59. First Impressions

I hear the knock and stop for a second, breathing in.

Then I go to the door and open it.

Jocelyn stands at the door, a dark beauty in light blue. She wears a loose, long dress that falls down to her ankles and a jean jacket covering it. Her hair is bound together and falls to one side of her shoulder. I probably stare too long at her, because she laughs and makes a face, wondering if I’m going to let her in.

“Oh, yeah, come on in. Sorry.”

Jocelyn enters and I’m a bit lost, wondering what to do, if I should take her coat or start eating or sit on the couches for a while and talk.

She gives me a hug. I awkwardly put one arm around her but feel nervous and unsure.

“Thanks for doing this,” she says.

“You haven’t seen what I’ve done.”

“You invited me over. That’s enough.”

“Hope so, ’cause lunch isn’t going to be anything special.”

She laughs and walks over to the couch. “So your mother is working?”

“Yeah. Not that she would care if you came over. I just would rather—I’d rather keep it my own business.”

“I told my aunt I was having lunch with Poe.”

“In New York?”

“She doesn’t know Poe’s up north.”

“What’s your aunt doing?”

“She’s probably hanging all over Wade. And he’s probably half bombed by now.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s fine. I’m not there, nothing to be sorry for.”

I stand in front of the couch she’s sitting on. “Your bruise keeps getting better. I can barely see it.”

“Makeup can do wonders. And in the case of my aunt, so can denial.”

I don’t notice that much makeup—Jocelyn doesn’t wear that much.

“Can I, uh—you want anything to drink?”

She laughs. “Such an adult thing to say. Yeah, I’d like a cocktail, please.”

“Well, not sure—”

“Kidding. Anything you have is fine by me.”

I get two cans of Diet Coke, and she takes one. I sit on the chair across from her.

“I don’t have a disease, you know,” Jocelyn says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then come over here.”

I sit next to her on the couch, and she moves her body to face me. She sips her soda and smiles.

“What?”

“Isn’t this nice?” she asks.

“What?”

“Nobody around. Just you and I.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna know what I thought the first time I ever saw you?”

“Sure.”

“I thought, ‘Uh oh. He might be dangerous.’”

“Yeah, really dangerous.”

“I just hoped that you fit how you looked. And acted.”

“And how was that?”

“I hoped you weren’t another arrogant jock.”

“Definitely not a jock,” I say.

“You’re a soccer player. Definitely a soccer player. But you’re also definitely not arrogant.”

“Guess that’s a good thing.”

“I’d prefer insecurity any day.”

I look at my can of soda, then the surrounding room.

“You get so nervous around me, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I say. It feels good to admit it.

“You don’t have to be.”

“You know what I thought the first time I saw you?”

“What?” she asks.

“I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop.”

“No. I mean it. And I still feel that way. Even more so. I thought that you—that there would be no way, you know. No way for you to be interested.”

“I told you. I’m complicated.”

“And I’ve told you, I don’t care.”

“I like that. Some things you’re not so sure about. Like sitting next to me on the couch. But other things—like that. You’re very certain.”

I look at her and don’t look away. “I’m very certain, Jocelyn. Very.”

This would be a great time to kiss her, but I don’t. I guess she would let me. In fact, I know she would. I can see it in her eyes. But I’m still—I’m hesitant.

For lots of reasons.

The moment passes, and she doesn’t seemed fazed.

“You know, I don’t smell a turkey.”

“Yeah, well—I had to improvise. I have turkey, it’s just the kind you get at the deli in slices.”

“Awesome,” Jocelyn says. “So we’re going to reverse things and have the turkey sandwiches first.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I love it. That’s the best part of Thanksgiving, when you’re stuffed and you’re not exactly hungry, but you have a fresh turkey sandwich at nighttime.”

“Yeah, but you’re probably not stuffed.”

“I’m not hungry either,” she says. “My mind is preoccupied with other things.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“A very good thing. He’s a very good thing. And he doesn’t even realize it.”

I feel warm and brush my hair back and have the urge to dive behind the couch.

“Plus when he turns red, his ears do as well.”

“Okay, I think I’m going to keep getting things ready so I don’t continue to look like a fourth-grade boy.”

“You’re cute when you blush.”

“That doesn’t help.”

I stand and move toward the kitchen and hear her laughter.

It’s a glorious sound.