Opposite of Always(76)

I look around my room. Already it’s starting to feel like I don’t belong here anymore. Like these aren’t my things. Not my crappy paint on the walls from back when neon blue seemed genius. Not my collection of various drink stains blotted in the carpet like alien animal print. Not my posters puttied to the closet. Not my favorite comforter, ratty and worn, stained with my sweat and smell. My bookshelf sagging from too many books. Who does this stuff belong to? Whose memories are catalogued in my head? And I feel full. And I wonder, how could I ever fit anything, anyone, else into all of this? Into all of me?

I take in the doorframe, the dark pencil marks where I stood with my back pressed against the wood as Dad ticked off my height, scribbling my age beside each measurement. And I laugh because, shit, I’m short.

I turn off the lights as the doorbell rings.

Mom calls up, “Jackie, Kate’s here.”

I jump down the stairs, all twelve steps in a single leap, like I used to do as a kid, except this time I stumble and nearly break my neck. Which makes me think about that time I did break my neck. The moment that started all of this . . . whatever this is.

But I don’t care. Because right now it feels like I’ll never break anything again. I’m unbreakable. The world spinning so beautifully.

Kate is radiant. Which is cliché-ridden and easy come. But still— Look at her.

She is an explosion of light that never stops erupting.

“You came,” I say to Kate, my parents looking on behind me. I can sense them, their I can’t believe our son has a bona fide girlfriend in our house right now energy.

But I only see Kate. I only feel Kate.

Kate, in a white, flowy dress and blue heels, a blue clutch in her right hand. She smiles and we’re in that awkward dance, the limbo of deciding if we should just hug or if a quick peck on the lips is okay, too. And we only narrowly miss bumping into each other’s heads. I kiss her cheek, and I feel her face warm. Or maybe it’s me who’s warm. She reaches up and fixes my cap.

“Happy graduation day, Jack Attack,” she says.

I shrug. “It’s just high school.”

But with Kate here, everything’s so much more.

I don’t even mind the photo shoot Dad puts us through.





Thirtieth


Twenty minutes before JoyToy takes the stage (also known as the backyard patio), Mom calls me to the front door. I set down a platter of fancy cracker thingies, and get there in time to see Mom hugging someone with bone-crushing exuberance.

“Hey,” Kate says, with a slight wave, as Mom releases her from her bear clutch.

“Hey yourself,” I say.

My mom steps back, alternates her gaze between Kate and me, like she’s a spectator at a tennis match.

“You made it,” I finally say. I step past Mom and usher Kate outside onto the relative privacy of the porch. “And wow, you look . . . wow. Actually, the word stunning comes to mind, only I don’t want to sound like your great-grandfather.”

She smiles. “Don’t worry. My great-grandfather wouldn’t have said that. He was a lot cooler than you.”

“Bang. You got me.” I clutch my chest. “But then again, being cooler than me isn’t anything to hang your hat on. I mean, you’d have to be spectacularly uncool if you wanted any chance at dethroning me, because . . .”

She kisses my cheek.

“What did I do to deserve that?” I ask. “I’m asking because I want you to do it again.”

“Where do I start?”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I say, nearly adding this time, but catching myself.

“Thanks for inviting me. So . . . where is this party?”

“Oh yeah. The party. You didn’t just come here so we could stand on my porch and stare at each other?”

“I thought that was next week,” she says.

“Oh, you’re right, it is next week,” I agree. “Sorry, I keep getting my days mixed up.”

I take her hand and lead her to the backyard.

“Wow, you guys did a great job. It’s so elegant.”

“It was all Mom’s design. She pointed and Dad and I basically moved things back and forth around the yard until she got frustrated and said it was good enough.”

“Well, she has very good taste.”

“I feel like I have better,” I say, running my fingers along her shoulder.

She pushes me, playfully. “Gross, not at your parents’ anniversary.”

“Why not? You know, if you play your cards right, it could be our anniversary, too.”

“Okay, that was easily the creepiest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth.”

“I told you I wasn’t cool.”

“How many times must I tell you? That’s why I like you.” She kisses me again, on the same cheek, and I temporarily lose muscular control.

“There she is! The woman who’s making my best friend a better man,” Franny shouts from across the lawn.

He and Jillian are wearing matching sunglasses, except Jillian’s are black whereas Franny’s are hot pink. “Nice glasses, man,” Kate tells him.

“C’mon, Kate, now you’ve done it,” I complain.

“Thank you, Kate. As I’ve already told this Neanderthal, it takes a real man to pull off something so bold, so inspiring,” Franny says, sliding up the glasses so he can apparently big-wink at us.