The Truth About Jack (Entangled Crush) (15 page)

I put it on and it comes down to my knees.

He laughs. “It’s a little big. Would you rather wear my jacket?”

“No! I love it.” And I do. It’s the softest sweater I’ve ever encountered; probably cashmere, though I’ve never owned anything made of cashmere, so I’m not sure. I pull it close to my face and sniff. It smells faintly of that bright, citrusy cologne, the same one from Alejandro’s last letter.

“Does it smell bad?” Jack’s forehead creases with worry.

“No! Come on, let’s go.” I decide not to mention the coincidence. It’s too complicated to explain, and I’m afraid it will sound weird. Anyway, what do I know? Maybe it’s just a really popular cologne.

We get out of the car and start down the beach. A couple of seals bob about in the surf, diving beneath the surface and popping up again, their huge liquid eyes locked on us. We watch them for a while, amused by their antics. It’s windy but not foggy; the sky’s blindingly blue. Jack’s sweater keeps me perfectly warm. I think about the last time I was here: writing that note and stuffing it into a bottle, a random act of desperation on a really awful day.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as we start walking again.

“The last time I was here.”

Something flashes in his eyes, but I can’t decipher the look. For the first time, he seems a little guarded. “Oh yeah? Why, what happened?”

“It was April Fools’ Day. I got my acceptance to RISD and an email from my best friend all in the same morning.” I hesitate, but for some reason I really want to tell him more about this. Even if it’s too much too soon, I don’t care. I’m feeling reckless. “Remember how I told you my best friend hooked up with my boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Ouch,” he murmurs, his face full of sympathy.

“Yeah. Big time. Anyway, that’s the day I found out.” I stomp on a bulbous piece of seaweed and it explodes under my shoe with a satisfying pop. “Not only did it shatter my connection to both of them, it also screwed up my plans for college. I was mad and confused and lonely. I came out here, and for some crazy reason I wrote a note and stuffed it into a bottle.”

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes scan my face.

I push my hair out of my eyes and continue. “It’s like I needed a sign or something, you know? Like I needed the universe to tell me that I’m not alone.”

“That makes sense.” He looks away. “So what happened?”

“Someone found it. A guy named Alejandro. We wrote to each other a few times.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “I guess it sounds weird, but somehow getting his letters made me see the world as magical again. When I got River’s email everything looked so gray and ugly. His letters gave me the colors back. Does that make sense?”

He nods. “Makes perfect sense.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Jack

When I get home that night I find Gran in the living room with Mom. She lives in Paris, but she descends on us unexpectedly at least once or twice a year and stays for weeks at a time. It unnerves Mom, who thinks she’s impulsive and messy and way too spontaneous. As I enter, Gran leaps up from the couch and engulfs me in a bear hug. Lilacs. She always smells of lilacs. In spite of the simmering tension between Mom and Gran, I look forward to her visits; I feel closer to her than I do to my own parents, if you want to know the truth.

“Oh, let me look at you!” She grips my shoulders and stares up at me, her huge hazel eyes drinking me in. Her gray hair is gathered in a messy twist, as usual, with stray wisps dangling in her eyes. She looks younger than she is and, though she’s a big woman, nobody would ever call her fat. She wears expensive Parisian silks and loves enormous hats. “You’re getting very handsome. And you’re so tall! Practically a giant.”

“I’m not a giant.” I chuckle. “It’s good to see you, Gran. You’re looking quite handsome yourself.”

Mom jumps to her feet. “Where have you been all day? Have you even rehearsed?”

“I can take a day off once in a while.”

“No, you can’t!” she snaps.

“Mom, come on. I’m eighteen. Back off.” It comes out louder than I’d intended. Sometimes she just doesn’t know when to let up.

Gran watches us like someone thoroughly enjoying a tennis match.

Mom smooths her skirt and puts on a neutral expression. There’s no missing the frost in her voice, though, when she turns toward the door and says, “I’ll let you two catch up.”

“Can we have something to eat?” Gran calls after her. “Perhaps some little sandwiches? Do you still have that marvelous chef? I’m ravenous!”

“No problem.” Mom doesn’t turn around. “I’ll have Felix make up a tray.”

“Wonderful!” Gran either doesn’t notice Mom’s annoyance or pretends not to. I suspect the latter.

Mom leaves, and Gran studies me more intently, squinting like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. “There’s something different about you. What is it?”

“I’m about six months older than the last time you saw me.”

“Something else,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then her eyes light up with understanding. “Oh! Of course! You’re in love.”

I cough, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Gran!”

“You are. I can tell.”

“I did meet someone…” I admit.

She claps her hands in delight. “I knew it!”

Gran has a way of making me talk. Before our sandwiches have even arrived I’ve told her all about Dakota, the message in a bottle, the Alejandro fiasco, our day at the junkyard, and our walk on the beach this afternoon.

“The thing is,” I say, “I don’t know how to tell her. It’s kind of gone too far.”

Gran purses her lips, considering. “What would you say?”

“That’s the problem. How do you tell someone you pretended to be someone else because you were too freaked out to just approach her directly? I hate being dishonest with her, though, you know? I really like her. We’re so alike. We talked about art and music and so many things; it’s like we just understand each other without trying. She’s thinking about traveling next year, putting off college. She says an artist should go out and experience the world before she tries to say something about it. I think she’s right.”

She nods. “You can’t make art about nothing; you need to see what’s out there.”

“Exactly!” I run a hand through my hair. “She’s just so wise and quirky and real. I don’t want to screw things up.”

She pats my knee. “Who can resist you, my gentle giant?”

I try to believe I’m as irresistible as she seems to think. She’s my gran, though. She has to find me extraordinary. In spite of my happiness, I’m still plagued with doubt. Sure, I’ve managed to get closer to Dakota, but what’s next? How can I tell her the truth without driving her away?

