Learning to Live

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “I feel horrible,” I say, choking on the words.

  “Don’t. Just tell me what you’re thinking. Whatever it is, it’s fine.”

  I look up at him, and I’m certain my dismay is written all over my face. “Why are you so nice to me?” I ask. “I wasn’t terribly kind to you in high school. And it’s not like I’m a barrel of fun to be around now.”

  “You were nicer than most in high school,” he says with a little chuckle. “And…fun is overrated.”

  I really don’t know what I’ve done to deserve his friendship, but I’m not going to question it anymore. I’d be foolish to push the issue.

  “Thanks,” I say. “And thank you. I mean…this…” I gesture to the building, still in awe that he would do this for me. For Kyle. For Caroline. For other kids struggling with loss, divorce, bullying or whatever. “Just…thank you.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “So…you like the idea?”

  I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up. “Yes,” I say. “I love it, but—”

  He holds up a hand. “No buts. You love it. That’s all I need to hear.”

  “Okay,” I say, being careful not to add but, “And what about all the details? I don’t know anything about setting up a not-for-profit company. Or running a kitchen, for that matter. Besides, I think Mom and Dad are getting ready to turn me loose into the world. I need a job—a paying one.”

  Brandon laughs and shakes his head, the “silly Jessica” implied. “A not-for-profit doesn’t mean you don’t get paid, Jess. But listen, I’ll handle all of the financials…or rather, my lawyers and accountants will. Just tell me what you need for a salary, and start thinking of ways to raise funds and get the word out.”

  “Raise funds?” I feel lost at sea. I know nothing about this kind of stuff. Not too long ago I was just a floundering college student, enjoying the city, enjoying my boyfriend—the more I’m learning about the world, the less I feel like I know.

  “All right, newbie,” he says. “I’ll brainstorm with you…over dinner?”

  I swallow over the lump in my throat. This is the moment where I’m supposed to confirm that it’s not a date.

  “Sure,” I finally say.

  There’s a pause. He’s waiting for it—waiting for the words to blurt out of my mouth as they always do—but when they don’t, a wide smile spreads his lips. It’s contagious apparently, because I’m smiling now too.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He comes around to my side and gently presses his hand to the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. “Now come back inside, and take a proper look at Kyle’s Kitchen.”

  TWELVE

  Brandon and Caroline drop me back off at home after a quick stop for ice cream to celebrate the new venture, and I immediately make a beeline for my room. Only this time, it’s not to escape the real world. Not to run away from the feelings that are scaring the shit out of me. Not even to get away from my mom, who will surely be desperate to find out what happened this afternoon.

  It’s because, for the first time in a very long time, I feel like I have a purpose. I have that fire in my belly that I’ve only ever heard people talk about. I want to know everything I can about not-for-profit companies, about running fundraisers and finding donors.

  My heart is racing from taking the stairs two-at-a-time as I plop down on my bed and open my laptop. I pull AskJeeves.com up in my browser and then type in How do you run a non-profit company? It comes back with pages of results, so I just start at the top and work my way down. The next time I look up from my computer, it’s six thirty, and I realize Brandon’s going to be here in a mere half hour for our dinner. Date. Our date.

  It should feel weird to say that, but it doesn’t. And now it feels weird that it doesn’t feel weird. I should be crying or wretching or something at the thought, but all I can feel is a bubble of giddiness inside of me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.

  I click on the lamp on the nightstand and my eyes wander to the picture of Kyle and me that I keep there. It’s from the fall of 2000, about a year before the tragedy. We’re standing in a pumpkin patch, each holding pumpkins. We’d taken the train upstate and then a cab to the farm. I still don’t know where we were exactly—just some suburb of New York City that had foliage and a pumpkin patch. It was a great day, picking pumpkins, drinking cider, chasing each other through a corn maze.

  I miss him. My heart aches for him. But this is the first time I’ve stared at this picture and not burst into tears. That thought alone makes me want to cry with happiness. Progress. That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Healing. The ache is still there, but the sharp, stabbing pain of my loss seems to be fading into gentle and fond memories of the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

  There’s a smile on my face while I shower and prepare for my date. I pick out one of the new outfits Mom bought me and put it on, before clasping a necklace from Kyle around my neck and slipping my engagement ring back on. It might seem silly that I still wear it, but that’s one thing I’ll have trouble removing, should I ever be forced to remove it. Kyle gave it to me. He wanted me to have it, to wear it, as a symbol of his love. I know his love remains, even if he doesn’t. So I’m going to wear it.

  At seven o’clock I bound down the stairs and into the living room, where Mom and Dad are gearing up to watch Wheel of Fortune.

  “There you are!” Mom says. “What are you all dressed up for?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug, trying to be nonchalant, even though I’m feeling almost giddy. “Just grabbing a bite with Brandon.”

  “Oh?” Mom’s eyes light up like the freaking Rockefeller tree at Christmas.

  “Simmer down, dear,” Dad says, patting her hand. Then he winks at me. “Have fun, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks.” I smile back at him before I leave the room. Mom is still gaping at me with googly eyes, as if she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

  It’s a beautiful night, so I opt to hang out on the front porch to wait for Brandon. It feels as if my spirits are lifting along with the temperatures. It all feels good. Really good.

