Loving The Jerk Who Might Have Feelings

The next few weeks I spent reading every moment I could. Mr. James’ library seemed endless and completely heaven to a nerd like me. I started with my favorites: Pride and Prejudice (Ah, Mr. Darcy) and Jane Eyre, then continued with Wuthering Heights, The Scarlet Letter, Emma, and Pilgrim’s Progress.

To my great surprise Mr. James often joined me and debated with about politics and such. It was nice to be able to converse with someone with a higher intellect than I was used to. But at times he’d get a blank stare in his eyes and would not speak for several moments. I probably bored him with my teenage speak.

That morning I brush my teeth and head down to the dining area as usual for breakfast.

But when I enter the room, my mom jumps up from her seat and practically tackles me, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” she screams and I laugh trying to get her off me, “Thanks, Mom”. My dad envelops me into his arms after she lets go and wishes me a happy birthday.

“Happy birthday” Mr. James repeats with a strange smile as I take a seat next to Joy, “I was there on the day of your birth. All I can remember is your mother screaming for drugs”

My mom looks sheepish, “Well it hurt!” she pouts.

Dad, I notice, is picking at his scrambled eggs with the most miserable air around him.

I roll my eyes and look at my breakfast. Cinnamon French toast stuffed with cream cheese! Wow. I inhale the aroma, but before I can devour it whole, my brother walks in.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” my mother screams again and tries to hug Nate. Of course he dodges her, “Mom! Quit it!”

She frowns at him and continues chasing him around the table, “Nathaniel Ever Night! Come here and let your mother hug you!” she yells.

Nate continues avoiding her until our mother gives up and sits back down next to Mr. James and Dad. Nate smiles triumphantly and sits down on my other side.

“Happy birthday, brother” I smile at him. He grins back at me, “Happy birthday, sister”

Then, out of nowhere, Mom leaps up from her chair and lunges her body across the table straight at Nate. I scream and Mase claps excitedly.

“Mom!” Nate exclaims in shock as she stands up and drags him up by his shirt. She’s knocked his plate on top of his shirt and completely ruined it, but she takes no notice.

“Look here, mister, I gave birth to you on this very day seventeen years ago! Of course you don’t know the pain I went through to deliver you humongous head through my—“

“Mom!” Nate exclaims drowning out her next word, but he blushes severely.

“—but you can ask Damian; I nearly broke his hand! And all I ask from you is a hug! Is that too much to ask after I gave you life?”

I cough a laugh and Dad can’t help but look amused. Nate slouches in defeat, “Fine, Mom!” and hugs her. My mom smiles and wraps her thin arms around him enthusiastically, “See? Was that so bad?”

Nate steps away from her. “Well, Mom, I’m going to go change since you damaged my shirt”

Mom stares at him fondly as he trudges out the door, then she returns to her seat with a beaming smile.

I go back to eating my breakfast, but stop midway because I feel someone staring at me. I look up; it’s Alex. I wince, but he doesn’t see because he isn’t staring at me, he’s staring at my plate. I look at his. All he’s got is peeled oranges and a glass of chunky-looking milk. He’s rich and they’ve got him on a diet?

Before anyone can see, I pick up what’s left of my breakfast and toss it at his plate. He gives me a grateful look and eats everything in one gulp.

After we all finish breakfast (and Nate comes back) we move to the living room for the presents. Mom and Dad sit on the couch with me and Nate in-between them, Joy and Mase sit on the floor in front of the fire place (Joy has to hold Mase down so she doesn’t leap into the ‘pretty’ flames), Mr. James takes a sweat on the opposite couch from us, and Alex sits on the only loveseat.

Joy and Mase go first. “Happy birthday” Joy says as she tosses us each a parcel wrapped in newspaper and glitter (I’m betting Mase did that).

“Oh” I say half amused half confused.

“Spaghetti?” Nate asks.

Joy rolls her eyes at us, but Mase explains “NO, SILLY JELLY BEAN, BRAINPHONES!”

