by Susan Ward
I nod. “Very glad.”
He opens the exit door of the building. “Since you’re done with your finals, would you like to have coffee with me?”
I freeze in mid-step and turn to see a very nervous Jared waiting expectantly for my answer. I’ve been mildly obsessing about this since my talk with Neil. I have assumed I would say yes, but now that I’m here, at the point of him asking me out, I find I’m not at all excited about the prospect of a date with Jared the TA.
I smile. “I can’t. Not today. I’m meeting a friend who borrowed my car and then I’m driving home for winter break.”
“OK. Maybe some other time?”
“Definitely.” I scan the road, looking for Rene and my trusty Volvo. I frown. Why is Jared standing there just staring at me? I look at him, my brows hitching upward. “Do you want my number so you can call me?”
He looks startled that I asked. He holds out the notebook he’s carrying and I take the pen he offers and quickly write my number on the cover.
“Thanks. I’ll call you next semester.” He rakes a hand through his hair.
“Have a good winter break, Jared.”
He points to my number on his book. “Next semester.”
I smile and watch him leave. I check my watch and then the street again. Darn it, Rene, where the heck are you? Much longer and we’ll get trapped in commuter traffic trying to get out of the Bay Area.
“What’s got you so fidgety?”
I look over my shoulder to see Neil approaching me as he lights a cigarette. He’s changed his bandana. It’s blue today. I like the blue better.
“Rene. She took my car to the city. She’s supposed to be here waiting for me.”
“Probably just driving around the block. Can’t block traffic waiting for you, Miss Parker.”
I roll my eyes at the lousy Professor Lambert impression. I look down the street again. “I’m just anxious. I haven’t been home since September. When was the last time you were home, Neil?”
“Months. So you’re off to Santa Barbara? I wish I’d known. I would have hitched a ride with you. I’m going home too. I could have saved on the airfare.”
I give him a pointed stare. “Who says I’d let you drive to SB with me?”
He gives me a thoughtful once over. “You’d do it.” He stomps out his cigarette. “Well, back to mops and brooms for me. At least until tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you around town, homegirl.”
“Bye, Neil.”
I watch Neil disappear. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t ask me for my number since he’s going home for the holidays too. Maybe he doesn’t need to hang out with me in Santa Barbara. He probably has tons of friends from high school. Tons of girls.
I shift my gaze back toward the street. Finally. I see Rene speeding down the road in my gray Volvo. She cuts into the curb in front of me. I open my door, drop onto the seat, and slam it shut.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“Checking my O-Chem grade. They’re not posted yet, but I got it from the TA.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t need to ask how she got the not- yet-posted grade. Rene can flirt anything out of anyone. “So? Was it as bad as you thought it was?”
She pulls aggressively into the thick, moving traffic. “A 74. Not good. Not bad,” she says, annoyed.
“They curve it right?”
Rene nods.
“So what’s a 74?” I ask.
“An A.”
I shake my head. I snap open the glove box, looking for my sunglasses. I find a pretty pink stack of parking tickets. I scrunch them up in my hand. “Rene, what are these?”
She’s looking out the open window, gesturing with her arm for the traffic to move out of her way.
“That stupid van,” she hisses, merging onto Bancroft Way. “Practically every time I come home he’s in our space and I don’t know why you won’t let me call the management company to get him towed. I’d be doing a public service. Even if he wasn’t a rude asshole, always parking in our assigned space. That van is hideous. It deserves to be off the road.”
I laugh. The van is pretty awful: a 70s model, old blue extended cargo heap with yellow, green, and orange arrows painted on the sides, and those lovely hanging monkeys on the rear doors holding up their monkey fingers in the hang loose sign.
I put on my sunglasses. “Anyone with a van like that can’t afford to pay for parking in Berkeley and certainly can’t afford to get it out of impound.”
Rene shakes her head. “God, you’re such a softy. You get more like Jack every day.” She stops at the light and exhales a deep breath. “OK, which way. East to the 5 or do you want me to cut through San Jose and 101 it all the way home.”