  But by seven fifteen, I’m not feeling so good. He said seven, right? Wouldn’t he call if he was going to be late? What if something happened to him?

  Just as the panic starts to set in, as my stomach turns to knots and I get that familiar heaviness in my chest, I see his Prius zip around the corner and head toward my house. But it’s too late. My adrenaline is already coursing rapidly through my veins. My hands are shaking. And my fear of getting too close to someone is settling in. Because what if I lose him too?

  I’m sitting immobilized on the stoop as he hops out of his car and bounds happily down the sidewalk toward me.

  “I’m so sorry,” he begins. “I couldn’t get off this call with one of my managers. Major blow-hard, but— Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say, forcing a smile to my lips and a healthy breath into my lungs. “It’s nothing.”

  He furrows his brow and slides onto the stoop next to me. “It doesn’t look like nothing. Why are you so pale? Do you feel okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I insist.

  “Oh, my God. It’s me, isn’t it?” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s because I’m late.”

  I shake my head again. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to tell him that I completely lost my mind because he was a mere fifteen minutes late.

  “I’m an idiot,” he goes on as he turns sideways and takes both my hands in his. “I wasn’t thinking. God, I feel horrible. I—”

  “Brandon,” I say, trying to get his attention. There’s no reason for both of us to be in hysterics. “I may have gotten a little…freaked out, I guess. But I’m fine now. You’re here, and you’re safe. I say we just get on with our evening, okay?”

  The pace has slowed; neither of us is so frantic anymore. A lazy smile curves his lips, and his hazel eyes twinkle with mischief. �
��So…you were worried about me?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. And I need it. “Yes,” I admit, somewhat reluctantly. “I suppose I was.”

  He raises his eyebrows and gives me a smirk, but he doesn’t say anything else on the subject. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

  Our first stop is a mini golf place called Mountasia. I haven’t been here in years, but it still looks the same as when my friends and I would come here in high school to take silly pictures with the safari animals and waterfalls. Everything about this place screams romance, especially now that the sun is setting. The waterfalls light up with pretty greens and blues, and the sky is turning all shades of pink and purple. Even though the palm trees are fake, it still makes you feel as if you’re on a deserted beach in Hawaii. Well, except for the gaggle of goofy teenagers jumping the rocks, and the family with the two toddlers trying to keep the kids out of the babbling brook. But other than that, totally romantic.

  “Ladies first,” Brandon says as we step up to the first green.

  I smile as I place my ball in one of the pre-worn divots on the Astroturf and then plant my feet just like my dad taught me when I was little. I glance back and forth from the hole to my pink ball, lining it up to the best of my abilities. I’m about to tap the ball when Brandon says, “You know they close in three hours, right?”

  “Har, har,” I return, but I don’t break my focus. A moment later, I tap my ball and send it sailing down the green. It’s headed right for the hole, but gets caught in some kind of groove and merely circles the hole before going past it to bounce against the far wall. “Aw, man!”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” Brandon says, patting me on the back as he steps up to the proverbial plate. “It’s only a game.” And then proceeds to sink a hole-in-one.

  I stare at him, my mouth agape.

  “A game that I’m really good at,” he finishes.

  I swat him on the arm as we move on to the next hole, laughing with mock outrage all the while. I watch him sink several more holes-in-one while I rack up points into the double digits.

  “How’d you get so good at mini golf?” I finally ask when we’re traversing the swinging bridge that’s suspended over a little lagoon and next to the biggest waterfall the course has to offer.

  He stops mid-bridge and turns to me, his arm draped casually on the ropes. My heart begins to race, thanks to his close proximity. I wasn’t expecting this. But I’m not upset about it. Not at all.

  He grins at me. “You mean, why didn’t I apply my skills to a real golf course?”

  I shrug. “No,” I correct. “It just seems like an odd thing to be so good at. Most people come here once in a while to have fun and spend time with their families. Your level of skill speaks of hours of practice. Is there a mini golf league I’m not aware of or something?”

  He chuckles and leans back against the ropes to look out over the course and, in the distance, the parking lot. “Nah. No league. I just…well, I don’t have to tell you…I didn’t have a ton of friends in high school. But I didn’t want my parents to think I was unpopular, so…”

  “Oh, God,” I say, realization dawning. “You thought mini golf would make you cool?”

  Now he laughs in earnest, and I’m pretty sure I’ve missed something. “No, silly woman,” he says, clutching his side. “I would tell my parents I was going out with friends, but in reality I’d come here. I’d play a round—or five—and then go home and tell them I had an awesome night out with my buds.”

  “Your buds, huh?” I stare at him, wondering how I, or anyone else, ever thought he wasn’t cool. Or worthy of hanging out with. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with right now.

  The thought makes me a little sad. I should miss Kyle. And I do. But I’m starting to miss him less. And I’m starting to realize that I want to be with Brandon, in more ways than just friendship. It seems so wrong, but it’s not. It’s very, very right. So right, I’m tempted to step toward him and kiss him right now. It’s the perfect setting, the perfect moment. I step forward.