I pick up the ‘spaghetti’ and at the end are two ‘meatballs’. They’re earphones! I laugh, “Thanks, you guys”

Nate gives them an incredulous look, “I guess”

Mom elbows him and he coughs and says “Thanks”.

“Our turn!” Mom squeals hugging me close as Dad fishes two small boxes from his pocket. Blue for Nate and pink for me.

I cautiously open my pink box. Knowing mom it’ll be something completely embarrassing and/or mortifying.

Apparently Nate was thinking the same think because he asks, “Please, tell me it isn’t our decaying umbilical cords”

Mom laughs and ruffles his hair while dad murmurs sarcastically, “She’s saving those for when you go off to college”

I roll my eyes but gasp at what’s in the box. “Oh my gosh! It’s beautiful!”

Encased in red velvet is a thin silver bracelet. Vines wind around in a circle while small, detailed, diamond owls peak out with bright blue Zircon eyes. For a moment I’m reminded of
Alex’s eyes, but as I see my engraved name in the same blue jewels, my jaw drops open. The owls are the Goddess Athena’s symbol and the blue Zircon is the color of my
birthstone.

“Mom! Dad!” I squeal trying to hug them both at once, but Nate is in the way. Apparently he, too, is freaking out over
his gift.

He lets out a girlish scream that is very unmanly,
“MOM?! DAD?! A CAR?! HOW THE FU—“

“Language, young man” Mom laughs.

Nate slurs the last bit but continues exclaiming, “—did you guys—?“

And then I see the car keys in one hand and what looked like back stage passes in the other.

Mom beams at us, “Oh, it was Damian’s generosity, of course”

Nate turns to look at our godfather while I thank him in polite words. Of course my brother rudely demands, “Tickets to see Fishing For Elephants?! Backstage passes?! They’re next to impossible to get! HOW?!”

Mr. James laughs, “Oh, it was really nothing”

Nate gapes at him.

Mom looks a bit disbelieving, then, “How did you get them?”

“No sinful acts, if that’s what you’re thinking, the lead singer just owed me a favor”

“Bill Hands-On?! You know Bill Hands-On?!

“Bill Hanson?” Mom asks with a strange look.

Nate rolls his eyes, “No, Mom, it’s Bill Hands-On—”

“Actually, his name was Billy Hanson back in high school” Mr.
James replied.

Mom’s jaw drops and Dad can’t help but exclaiming, “The one with the saliva problem?!”

“Bill Hands-On had a saliva problem?!” Nate yells in bewilderment.

“Yeah, my folks lent his parents some money for the operation to fix it. Who knew behind a slimy geeky boy was a potential rock star?”

And suddenly everyone’s laughing and I’m laughing and it’s the most light moment I’ve felt in forever. But all too soon it’s faded away along with the laughs.

Mom sighs happily and asks me and Nate, “So what do you want to do for your birthday?”

I shrug thinking about getting back to the Moby Dick novel I never finished and clip on my new bracelet.

“What about that ski resort we saw down the road?” Nate suggests and Mom ponders the idea.

She looks at Mr. James, “Sounds like a great idea, doesn’t it? For all of us?”

Mr. James smiles, “Sure”

So it’s settled. Everyone goes upstairs to dress in warmer
clothing and we agree to meet back in front of the entrance in ten minutes.

I settle into a bright blue snow suit that matches new
bracelet and tie up my hair in a pink ribbon. I apply eyeliner,
mascara, and a sparkly Chapstick so my lips won’t chap, obviously, then I head downstairs.

I detour because I get captivated by all the paintings on the wall. They’ve even got a replica of the Mona Lisa (I think). I smile at one that only has fruit. Fruit, really, Picasso? Really?

“—because his opinion doesn’t matter!!”

My head turn to the yell and it’s coming from my parents’ room straight across the hall. I look around cautiously, and hesitantly creep forward. The door is ajar and I can see both my father and mother.

Mom is extremely angry (oh god) and so is Dad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen dad mad. He’s usually a calm fellow and when things get too rough, he tends to take a walk, avoiding the subject until it cools down. (By that, I mean Mom).

