How to Love

“I can’t believe she passed out that sex survey in class today,” I said to Jake over lunch the next day. “Did you even look at the thing yet?”

“No,” Jake shook his head. “What’s on it? I put it away as soon as she passed it out.”

“Basically it lists all these different sexual scenarios and you’re supposed to mark what you’d consider normal or not,” I explained. “Some of them are pretty bizarre. My personal favorite’s the one about necrophilia.”

“What? No way that’s on there,” Jake declared and extended his arm across the table. “Let me see that thing.” I handed him the survey after digging it out of my bag, his eyes scanning over it. He smirked at a few of them and as he got further down the list, he began to grimace. “I don’t even think that necrophilia’s the worst one. I’m pretty sure that ‘being aroused by touching or playing with feces’ is probably the most disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, playing with excrement really isn’t my idea of a good time,” I frowned. “I really don’t know what purpose this survey is supposed to serve, but it’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever read.”

“For school, anyway,” Jake tacked on. He pulled his cellphone out to check the time and sighed. “I should probably head to class. This middle-aged Asian woman and I have an ongoing battle for the corner seat in the third row, and I don’t want her to have it. Pick this up after?”

“Can’t,” I shook my head with a sad smile. “I’ve gotta drop a check off at the bank and I need to pick up a death certificate at Cleveland City Hall.”

“You get out when, one-twenty?” Jake asked. I nodded in response. “Well, if you can wait five minutes after class, I’ll go with you if you want. Then I can just drive around while you’re inside and you won’t have to pay the eight bucks for parking.”

“You wanna run errands with me,” I simplified, scoffing in disbelief. “Why?”

“For one thing, it would help you out, and for another, I don’t have anything better to do,” he shrugged. “Sue me. So do you wanna do that?”

“Sure,” I agreed, still a little shocked. I didn’t even like running errands with myself, I couldn’t see why he’d willingly do it. “See you at one twenty-five. Now go get your seat before your arch nemesis beats you to it.”

He laughed and waved good-bye, exiting the cafeteria. I headed off to my English class and after a quiz and a lecture, she let us go a couple minutes early. I found Jake’s class and stood outside the door for a few minutes while I waited for him to come out. Finally there was a mass exodus out of the room, and when Jake emerged, he looked like a zombie.

“Who pissed in your Wheaties?” I joked, trying to get him to smile.

“No one,” he answered. “I’m just trying to regain mental functioning. I don’t know how much longer I could have handled discussing relationship dynamics in Revolutionary Road.”

“How far are you?” I asked as we headed down the stairs.

“I finished the first two chapters yesterday,” he answered. “Do you realize how incredibly boring that book is? I mean, nothing has happened, like, at all.”

“What are you talking about? April was in the play and it sucked, and then she and Frank had a fight afterwards,” I recapped. “That’s action.”

“That’s boring,” Jake argued. “He’s a total tool, and she’s overly dramatic, and I honestly think she’s kind of bipolar. They’re both miserable, miserable people. And no one’s murdered anyone yet.”

“I hate to break it to you, but no one murders anyone in Revolutionary Road,” I stifled a laugh.

“Well, that’s a bummer,” he frowned. “It’d be more interesting if one of them got offed.” He stopped in front of the door leading out to the smoking section and held it open for me, since we had to pass through in order to get to my car.

“Thank you. Anyway, the Wheelers have a very complex relationship,” I stated. “I know you don’t want to talk about it anymore, but you’ll learn more about it later on.”

“I don’t want to know more about it,” Jake grouched, waving his hands around for emphasis. “Bottom line, Frank and April should have never gotten married, and they definitely shouldn’t have bred.” By the time he’d finished his little outburst, we’d made it out to the parking lot and had located my car.

I smirked at him. “You do realize we just had a literary discussion, right?” I got my keys out and unlocked the car.

“Oh God, kill me now.” He threw his head back dramatically and rolled his eyes before climbing into the passenger’s seat. “I’ve gotta read four more chapters this weekend, so I might be calling you on Sunday for another literary discussion.”