I slip off my flip-flops and put my feet up on the dash. “If you expect me to drive any part of this trip take 101.”
Rene blasts the horn and fights her way onto the 580. “I’m only driving as far as Salinas.”
I nod. “You’ll never guess who asked me out.”
“Not Jared?” Rene sounds like she wants to gag.
I nod. “Yep Jared. Wanted to do coffee today.”
“Coffee? After three months of worshipping you with his eyes, that’s the best he could do?” Rene jeers harshly. “So he finally got around to talking to you. What did you say?”
“I didn’t go. Obviously. I’m here in the car with you.”
“Did you give him your number?” Rene asks.
“I gave him my number.”
Rene makes a face.
I stare at her. “I thought you thought it was unhealthy for me not to date.”
“Well, not him. You can do better. Hell, Neil Stanton is a janitor and he would be better than Jared the bore.”
“Neil is a not a janitor. He’s an artist. He’s working on his music. He’s pretty incredible. You’d know that if you ever went out with me when I go hear him play.”
She gives me the look, the is something going on I don’t know about look.
I stare back. I fluff up my hair with my fingers. “Besides, I can’t date Neil, we’re practically going steady.”
Rene grimaces. “Crap, you and guys, Chrissie. I hope it’s not this weird forever.”
~~~
Seven hours later, I pass beneath the high, black metal archway of our neighborhood: Hope Ranch. I drop Rene at her mother’s house.
Rene’s house is completely decorated for the holidays. Jeez, Patty Thompson really went all out this year. It’s ablaze with lights from the eight foot stucco privacy wall surrounding the five acres Patty owns, to the tiled rooftop of that monstrous two-story house she had built that blocks out the view of the ocean for half the street. Even after twenty years, most of the neighbors haven’t forgiven Rene’s mother for that one.
I pop the trunk as she climbs out. I roll down the car window. “Call me later.”
“Let’s go to the beach tomorrow and just veg,” she suggests. “Those finals really kicked my ass.”
“Sounds good.”
She nods, lugging her bag toward the front door. I hate that she’s leaving the day after Christmas to visit her dad in Georgetown. It’s going to suck being in Santa Barbara without Rene.
I put the car in gear, drive out of the Thompson’s driveway and then do a quick turn into my own driveway. I park my car behind Jack’s.
I sit in the driver’s seat for a moment, just staring at the house—a single-story, Spanish style, white stucco and red tile roof structure. It’s good I can stare at the house and not feel all messy inside.
When I was younger I used to have mini-panic attacks every time I came home, which was awful, because I really wanted to be home. There was a lot within those walls I didn’t know how to deal with. My mom died of cancer in that house. My brother of a drug overdose in his bedroom. It was a lot to work through.
Not even a hint of the emotional chaos comes. It feels good, really good to be able to just sit here, stare at my house, and not become an emotional mess.
Ma
ybe that’s the only reason Alan entered my life. Maybe that’s why we crossed paths and then spun away from each other. We weren’t meant to be forever. We were meant to cross paths to deal with our shit, and then move on. Alan had some intense shit to deal with last spring. I think he definitely worked through a lot of his shit being with me.
His life seems together. Good now. It’s nice to think I’m a part of what got him there. It’s nice to think our loving each other mattered in some private, significant way.
I pull the keys from the ignition and grab my purse. My dad’s house is the only house on the street without Christmas decorations. Not even freaking lights. I bet Jack didn’t even get a tree. Jack doesn’t buy-in to the commercialism of Christmas. It doesn’t matter; we always spend Christmas Eve over at the Thompsons, and Patty Thompson is the queen of commercial Christmas.
I lug my duffel into the house, drop it on the tile entry hall, and kick off my flip-flops to rest with the pile of shoes by the front door. The house smells good. Maria is cooking. I follow the smell into the kitchen. I find her at the center island, surrounded by silver mixing bowls, busily making tamales. No traditional turkey dinner here. Jack likes Mexican food out on the back patio on the holidays.
