Opposite of Always(24)

“And he still showed up looking so sexy,” Mom adds.

Dad beams. “My suit was so wet and wrinkled. Remember your mom made me hang my jacket over the radiator before she’d let us leave?”

Mom laughs. “The look on your face when Dad said you had to ride up front with him while he drove us.”

“The man was completely unreasonable. Talking about ‘no funny business on my watch.’ Little did he know what was really going down on his watch . . .”

Dad pulls Mom into him, smushes a kiss onto her cheek. Mom laughs, slaps at his hands. “Don’t give your son any ideas,” she says. “Bad enough he has your genes working against him.” Mom turns to me, a look of concern on her face. “Jackie, you’ll be careful, won’t you?”

I know this conversation’s destination, and I’d rather not make the trip. “Mom, please.”

“Don’t take any chances. Better to be prepared than . . .”

“Mom,” I say firmly.

“Listen to your mother,” Dad insists. “We’re too young and vibrant for grandparenthood right now.”

This is the blessing of being an only child: you have your parents’ undivided attention.

This is the curse of being an only child: you have your parents’ undivided attention.

“Everything’s covered, guys. Thanks for your incredible amount of uncomfortable concern.” I pull out my phone. Kate’s fifteen minutes late.

Dad reads my mind. “Maybe she needed gas.”

“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Mom chimes.

Fifteen minutes later, I shoot Kate a text.

ME: Hey, just making sure you’re okay. Hopefully you’re just working on CP time. LOL

Another ten minutes and nothing.

Mom calls from the kitchen. “Maybe eat a little dinner before you go, Jackie? Take your mind off things.”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

I dial Kate’s number and get her voice mail.

I call again, same result.

I take off my suit coat, drape it over the living room ottoman. No sense in letting it wrinkle. Take a seat beside Dad on the couch. He squeezes my shoulders, grunts his support. I grunt my appreciation back.

I hear a car pull into the driveway. I hop off the couch, pull the curtain away from the front window, only to see the car reverse and zoom away.

“False alarm,” I announce.

“Maybe call her house,” he suggests.

I shrug. “I only have her cell number.”

“You could try the phone book?”

I smile. “What’s a phone book?”

I call Kate and this time I leave a voice mail.

Thunder rattles the living room, rain falling in sheets outside.

My phone chimes. But it’s only Franny.

FRANNY: Time to turn up!! You ready to make some history, bro?!?!

I don’t reply.

I text Kate again.

Mom comes out of the kitchen balancing two dinner plates, sets them down in front of us, kisses my forehead, then Dad’s.

“Thank you, baby,” Dad says.

“Thanks,” I manage.

Dad spears a broccoli head. “Son, maybe you should go find her. Maybe you—”

But before he can finish I’m throwing on my jacket, slipping on shoes.

Mom materializes at the front door, the yellow orchid in one hand, her car keys dangling in the other. “Be safe, Jackie.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say. I take the keys, the flower, and rush outside, forgetting that it’s raining elephants.

“Jackie, umbrella,” Mom calls after me.

But there’s no turning back now.

I’m soaked before I make it into the car.

And then I’m speeding past cookie-cutter blocks of cookie-cutter houses and cookie-cutter yards. I merge onto the highway, rain slapping the windshield, puddles spitting away from my tires.

My phone beeps.

JILLIAN: Where are you, man?! You’re supposed to hook up AFTER prom is over!!! LOL Hurry your ass!!

I lean into the gas.

I nearly miss the exit, swerving Mom’s car over two lanes, fishtailing along the median. But I make it. Still, part of me wonders, What are you doing, Jack?

What do you think is gonna happen?

You show up to her door and she answers—and then what?

Then what, Jack?

I don’t have an answer.

GPS on my phone screen, her address plugged in, I still pass her house. I turn around in a neighbor’s driveway.

There’s an opaque window on Kate’s front door; it’s mostly dark inside. It’s quiet, too.

My phone rings.

“Jack, I’m so so sorry,” Kate says into my wet ear.

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

A long pause. “I can’t go to prom. And I know this is sooo messed up, but I promise you if I could . . .”

“Did I do something, Kate? I don’t understand.”

“You did nothing wrong. I don’t know how to explain.”

“Just try. Try to explain.”

“I just wanted you to know . . . I’m so very sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know what to say.”