“No, I think you’re gonna call me to bitch about the book and how you don’t want to read it,” I teased with a laugh.

“Yeah, more accurately that,” he agreed. We got situated in my car and I turned on the radio, letting it act as white noise while we drove to the bank to drop the check off. We made it through the drive-through at PNC fairly quickly and made our way to the highway into Cleveland. We talked a little, and while I was in the middle of saying something, I finally heard what was playing on the radio. “Oh God.” I reached over and clicked it off.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked. “Did you forget something?”

“No, I just really fucking hate that ‘Girl on Fire’ song,” I growled. “They play it like every forty minutes on the radio and it makes me want to set Alicia Keys on fire.” Jake laughed. “Do me a favor and plug my iPod jack in and hook my iPod up. I can’t deal with the radio anymore right now.”

“What do you want me to play?” Jake asked after he’d found everything.

“I don’t care,” I shrugged. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He was quiet for a few moments while he looked through my iPod. “There’s no consistency in your music pattern. Seriously, you’ve got everything from Eminem to various untalented YouTube artists on here.”

“They’re not all untalented,” I defended. “And a lot of the music on there is stuff that Matt or someone else put on my iTunes. I mostly like the acoustic stuff, though. Chase Coy’s definitely a favorite.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Jake shook his head. “Now you’re going all hipster on me. I’m personally more of a ska guy myself, but I’m open to anything. Mind if I put this on random?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “Go right ahead.” He set my music to random and spent the next thirty minutes skipping through songs halfway through, and commenting on certain artists. I was about ready to pull the car over and kick him out by the time we got to City Hall, but we arrived before I could lose my temper. Jake slid into the driver’s seat when I got out and started to drive around the block. I took a moment to breathe and lower my blood pressure before heading inside and going through the metal detector. Luckily, there was no one in my line, so I was able to be in and out in about ten minutes. I stood outside by the curb and waited for Jake to pull the car around and meet me.

“These streets are so Goddamn difficult,” he complained once I climbed in the passenger’s seat. “Why the hell do they need a bus lane? And why does it need to be so fucking confusing?”

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” I semi-laughed. “You just have to really pay attention. Besides, I drive down here a lot more than you do.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he said, starting to pull away from the curb. He tried to merge into traffic but immediately got honked at.

“Please by careful with my car,” I pleaded, feeling a little light-headed.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” he said, brushing me off. He tried again to merge and jerked forward, almost getting us hit.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” I tried again desperately. “I’d rather not be in the obituaries tomorrow.”

“Veronica, relax,” Jake scoffed. “I’ve had my license for five years; I know what I’m doing. It’s pre-rush hour, so people are coming out of nowhere. Just put on some music and chill out a little.”

I sighed, knowing argument would get me nowhere. Finally, Jake was successful in pulling out into our lane. We drove in silence for a few minutes since I’d declined to take control of my iPod.

“You’re really not gonna play anything?” Jake asked as we got closer to the freeway.

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m fine with what you’ve got playing. It’s just kind of background noise to me anyway.”

“Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes, flipping the signal to turn onto the highway. “You’ve gotta have a favorite song or something.”

“I do,” I said. “I just doubt you’d know it.”

“There you go again,” he said. “I might know it. What is it?”

“It’s called ‘Angeles’ by Elliott Smith,” I answered.

“Yeah, you’re right, I don’t know that song,” he shook his head and then gestured towards my iPod. “Play it. You put up with my song ADD. I think you’re justified in listening to whatever you want.”

“It’s my car,” I reminded him, searching for my Top 25 list. I finally found it and clicked over to ‘Angeles’. “I’ll do what I want anyway.”

Jake looked over at me and smiled but then snapped his eyes back to the road after I flashed him a panicky expression. He stayed quiet while the song played, letting the acoustic music and haunting melodies fill the car without interruption.

“That’s a cool song,” he said when it was over.

“I like the ending,” I nodded.

“The ‘No one’s gonna fool around with us’ part?” he checked.