Her round, matronly face brightens when she sees me. “Chica. You’re home. ¿Cómo está mi niña?”
I smile. The way she says that makes it sound like I’ve been gone forever instead of three months.
“I’m doing great, Maria. How are you?”
“I’m good, Chica. Señor Jack is good. He’s going to be so happy you’re home. Now give me a hug. I’ve missed my girl.”
She steps out from around the marble counter top and holds her arms wide so I can hug her without getting dirty from the food all over her hands. She surprises me by placing a light kiss on my cheek. She’s never done that before. Kissed my cheek.
She steps back. “Now go say hello to Señor Jack. Then come back. We have a lot of cooking to do.”
I beat back a smile. She may be the housekeeper, but she rules me when I’m home and Maria is definitely making a mountain of tamales. What’s up with that? I wonder if Jack has invited people for Christmas this year. This is way too much food for just the three of us.
“Are we having guests for the holidays?” I ask.
Maria shakes her head. “No. It’s for Mrs. Thompson’s party. It’s a potluck this year so Señor Jack wants us to bring tamales, rice, and beans.”
I start to laugh. That one should go over real well with Patty Thompson. Maria frowns at me, confused by my laughter, and I bite my lips to stop it.
“Do you know where my dad is?”
Maria rolls her eyes. “Silly question, Chica. He’s out back, sitting.”
I go to the refrigerator, grab a Diet Coke, and then head for the French patio doors in the kitchen. The entire back wall of our house is nothing but glass so Jack can see the Pacific Ocean from every room.
All the lawn lights in the backyard are ablaze. It looks so stunning at night, with the walkways lit up and the view of the ocean directly beyond.
I don’t see Jack. I step out onto the patio. I make my way around the pool, then head across the lawn towards the beach. I stop at the top step of the wooden stairs built into the cliffs, and look down at the shoreline.
I spot Jack about ten yards down the sand, sitting in the darkness, just staring at the ocean. We’re so alike. Golden blond hair. Bright blue eyes. We’re both just kind of loners. Jeez, as far as I know, my dad hasn’t even dated since my mom died. I’m sure he has something going on, somewhere, but I don’t know anything about Jack’s love life. It would be too creepy to ask him and he never talks about his personal affairs. He’s a really good dad that way.
Jack is not at all like Rene’s dad. Mr. Thompson paraded an endless string of young woman after his divorce from Rene’s mother, right up until three months before he knocked up his junior law associate and decided to get married again. Those years of her dad being an insensitive-jerk-man-whore still has Rene a little messed in the head.
Mr. Thompson is such an asshole. Jack was never like that.
I settle in the lounge chair someone dragged from the patio to the edge of the cliffs. Something in how my dad is sitting in the moonlight makes me not want to disturb him. Even the way we sit in the sand and stare at the ocean is the same. I used to think we had nothing in common, that we were not alike in any way, except by a strange quirk of genetics that made us look exactly the same. But we are so alike. It’s strange how I didn’t see that until this year.
I lean my head back against the cushion. I close my eyes. I am my father’s daughter. And that’s OK.
CHAPTER FOUR
I relax on a backyard lounge chair, staring out at the ocean. Christmas morning in Santa Barbara is sunny and seventy-four degrees. Jack and I had a quiet breakfast on the patio. The gift exchange lasted about twenty minutes. Since 9 a.m. the phone has been ringing nonstop for Jack with wishes for a Merry Christmas. I’ve only had one call. Rene.
A part of me, pathetic and definitely unrealistic, sort of thought Alan might call me today. Our time together was short. But it was significant for us both. I wonder where Alan is. I wonder if I haunt his thoughts, too.
My gaze shifts to the stairs over the cliffs leading to the beach. I haven’t walked that stretch of beach since the one time I walked it with Alan last spring.
I take a sip of my coffee. He’s probably having Christmas morning with Nia in New York. It’s probably snowing outside and they’re cuddled up in that big mahogany bed, with a fire roaring and the candles lit, and Alan being Alan in bed.
