compliment or an insult.
“Does Cotton know? He'd love it.”
“Does Cotton know what?” It was weird how separate each word was, how hard it was to say them in a neat row. “What do you mean?”
I had managed to live through several Cotton Free hours in my head, since arriving back at my house with Dominic. I had been lost in the movie and our dinner and not thinking of Cotton MacKenna one bit. The kissing montage had ceased to be playing in the background of my head. I should have been glad for the reprieve. Instead I missed him. I missed the constant thoughts of him, the longing that came with remembering his lips and hands on me, and the imaginary way he stayed after the kiss rather than the reality of his leaving. It all came rolling back over me, smashing me with a renewed intensity.
“You don't know.” A statement. Not a question. Dominic's face was pained, that was the only word for it. The shift was heavy and tasted a little like pennies. His change of topic from me to his brother had me scrambling to keep up. His change in mood was hefty and I lagged behind.
“Know what? Dom, you're freaking me out.”
“Nothing, I thought you knew.” He went to wave it away, like whatever bomb he was inadvertently dropping could waft away with the air between us. My eyes were bugging out of my head. I reached a hand out and grabbed his wrist because I couldn't help it. “You should talk to him. Maggie, it should be him taking you out. I mean, for real out. Not me.”
“I still don't know what you're talking about.” I sank back down, sitting on my heels on the floor. My hand still on Dom's wrist.
His phone chirped and buzzed, and I flinched in surprise. I let go of him and turned back to face the movie. It was near the end, with the clock tower debacle. His phone chirped again.
“You can get that. I don't mind.”
“It's probably Cotton.”
I wasn't sure whether that meant he would or would not check his texts. Dominic had told me on our first fake date that texting during a date was a faux pas. I had agreed. It was dating rule number 47 or 13 - they were almost all either 47 or 13 which I never stopped finding funny.
He shifted, his knee moving against my shoulder, and I knew he pulled his phone from his pocket. I sat very still and didn't turn away from the tv. Dom silenced his phone so his tick tack typing sound wasn't disrupting the climax of the movie. He was thoughtful and polite, and I was pretty sure not everyone knew that about him. I thought about the girls he took out, the casual easy way he dated his way through the eligible girls in our town. Did they all know? Or did they not get this version of him? I got the feeling he kept the charming persona fully intact when he for real dated, and those girls weren't privy to the real softer sweeter albeit still charming Dominic MacKenna.
The end of the movie came and went, and Dom became furious at his phone.
“Maybe I was wrong and you shouldn't have checked your messages.” My brain was on a loop of Cotton, Cotton, Cotton. Damn him.
“Look, I have to go.” The strained tone of Dom's voice was disconcerting to say the least.<
br />
“What?”
I stood, in alarm, and looked around me. Which made no sense, but I hadn't been thinking about it when I did it. I needed a reason. His abrupt departure was blatantly wrong. My fingers curled and flexed, longing for something to hold, something solid.
“Everything is okay.” Dominic's voice was serious but laced with something else. I stared up into his face when he stood too, and tried to figure out what I saw there. “I'm going to go. You're going to stay.”
“What?” I had already asked that. It was still the only thing that made sense to ask. I blinked up at him, my hands moved to my hips. I felt anger rise, snaking up my spine, as I faced the fact he was cryptically abandoning me.
Oh. Maybe it wasn't Cotton on the phone. Maybe he was going to hook up with some girl. That made sense. The sting of rejection was minor, but still existed, and I was madder on account of my feelings being hurt. I had no leg to stand on with him, and I knew it. Not when it came to going out with a girl that would sleep with him. Not that he expected that of me, or even wanted it, because we were happily friends. I thought back to his making me promise not to unfriend him if a future boyfriend asked me to, and it would be hypocritical of him to drop me for a date. I seethed with anxiety and anger and embarrassment.
“Don't be mad at me!” He put up both hands, like he was surrendering and his face was slowly becoming more and more playful. He was up to something. He backed toward the door. “I told Cotton that you were home alone, and you got scared so you called me. I told him I was going to come over to check on things, and he got all crazy about that ... so I was never here. Cotton's on his way.”
The Guilt of a Sparrow Page 15