“Well, yes, but I was referring to the part when he sings ‘And be forever with my poison arms around you,’” I clarified and then shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. It’s kind of sappy. I’m not sure why I told you that.”

“Sappy can be good,” he shrugged. “I cried at the end of Marley and Me. If that’s not sappy, I don’t know what is. You don’t have to be tough all the time, you know. You’re allowed to let down your walls sometimes and just say things.”

“I guess,” I mumbled, desperate for a subject change. “Hey, thanks for driving downtown with me. It was nice to have the company for once.”

“Not a problem,” he said, turning off of the exit. “I’ll go anytime.”

“I’ll add the fifteen dollars to your paycheck when I get back,” I told him. He flashed me a confused look and then snapped back to the road. I elaborated. “A city hall run is in the same category as a doctor’s run. So there’s an extra fifteen dollars for you.”

“Well, I can tell you money wasn’t the motivation here.” I glanced over at Jake to see him smiling again, and I looked away quickly and cleared my throat. “Obviously money played some kind of role in your decision. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been so eager to save me eight dollars.”

“Hey, eight bucks is eight bucks,” he protested. “Do you realize how many tacos you could buy with eight dollars?”

“I don’t know, probably six or seven with tax,” I guessed. Our conversation was wrapping up as we pulled into the Tri-C parking lot and made our way to Jake’s car.

“Well, now I really want tacos,” he sighed.

I chuckled. “Well, no one’s stopping you. Eat one for me, will ya?”

“Sure thing,” he nodded. “Or you could just go get tacos with me.”

“I’d like to but I can’t,” I said regretfully. I gestured towards the death certificate. “I need to get this back to my dad and I’ve got some work to finish up.”

“I understand,” Jake nodded, opening the driver’s side door and getting out, allowing me to slide across the seat. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” I promised. Jake walked in front of the car and waved before climbing into his. I drove away and made it back to the funeral home in record time. I spent a few minutes talking to my dad before I went back into the office and entered funeral records into the computer for another hour or two. Around six o’clock, the doorbell rang and I groaned, complaining inwardly about office hours ending at five and wondering why people couldn’t read the Goddamn sign on the door. However, when I saw Jake’s face peering through the glass, I felt my expression lighten. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

He held up a Giant Eagle bag. “Well, I really wanted tacos, and since you couldn’t come to the tacos, I decided to bring them to you.” He bit his lip and narrowed his eyes slightly like he was trying to gauge my reaction, which there was no way he could misread since I was all smiles. “Got anywhere I can start cooking?”

We went upstairs and he made himself at home in my kitchen, pulling out various pots and pans until he found the ones he needed to start cooking the meat. I mentally cringed at the level of disorganization that the kitchen was falling into, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, happy just to have someone else willing to cook for me. Once he got the meat started, he began setting up his other various supplies, like hard and soft shell tacos, cheese, and a few other taco necessities. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted exactly, so I just bought both kinds of shells and all the essentials. I got enough for your dad too, by the way. Where is he?”

“Downstairs in the morgue,” I responded. “We have a layout scheduled for Sunday afternoon, but my dad asked Clay to do it, so you don’t need to worry about coming in.”

He nodded. “Okay. Do I still need to come in Monday?”

“Yeah,” I said. “My dad only asked Clay about Sunday since your grandma mentioned something about the two of you having dinner that night.”

“I kind of figured,” Jake said. “I try to have dinner with her about once a week or at least go see her. She doesn’t get out much, so I think it makes her happy.”

“What’s wrong with her anyway?” I realized how insensitive that sounded right after the words left my mouth, so I tried to backtrack. “I mean, you said she was sick. Is she okay?”

“The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with her exactly,” Jake answered, seeming like he was trying to choose his words carefully. “She’s been sick for a few years and no headway. But she can’t go anywhere without some kind of breathing device.”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I kind of know how that is, so I sympathize.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “She has more good days than bad, and she’s still able to live on her own basically.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, this should be done in about forty-five minutes. Did you get the psych homework done?”

“Yes, and no, you can’t copy it,” I teased.

