A Little More Personal

"Hello? Barton residence."

"Hi, Mama. I have a question."

"What's that, baby?"

"What, uh, what is Debbie's phone number?"

She gave it to me with one inquiry: "Are you and Jay okay?"

"We're fine, Mama. Thanks. I'll call you back later."

"Alright. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I sat on the guest bed, the ten digits I'd written down in my notebook staring at me. I bit my lip and headed to the den. I debated whether to call him immediately even as I typed in google.com; I pressed "t", and the drop-down box gave suggestions. Among them was "Twilight the movie." I clicked on it, curious. A bunch of pictures popped up. My jaw dropped at one photograph. Underneath the images it supplied a name.

"Hi, Deborah. Is Jay there?"

"Yeah. I'll get him. Jay! It's Taresa!"

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jackson."

His

"Um . . . you know?"

"Yeah, I do now. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to before you left, but I chickened out."

"You should've told me, Jay! I wouldn't have been angry."

"But you are now?"

"Because you kept this from me. So is this how you met Kristen and Peter? By filming Twilight?"

"Yes."

She exhaled sharply. "So . . . is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"It's better said vis-a-vis."

"Fine. I'll be back day after tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. How's everything there?"

"It's boring old Midland."

"It happens. Look, Jay. What does this mean for us? Like, if you can't tell me who you are, what gives me reason to belive you won't withold more information?"

"I'm not your ex-fiancee, Reece. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, with exceptions, of course."

"Good. Well, I'm going to bed. I'll see you soon."

"Alright. Good-night, Reece."