My mother, on the other hand, is a complete hothead. She’s stubborn, irrational, and wears her emotions on her sleeves. She gets mad constantly but usually forgives and forgets just as easily. She really isn’t one to keep grudges (Dad is, though); she lives in the moment.

They really are compete opposites. Maybe that’s why I’m so screwed up inside.

“Oh yes it does! Look around, Everard! We are in his home! Eating his food! Taking advantage of his hospitality!” Mom yells at Dad.

Dad lets his longish hair fall into his eyes as he exclaims, “Well, I didn’t choose to be here! You did, Pandora! It was all you! It always is! God, you never think, do you? You just run around making stupid decisions!”

“Well at least I do something, Ever! You run away from everything! You never stand up for yourself! It’s been that way since I first met you!”

He rolls his eyes at that and takes a step back, “Yeah, yeah, in art class, blah. Blah. Blah. Well, maybe I didn’t want you to. I was perfectly okay without you—“

“In your life” Mom suggests with the most coolness.

Dad winces and his mouth stutters with incoherent words, “No, of course not, I meant—“ he shakes his head. Then he pulls at his hair, “God, this is Damian’s fault! He always ruins everything!”

Mom takes a step toward Dad menacingly, “Oh, don’t you start, Everard! It’s your idiotic jealousy that ruins everything!”

“I am not jealous” Dad mumbles impassively.

Mom rolls her eyes and puts on her winter jacket, “You’re also a bad liar, now go put on something before you freeze to death. This conversation is over”

“You treat me like a kid”

“Because you secretly like it”

“Do not” Dad mumbles.

Then they both laugh and envelop one another in their arms.

“Eavesdropping?”

I start at the voice behind me and spin around with surprise,
it’s Alex Winters, “I—was just looking for an earring”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Humor me”

I stare at him feeling like a fish out of water. What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to flirt with him like old times? Should I ignore him and act like a snob? Do I breakdown? Should I beg him for cheese? What the hell am I supposed to do?

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you; Happy birthday” he suddenly says.

“Thanks, I guess, wait does that mean I’m older than you?” I blurt out unthinkingly.

“Actually I turned seventeen back in Halloween”

“The day you—“kissed me”—dressed up as a pirate? That’s cool” I say fidgety.

“I’m sorry for your, um, head damage” he says awkwardly tugging at his black winter coat.

“It’s, um, feeling pretty good. Doctor gave me some painkillers. They’re blissful” I try to say lightly, but I end up choking at the end and he’s got to pound my back, “I’m good”

Then it’s another moment of awkward silence, “Well I better go get ready,” I say trying to go past him, even though I’m obviously already dressed. He steps in front of me and I flinch back.

He looks uncomfortable, “Um, I’m also sorry for the other thing I broke?”

You mean my heart??

For some reason instead shrugging it off and acting totally bored over it, I stutter out, “Oh, it’s alright, ‘bout time really, what can you expect when your nearly seventeen? Ha. Ha. It’s all heart breaks and drugs. Ha. Ha. Not that I’m into drugs, though, they’re bad for you. Well, so are hear breaks, actually I’ve heard about this disease you can get—“

“Athena?”

“Yeah?” I say feeling like total dweeb.

“Breathe”

I know it’s a joke, but for some reason it strikes a nerve in
me. Breathe? Breathe? Really? That’s so easy to say when you’re not the one withering in pain from this stupid thing in your chest that just refuses to heal.

I look at him. I mean really look at him, taking in all the small details. The curve of his cheekbones, the slightly out of balanced top lip, the length black-blue hair, the dimness in his usually bright eyes, the purple shadows underneath his eyes, the green tinge to his pale white skin; he doesn’t look so good (I mean he’s still hot); actually he looks tired and sick.

“I’ll see you downstairs” he says before I can ask him about his ill appearance.

As he passes by me I can’t help but turn back to look at him retreat, resolving that this is the last time I’ll let him make me feel so insecure, but as I do, I catch the tiniest flicker of bright blue, then he’s gone around the corner.

He was looking at me, too. Unfortunately, hope is the last thing I want right now.