“I just wanted to see how you did it so I know how to do mine,” he explained. “Plus we won’t have the same examples then. Just eerily similar ones.”

We spent the next half hour going over our psych homework, debating what we’d define as normal and abnormal behavior. After a little while, Jake finished cooking the taco meat and heated up the hard shells for a few minutes in the oven. In the meantime, I set the table and called down to the morgue so that Dad could wash up before dinner. He made it upstairs after a few minutes and then we filled our plates.

“This is a nice surprise,” Dad commented, taking his usual seat at the head of the table. “What brought this on?”

“Just an insane craving for tacos, apparently,” I replied.

“And a craving for good company,” Jake added. “It was kind of a spontaneous thing though. Hopefully they’re pretty good.”

Dad was the first to bite into his taco, his eyes widening. “This is delicious. Have you ever thought about making tacos professionally?”

Jake and I laughed. “I don’t know about tacos specifically, but I like to cook, so maybe.”

“I never knew that,” I said.

“There’s a lot you probably don’t know,” Jake retorted. “Especially since you’ve restricted me to non-date dates.”

“Excuse me, last I checked, we’re going on a date Saturday, so bite me,” I reminded him. I finally tried Jake’s tacos and relayed the same sentiment that they were heaven wrapped in a tortilla. We chewed in silence for a little while, but then Dad started his grand inquisition.

“So how do you like school so far, Jake?”

“It’s good,” Jake nodded in between bites. “I mean, it’s only been about two weeks, but it’s fine so far.”

“What are you taking this semester?” Dad asked.

“I have an ethics class and a humanities class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then on Mondays and Wednesdays I have an English class in the afternoon, plus Veronica and I have abnormal psych together in the morning,” Jake rattled off.

“Veronica hadn’t mentioned that,” Dad commented, eyes shifting slightly towards me.

“I didn’t realize I had to,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on my taco. I ate in silence while Dad and Jake talked, and I probably learned more about Jake from their twenty minute conversation than I had in the two weeks or so we’d been hanging out. I found out that he’d run track all through middle school and high school and still liked to go running at the rec center. He was a C plus-average student, but once he got to college and found his niche, he was doing better. He came from an upper-middle class family, which I could have guessed based purely on the suits that he wore for viewings. Finally Dad got around to asking him about the future, which Jake began to clam up about, signifying the end of the conversation. The phone began to ring in the next room, so Dad stepped out to answer it, leaving Jake and I to take care of the dishes. A few minutes later, we were standing side by side in front of the sink, me washing and Jake drying, our shoulders just barely touching.

“Thanks for cooking dinner,” I smiled over at him after a few moments of silence. “I really appreciate it. Plus, it was delicious. Did you ever consider being a chef or a cook or anything?”

He scoffed. “I don’t think my taco-making abilities would get me far. Besides, I can barely cook anything. Everything I actually can cook is easy.”

“Well, that’s why you go to school for it,” I told him. “So they can teach you how to make more stuff.” I finished scrubbing one of the plates and handed it over to him to dry.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, drying it carefully. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

“I don’t either. I just know I don’t want to do this forever,” I admitted. I never really expressed that sentiment out loud, but I didn’t want to spend my entire life wasting away at the funeral home as a secretary, and it felt good to finally say it to someone. “I just don’t think that I like anything enough to actually want to do it for the rest of my life.”

“See, I have the opposite problem,” he said. “I like too many things. I like cooking, but I also really like psychology and humanities and all that kind of stuff. It’s so frustrating because my sister’s already almost done with college and she’s got everything figured out, and I have no idea what the hell I want. I mean, yesterday I woke up and thought that maybe I’d like to be a counselor or something like that, and then today I woke up and contemplated being a funeral director. Tomorrow I’ll probably wake up and want to start a cardboard box company or something.”

“Box company?” I repeated with a laugh.

“Do you even realize how many cardboard boxes people use?” Jake asked defensively. “There’s gotta be good money in that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the point is, I’m not really sure about a lot of things, especially concerning the future. I am sure about one thing, though.”

