by Niles, Naomi
“Jessica?” my mother’s muffled voice came through.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Dinner is ready!”
I sighed. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I’m getting dressed now.”
Forced to cut my bath short, I drained the water and got out of the tub. I toweled myself dry and then stood in front of my full-length mirror with the towel wrapped around my chest. I stared at my reflection for a few minutes, but couldn’t find anything particularly special about the girl staring back at me.
She was tall and lean and fit, but she wasn’t curvy or sexy or hot. She was plain and forgettable—traits that resembled her personality. Perhaps her one redeeming feature was her large, green eyes, but they held no confidence. They looked down so often that you forgot their color.
I was tempted to slip off my towel and appraise myself naked, but I was too insecure to attempt that kind of thing. I turned around so that I wouldn’t have to see myself naked and slipped on underwear and my favorite pair of flannel pajamas. Then I brushed my hair off my face and went downstairs to join my parents for dinner.
They were already sitting at the table when I walked in and my father’s eyes flew to me instantly. “There you are,” he said impatiently. “That took a long time.”
“The water was so refreshing,” I replied, slipping into a chair beside my mother. “I lost track of time.”
“You poor kid,” Mom said, putting some pasta on my plate. “I bet it’s exhausting.”
“That is what she does, Lucille,” Dad said, nodding toward me. “She’s an athlete; of course, it’s going to be exhausting. How was practice, Jessica?”
“Good,” I nodded, spooning pasta into my mouth.
“That’s all you have to say?” Dad asked impatiently.
I shrugged. “Well… it was a typical day of training. Coach had us do some light muscle building exercises, we did ten different sets of reps today, and we swam… a lot.”
“Which strokes did you practice today?”
“Breast, butterfly, and freestyle,” I replied.
“Did you do any speed tests?”
“We do every day,” I said.
“And how did you do?” Dad asked.
“Decent,” I replied. Winnie’s voice popped into my head suddenly, and I heard her tell me to stop being so damn modest. “I did pretty good, actually.”
“Really?” Dad asked with his eyebrows rising. “What were your timings yesterday?”
“Fifty-nine seconds for the hundred-meter freestyle,” I replied. “And one minute, fifty-two seconds for the two-hundred-meter breast stroke.”
“And today?”
“One minute, two seconds for freestyle and one minute fifty seconds for breast.”
“That’s not an improvement,” Dad said immediately. “Your speed has reduced for the freestyle.”
“By three seconds,” I said, defending myself. “It’s not uncommon for times to differ day to day. The point is to build up style, stamina, and rhythm. Speed will improve with time.”
“That’s not the attitude I want you to have, Jessica,” Dad said in a stern voice. “I expect you to want to better yourself. You need to work to beat your own times. If fifty-nine was your starting speed, then you needed to bring down that time the next day.”
“I’m sure she’s working hard, dear,” Mom piped up, sensing the tension in the air.
“She’s an Olympic athlete, Lucille,” Dad replied harshly. “Molly-coddling her won’t help.” He turned back to me. “What did your coach say?”
“Exactly what I just told you,” I said. “It’s not uncommon for times to differ day to day. The point is to build up style, stamina, and rhythm. Speed will come with time.”
Dad wrinkled his eyebrows together. “What’s the name of your coach?”
I suppressed a sigh. “Alana Hopkins.”
“She’s one of the younger coaches, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” I said defensively. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“These new-age coaches are all about inspiration as motivation,” Dad replied. “She should be pushing you to do better, not telling you it’s okay that you’ve slowed down.”
“It was three seconds, Dad,” I reminded him.
“You missed out on gold by two seconds at the last Olympic games,” Dad shot back at me.
I swallowed hard, feeling my appetite dwindle down to nothing. I just wanted to excuse myself and go up to my room, but I knew that Dad would never tolerate that. So, I pushed down my retort and put another forkful of pasta into my mouth.
We spent the rest of the meal in silence and when it was over, I helped clean up and then I retreated to my room at the first opportunity. Several minutes later, I heard a soft knock at the door and knew instinctively that it was my mother. Dad’s knock was very different; brash, loud, and self-important. Half the time, he didn’t even bother to knock.
“Come in,” I said, and my mother walked into the room and shut the door quietly behind her.
“Are you all right?” she asked, sitting down next to me on my bed.
I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about Dad now… and I don’t want to talk about training either.”
“Can I ask you about your friends then?” Mom asked. “Have you made any new ones?”
That question was much more comfortable for me, and I relaxed instantly. “I did actually. Her name is Winnie.”
“Tell me about her,” Mom prompted and it felt nice to share.
“She’s great,” I said. “She’s everything I’m not… confident, witty, and beautiful. She speaks her mind, you know… even if it pisses people off, she just says it like it is. Like at lunch today, there were these two guys who joined us. And it was so easy for Winnie. She wasn’t shy or self-conscious. She was just… herself. Langdon was completely in love with her by the time lunch was over.”
“And who was the other guy?” Mom asked.
“Oh… his name is Alan.”