My eyes narrow and fix on a pelican skimming the water. Maybe Alan is stuck on the road somewhere. He’s been on an aggressive worldwide tour since last May, and it’s possible he’s not even with Nia. No, Chrissie, no. Be happy for him. That’s the voice of spite in your head.
“What kind of evil thoughts are you thinking, Chrissie? You used to have the same expression when you were little.”
I lift my chin to find Jack standing beside my chair. “No evil thoughts. Just daydreaming.”
Shaking his head, Jack sinks into the chaise beside me. “Nope, not buying it.”
I make a face at him.
He reaches out and takes my hand in his.
“Was Christmas too boring for you this year, just being you and me?”
I smile. “No way. It was great after the craziness of finals.”
“First semester at Cal go well?”
I shrug. “I survived. I’m pretty sure all Cs.”
“Well, Cs get degrees. Who cares what the grade is? It’s all about what you learn. The experience. The experience is as important as the education. Are you seeing anyone?”
That question makes me tense. This overly-inquisitive dad kind of thing still feels weird to me.
“Not really. I’ve sort of a guy I hang out with, but it’s not a dating thing. I don’t really know how to describe it. But I did get asked out by one of the graduate teaching assistants.”
Jack looks at me. “What does the sort of a guy do?”
I blush. Sort of a guy. Jeez, I phrase things so lamely at times. “He’s sort of a janitor in the music department.”
Jack laughs and closes his eyes. His entire face is alive with humor. “Date the janitor, Chrissie. I bet he’s the guy who’s interesting.”
I crinkle my nose. “He’s interesting. He’s from here. He’s from Santa Barbara. I met him when I was in high school. So it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
Jack opens his eyes and turns his head to look at me. There’s a smile in his deep blue gaze. “I didn’t think it sounded bad with him being a janitor. If he’s got his head on straight, well, that’s all that matters.”
“He’s a pretty OK guy.”
Jack smiles. “Good. We’ve decided. Date the janitor.”
I laugh and a sound makes me look over my shoulder. Maria is walking across the grass towards me. What is she ca
rrying? A florist box? Jeez, who would send Jack flowers?
Much to my surprise, she sets the box in my lap. “This came for you, Chica.”
Stunned, I stare at the box. I’ve never gotten flowers before. This has got to be a mistake. The box is so perfect I don’t want to open it. The ribbon alone is expensive: wide, silk, sparkly, and violet, tied into an elegant, elaborate bow.
I search beneath the ribbon for a card. I frown and look up at Maria. “There is no card. Did you drop it?”
Maria shakes her head.
“Are you sure they’re for me?”
Maria nods.
Jack laughs. “I think they’re from the janitor. He probably makes more money than the graduate TA and those look pricy.” His eyes sharpen on me. “Is there something about your janitor you’re not telling me?”
I blush. “Neil would not send me flowers. Neil is more the minimart day old burrito and coffee shop kind of guy.”
Jack laughs again. “An interesting choice, Chrissie. Bring him around the house. I think I want to meet this guy.”
I frown at Jack, shake my head, and open the box.
Jeez! I stare in disbelief. Long-stem magnificent roses, and more than a dozen. I’m not sure how many there are beneath the beautiful violet tissue. At least a dozen red surrounded by… I start to count… three, maybe four, dozen white roses. I rummage beneath the paper. No card in the box either.
I lean in to smell them. “I can’t imagine who would send me these. I don’t know anyone who can afford to buy me these.”
The words clog in my throat before I’m done speaking. Except Alan. Did Alan just send me flowers for Christmas?
It’s been eight months without a call, a letter, or anything. He married Nia, and from all accounts in the tabloids, they sound like a perfect couple. No, it’s too crazy of a thought. After all this time even Alan isn’t weird enough to send me roses on Christmas Day without including a note.
“They’re beautiful, whoever sent them.” I take another sniff and hold them out towards Maria. “Can you put them in some water, please? Two vases. The red in one. The white in another.”
Maria shakes her head. “One vase.”