“And what would that be?” I asked, handing him the last plate.

“That I like you,” he stated nonchalantly, continuing to dry the dishes as if he’d never said a word.

I was tempted to call bullshit, demand a reason as to why someone like Jake would like someone like me. He was easy-going and actually nice, and I was just a high-strung, bitter high school dropout that took herself way too seriously. However, when I’d formed the words I wanted to say in rebuttal, Dad stepped into the kitchen. “Hey Jake, you ever dress a body?”

“Uh, no,” Jake furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The question sounded normal to me, but to Jake, he was probably caught off guard.

“Do you want to?” Dad asked. “I could use some help dressing this woman downstairs and getting her into the casket.

“Sure,” Jake agreed and then turned to me. “Do you mind? I feel bad that I shitted up your kitchen.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “All that there’s left to do is stack the dishes and I’m done. Besides, twenty-five bucks is twenty-five bucks.” I lowered my voice in an attempt to imitate him. “Do you even realize how many tacos you could by with that?”

He laughed good-naturedly and then tried to mimic me. “I don’t know, probably twenty-two or twenty-three plus tax.” He and I both chuckled and he winked before moving to follow my dad downstairs, brushing past me.

I heard the accordion doors shut and went ahead and continued stacking the dishes, finishing fairly quickly. This left me a lot of time to think and over-analyze the entire last conversation with Jake. I replayed it again and again in my head, continuously pausing on the “like you” phrase. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of someone actually liking me. Something had to be up with that, though I didn’t want to think that way. Instead of letting myself stress out about it, I did the only logical thing and called Liz to knock some sense into me. She answered on the third ring and listened while I explained the situation and sighed when I was finished. “You’re a fucking idiot, Veronica.”

“Excuse me?” I scoffed. I’d wanted some bluntness, but not quite on that level.

“Emotionally, anyway,” Liz clarified. “Look, a guy tells you he likes you, and you immediately assume the worst. Why? I mean, especially with a guy like Jake who's been nothing but helpful to you so far. Besides, the guy is hot, and if he’s gonna tell you that he likes you, why wouldn’t you just accept it as fact and feel good about it?”

“Because I can’t fathom why he would, Liz,” I frowned. “Even I know that I’m hard to like. Shit, I don’t even know why you willingly spend time with me. I don’t know why anyone would. I’m negative and I’m mean and angry, and I don’t have anything positive to say about anything and-”

Liz cut me off. “And you’re loyal and willing to do anything for the people that you do actually like, and I know you’d go to the ends of the earth and back for me. You listen when I have something I need to rant about and you don’t interrupt me, and whenever my mom’s in the hospital, you ask me how she’s doing every day. That’s why you’re my best friend. You’ve got a lot to offer. I wish you’d see that.”

“It doesn’t even matter,” I said after I let that sink in for a moment. “Any guy I’ve ever let myself really like has fucked me over, and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”

“So are you finally admitting that you like Jake?” Liz asked, a certain coyness in her voice.

“I guess,” I sighed. “Who cares? It’d end badly anyway. He’d get to know me and realize what an asshole I am and then it’d dawn on him what a terrible mistake he made.”

“Can’t you just let it happen?” Liz pleaded. “Give it a chance. Maybe it’ll work out, maybe it won’t. I definitely can’t tell you that. Nobody can, so there’s not use getting anxious about it. I know you; you’ll shut it down before it even has a chance to happen.” She let out another exasperated sigh. “Look, I don’t know what happened exactly with any of these other guys since you’ll never fucking talk about it, but you need to let it go and realize that that’s not every guy. I don’t get a dick-vibe from Jake, so I really don’t think there’s anything for you to worry about. And if I’m wrong, I’ll give you my firstborn.”

I laughed, pleased with her injection of humor. “Only if I can name it after myself.”

“It’ll be yours if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I will be,” Liz scoffed. “Don’t start planning names yet. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. My mom needs my help with something, so I’ll see you Saturday. Just think about what I said, okay?”