Mom smiled at me. “Why are you blushing?”
“Am I?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“Do you like this Alan?”
“He’s… very nice,” I replied. “He seems like a gentleman.”
“That’s a good sign.” Mom nodded approvingly. “What does he look like?”
“He’s… very good looking,” I said quietly, not wanting to lie. “He has dark hair, light-blue eyes, and an amazing smile.”
“What did you talk about during lunch?”
“I was pretty useless actually,” I admitted. “He was trying hard to make conversation with me but… I was too nervous.”
“Why were you nervous?”
“Well…” I looked up at Mom. “I don’t know… he was so handsome that… it was distracting.”
Mom smiled. “It sounds like he’s interested in you.”
“How do you figure that?” I asked with surprise.
“Because he was trying to have a conversation with you,” Mom said as though that proved everything.
“He was just being polite,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Trust me, a guy like him would never be interested in a girl like me.”
Mom sighed. “I don’t know where you get this idea that you’re not funny or interesting or beautiful,” she said, taking my hand. “You are all those things. You are a beautiful girl, and you always have been. It’s just that you’ve never been aware of it.”
“I don’t think beauty is something you can be unaware of,” I said.
“Of course, it can be,” Mom insisted. “You just have to have a little confidence in yourself, darling. Maybe then you’ll start seeing yourself clearly.”
I shrugged again, unable to agree with her but unwilling to debate the point further.
Mom smiled and shook her head at me. “Trust me. You are beautiful and there’s no way that Alan’s not going to see that.”
I looked up and smiled. “It almost sounds like you’re encouraging me.”
“Maybe I am,” Mom said in a defiant voice that was completely uncharacteristic of her. “But just to be clear… let’s keep this from your father. You know how he gets.”
I nodded. “I certainty know how he gets.”
Mom said goodnight and then she left me to my room and my books. I picked up my copy of Wuthering Heights and flipped through the pages thoughtfully. I was starting to feel a different kind of connection with all the romance novels I’d read over the years.
It was almost as though I could relate to them on a more personal level now. It was almost like I could see myself in their pages.
Chapter Eleven
Alan
“I need extra-large Speedos… if you know what I mean,” Langdon said, smiling suggestively at Winnie.
“Subtle,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.
He ignored me completely and turned to Winnie. “You haven’t seen me swim yet, have you? You’ll be impressed.”
“With your speed?” Winnie asked, leaning in a little closer. “Or your Speedo?”
“More specifically… what’s in my Speedo,” Langdon responded.
I glanced at Jessica. Her head was down and her eyes were averted, but I could still see how red she was. We’d had lunch with the girls for three days in a row now, and I was beginning to piece together more and more about Jessica’s personality. She was shy and quiet; she much preferred to listen rather than talk and she blushed a lot. She tried very hard to suppress it, but she could never quite rein in the color that blossomed on her pale cheeks.
“Sorry, Speedos can be stuffed,” Winnie said seriously. “If you expect to impress me, you’ll have to let me do a thorough check.”
“Dear God,” I said, shaking my head at them.
Jessica tried to suppress her laughter at her friend’s comment.
“I’m sorry,” Langdon said, turning to me. “Are we bothering or offending you in some way?”
“I would imagine you’d offend a great number of people with that kind of banter,” I said.
Winnie rolled her eyes. “That’s the problem with the world,” she said. “So… repressed. If people just said what they wanted to and fucked who they wanted to, then everyone would be a whole lot happier.”
“I think that’s scientific,” Langdon agreed.
“I forgot how much you know about science,” I told him sarcastically.
“Come on, Winnie,” Langdon said, gesturing for her to follow him. “We have ten more minutes till we need to report back for training. Plenty of time for me to… show you my Speedo.”
“I’m rather more interested in what’s in your Speedo,” Winnie replied as they left the table and walked away. It was the first time that Jessica and I had been alone together, and I turned to see her reaction to that.
She looked up at me slowly and gave me a small, self-conscious smile. “Would you like some lemonade?” she asked, pushing her glass toward me.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting it even though I didn’t really want any. “Is it me or does it suddenly seem very quiet?”
Jessica smiled. “Things are always more interesting when Winnie’s around.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m sure they are. But I, for one, like the silence.”
“Me, too.”
“I’m reading Wuthering Heights,” I admitted abruptly.
Jessica looked at me in surprise. “What?”
I shrugged. “I was curious as to why you loved it so much. So, I decided to try it out.”
“And?” she asked. “How do you like it so far?”
“It’s… interesting,” I admitted. “It’s not what I expected though.”
“No?” Jessica asked. “What did you expect?”
“I guess I expected a sort of… light and cheerful love story,” I said. “It’s not really like that though.”
Jessica smiled. “No, it’s not.”
“And the main characters…”
“Cathy and Heathcliff.”
“Right.” I nodded. “They don’t seem like… the nicest of people, to be honest.”
I was worried about offending her just in case she was protective of the book and its characters, but she didn’t seem annoyed with me. On the contrary, she laughed at my comment and nodded. “You’re not wrong. They aren’t very good people.”