  “Ready to hit the next hole?”

  I feel like I’ve been doused with cold water. I guess he didn’t feel the moment like I did. He’s already making his way to the other side of the bridge.

  It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s probably for the best. God only knows what will happen when I do kiss him. Will I freak out because he’s not Kyle? Or will I jump him because—let’s be honest—it’s been a long time since I’ve had those particular needs met?

  We play through the rest of the course. There’s lots of teasing and laughter and flirting. I’m enjoying every minute of this. And once I’ve lost miserably to my opponent, he declares that the winner buys dinner.

  “I don’t think that’s exactly how it’s supposed to go,” I say.

  “Well, I’m known for being unconventional. It’s just something you’re going to have to put up with.” He tacks a wink onto this last part, and something stirs in my belly.

  Okay, maybe a little lower than my belly. All I know is that if he doesn’t kiss me by the end of the night, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.

  We end up at The Olive Garden for dinner, tucked away into a corner booth toward the back of the restaurant. He orders wine for us, which is great because I know nothing about wines. Not that Kyle didn’t try to teach me about food pairings and all that—I just never paid very close attention. I can’t tell a Merlot from a Cabernet.

  We sit in comfortable silence sipping our wine as we wait for our food to come. I can’t take my eyes off of Brandon. It’s still hard to believe he’s the same person, but I’m coming to grips with it now. I’ve almost completely forgotten that he even was the same person.

  “So,” he says after a few moments, “you ready to start brainstorming?”

  Brainstorming? “Oh, right! Brainstorming.” My heart sinks a little bit. I’d totally forgotten the purpose of tonight’s “date.” Business. Did I misread the situation? Did he really only want to talk business? Hadn’t we been flirting with each other over mini golf? Or was I just imagining things? Maybe he really does only want to be friends.

  “Did you forget why we were here?” he laughs, interrupting my mental replay of our entire relationship thus far.

  “No, I mean…yes. I guess I got caught up in the golf and wine and…” you. I take a chug of my wine and then set it down so I can rub my sweaty palms over my pants. “But of course I’m super excited about fundraising.” I’m sure I sound way too chipper about fundraising, but my nerves are starting to get the best of me.

  “Great!” He doesn’t seem to notice I’m dying over here. “So, my first thought was that we throw a huge gala. Something big, with dancing and dinner. We charge exorbitant amounts for the tickets, of course. Maybe have a silent auction. I can probably book The Swing Singers—phenomenal 40’s band—maybe bring in a local celebrity to host the evening? What do you think?”

  My mouth opens and closes several times, like a fish gasping for air…or water…whatever it is they gasp for. “I think I was thinking of a car wash, but clearly I need to step up my game.”

  Brandon laughs, but it’s not at me. I can tell he just finds me amusing. “Car washes are good, too.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “If a local celebrity washes your car while a well known swing band plays for you.”

  I expect him to laugh again, but instead, his eyes light up and he points a finger at me. “That is a great idea.”

  “It is?” I blink at him, wondering if he’s putting me on.

  “Yeah! I mean, we can have the gala too, but a souped-up car wash would be killer. Local celebrities can donate their time to help, food vendors, a band…it’ll be like a mini carnival. Car wash plus admission…what do you think? Ten bucks?”

  “Um, sure!” I’m not actually sure at all. I’m new to all this, but clearly Brandon isn’t.

  He pulls out his Palm Pilot and starts jotting things down. “I’ll send this to you in an email.
I just want to make sure we have it all in writing. Too much wine and we might forget what we talked about.”

  “Too much wine, and you won’t be able to drive me home,” I add.

  “True. Okay, anything else?”

  I smile at him. I can’t help it. He’s so in the zone—I’ve never seen him like this. It’s cute and endearing and definitely a turn-on.

  God, I’m hot all of a sudden. But I can’t tell if it’s the wine or the company. Maybe a little of both.

  By the time we finish our food, we’ve plotted out a few more fundraisers and set an opening date for the kitchen. I feel so alive for the first time in what feels like forever. Having a purpose is important. Something to live for. A cause greater than myself.

  Brandon looks at his watch as we’re slipping out of the booth. “Ooh, you’ve got me burning the midnight oil.”

  “It’s only ten,” I tease.

  “Well, it feels like midnight. And I’ve gotta run in the morning.”

  “To where?” I say, and immediately regret it. “Sorry. I was having a ditsy moment.”

  “That’s okay, but to sort of answer your question, I’m training for a half marathon.”

  “Wow.” I’ve never known anyone so ambitious to want to run for long distances like that. “Impressive.”

  “You can join me, if you want.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve barely been out of my room in almost six months. I’m pretty sure I’d hold you back.”

  He shrugs and smiles down at me as we step outside. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  The moon is shining above us; a cool breeze blows wisps of my hair across my face. I pull my cardigan a little tighter around me as a shiver races up my spine. It’s another perfect moment. Another moment made just for a first kiss.

  “So, what do you say?”

  “I’m sorry?” I stutter, trying to remember what we were talking about.

  “The run? Come with me. It’ll be fun.”