“So… what’s the draw?” I asked. “I mean… why is their love story so popular?”
“Everyone has different interpretations of any novel they read,” Jessica said. “The point is that Cathy and Heathcliff don’t really have any redeeming qualities as individuals. I suppose their one redeeming quality is their love for one another.”
“Does that count?”
“I suppose it depends on your perspective,” Jessica replied. “I think it does though. Love… especially a love as strong as the one that Cathy and Heathcliff shared… it softens you; it makes you better even if you don’t realize it. Their love is what saves them in the end.”
“It makes sense when you say it like that,” I said, loving the way that Jessica’s green eyes glowed softly when she spoke about the novels she read.
“Do you think you’ll finish reading it?” Jessica asked in a hopeful voice.
“I definitely will,” I promised her. “I need to know how it ends.”
Jessica glanced down at the time. “We’d better head out. Coach wanted me in the pool by three-fifteen.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. “I have weight training in a few minutes.”
We walked out of the cafeteria together and then parted ways just outside its doors. She had this way of waving to me when she said goodbye. It made me want to follow her around like a lamb. Over the past three days, Jessica Winters had managed to work her way into my thoughts, my dreams, and even my fantasies. There was just something about her.
A few of the guys were already in the gym when I walked in. Langdon was noticeably absent, but I figured he’d show up a few minutes late, as was his MO. Patrick was in one corner with the dumbbells. His expression was sour, but I hadn’t expected anything more. His mood had been down ever since I had beaten his time three days ago. All he seemed capable of doing was pouting.
True to form, Langdon showed up ten minutes later with a huge smile plastered on his face. “Hello, lads,” he said brightly. “Fine day, isn’t it?”
The boys exchanged glances. “Where’ve you been, man?” Kenneth asked pointedly.
“Never you mind, you nosy parker.”
“Possibly shacked up somewhere cozy with that girl you’ve been having lunch with?” Martin asked.
“Now, now, boys,” Langdon said sternly. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
“But you’re not exactly a gentleman, are you, Langdon?” Patrick spoke up in a gruff voice that was dripping with condescension. “No, you’re just a horny prick.”
I rose to my feet, but Langdon put a warning hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down again. “You’ve got that half right, my friend,” he said, letting the insult roll off his back. “I don’t believe I’m a prick, but I am incredibly horny.”
“I’m surprised you managed to get your dick down long enough to swim a lap,” Patrick said sourly.
“Fuck, man,” Devin said, shaking his head at Patrick. “Will you just chill out? We’re just joking around.”
“That’s okay, boys,” Langdon said, trying to diffuse the situation before anything started up. “I’m a big boy. I can take the jibes. Just remember, Patrick… I’m steel… nothing can touch me, not even your sharp tongue. Of course, if you looked like Winnie, I wouldn’t mind your tongue touching me.”
Patrick shook his head in disgust and turned away from the raucous laughter that followed him around the gym. I watched him go and noted the cornered look in his eyes. It reminded me of something, and it took me only a moment to place. I had seen the same look in my father’s eyes many years ago. It was the look of a caged animal.
Patrick defined himself as a swimmer. His whole
identity revolved around his talent in the water. Now that he was threatened by my skill, he was feeling lost and helpless and that made him lash out. It made him cold and mean. I was old enough now to understand that look, but it hadn’t been quite so clear that first time when I’d seen it in my father’s eyes.
Dad had been in the hospital for five days. He had been confined to a room, and my brothers and I had taken shifts visiting him. John and Peter had exams to study for, so Peter had dropped Talen and I off at the hospital to spend a few hours with Dad. But as we’d approached the room, we heard someone who sounded a lot like our father shouting at one of the nurses.
“Is that Dad?” Talen asked, looking up at me with his bright-blue eyes.
“Of course not,” I said confidently. “Dad would never behave like that.”
Then we turned the corner and we saw Dad take the porridge that the nurse had set down in front of him and fling it toward her.
“Get out,” Dad yelled at her. “I don’t want to see your face again.”
Then his eyes landed on Talen and me standing there in the doorway with shock on our faces. The anger on his face faded instantly, replaced by shame. The nurse picked up the dish that Dad had thrown and gave us both a reassuring smile.
“Why don’t you boys come in?” she said, without a trace of anger or hurt. “I’ll have someone come by and clean that mess up.”
We entered the room gingerly, and I noticed that Talen seemed to be hiding behind me. “Hi, boys,” Dad said in a completely different tone. “I’m so glad to see you both.”
We were so shocked that neither one of us replied. Dad sighed at our shell-shocked expressions. “Boys,” he started quietly. “I’m sorry you had to see that… I… shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong of me. I’m just… very tired. Now come here and give your old man a hug.”
Later, as we had walked outside to wait for Peter to come pick us up, Talen slipped his hand into mind and looked up at me. “I’ve never seen Dad shout before.”
“Neither have I,” I admitted. “He was probably just tired, Talen… just like he said. You shouldn’t think badly of him.”