…

Dakota

Jack and I walk on the beach every day for a week. We talk about everything: art, politics, dreams, religion. Our conversations spiral gently from one topic to another, meandering and natural—organic as the sea itself.

“So where’s your mom?” Jack asks one day. “She doesn’t live at Luna Cove, does she?”

“She took off five years ago.” I try to sound breezy, but the bitterness in my voice betrays me.

He plucks something from the sand and hands it to me, a miniature abalone shell. The inside is a delicate pink with swirls of lavender and flecks of mint green. Tiny holes line its edge as if it’s been perforated. I run my fingers over it, enjoying the contrast between its rough exterior and petal-soft interior.

“Where did she go?” he asks.

“Tennessee.” I swallow hard, fighting the lump in my throat. It’s crazy; I didn’t think I was so sensitive about all this. It’s been a while, after all. Something about Jack’s incredibly focused gaze draws the sadness from wherever I’ve buried it.

“So your parents split up?” he prompts.

“She started seeing this realtor, and she just totally changed. Like overnight. I mean maybe not overnight,” I correct myself, remembering how she and Dad fought all the time before she left. “But it felt like it. I almost wonder if she’s bipolar or something.”

“Sounds rough.” He stops walking and turns to face me, his eyes searching my face.

“It’s weird how someone can be your mom one day and the next she’s just”—I scan the beach, trying to find the words—“someone else, you know? Someone you barely recognize.”

“Do you still see her?”

“Not really.” I start walking again, my bare feet making tracks in the sand.

“I’m not close to my dad,” he says, keeping pace with me. “I barely know him. I don’t think he wanted kids.”

I look at him, a little startled by this confession. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Sure. Sometimes.” He puts his hands in his pockets and stares at the horizon. “I’ve got Mom and Attila and Gran, though. I’ve got my music. It’s not like I
need
him.”

“But it would be nice, right?” I say, not sure if I’m talking about him or me. “To have both parents, I mean. To be a family.”

He smiles sadly. “Sure. But we don’t get to choose that stuff. We just make do with what we get.”

Later, as the sun starts to set, he turns to me, his eyes burning with determination. His face is glazed in tangerine light, the sharp angles of his cheekbones even more pronounced than usual. A photographer who lived at Luna Cove one winter told me this time of day was best for photos. She said it bathed everyone in “Italian light.” I can’t help thinking Jack looks like a prince from a fairy tale right now, with his serious expression and his hair tossing gently in the breeze. I can feel gooseflesh prickling along my arms, and not just from the cool ocean air.

He hasn’t kissed me since that night at Pinot Noir. We’ve been too busy talking, I guess, exploring each other’s secrets. And okay, a few times I’ve been tempted. Sometimes when we’re sitting side by side in the sand, a companionable silence nestled between us, I’ve wondered what he’d do if I just reached out and pulled him to me. I guess I haven’t because I’m scared that introducing all the physical stuff might interfere with the friendship growing between us. Right now hanging out feels so natural—easier and more satisfying than my days with Cody ever did. If we start adding kisses to that equation, can we still be together with this effortless grace, or will things get all messy and confusing? I suspect it might be worth the risk, though, if that one kiss was any indication.

Right now, I can see by the set of his jaw he’s going to throw caution to the wind. He rests his hands on my shoulders; the warm pressure of his fingers through my sweater feels so good I find myself edging closer, turning my face toward his. Just as he starts leaning into me, though, a rogue wave slams up the beach, soaking our pant legs and sending us scrambling for dry land. We’re shivering with cold as we head toward the warm, dry Rolls.

Stupid wave.

It’s dark when Attila and Jack drop me off at home. My pant legs are still a little damp from our romantic-moment-turned-near-death-experience. I’m eager for a sauna and a hot shower. I walk to my yurt, smiling a private, dreamy smile. I don’t even notice there’s someone sitting on my porch in the twilight until his voice makes me freeze.

“Hey, Dakota.”

My head jerks up, startled. There’s Cody, getting to his feet, his face frozen in a nervous smile.

Be nervous,
I think.
Be very nervous, you dick.

Cody’s cute in a nerdy way. He’s not tall and brooding like Jack or all slick and coiffed like Miles; he’s more the skinny, funny, super intelligent art-boy you feel sorry for and find adorable at the same time. He’s got self-deprecating sweetness dialed; it’s practically an Olympic sport for him. I guess that’s why seeing him for the first time since Christmas, I feel both angry and not angry. I can’t decide whether to slap him or invite him in for a cup of chai.

Totally confusing.

“I didn’t expect a warm welcome.” He peeks out from under his lashes. “But maybe you could say
something.
”

“What are you doing here?” I finally manage.

“Um, well, I finished with my finals a little early, and I really miss you. I haven’t heard from you, so I figured my best shot at getting you back was to come here immediately and grovel.” He shrugs. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Cody…” I sigh. “You can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what?”

“You can’t show up here out of the blue and expect me to act like everything’s okay.”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I fully expect you to beat me within an inch of my life before you even consider taking me back.”

“It’s not funny.” I force myself to sound stern. “You really hurt me.”

He looks at his shoes. “I know.”

“Plus you totally messed with my college plans—you understand that, right? I got my acceptance to RISD the same day River emailed me about…” I trail off, unsure of what to call the thing they did. She made it sound like they were in a
relationship
, whereas he made it sound like a random hookup. Did one of them lie, or did they just have very different ideas about what it all meant?

“Wow! You got in.” Cody completely bypasses the point of my little tirade and focuses on the good news. “I knew you would. Obviously. I mean I got in, and you’re way more talented than I am.”

I scowl at him. “I probably won’t go because of this.”

“No!” He grabs his head, like this news causes him physical pain. “Don’t say that! You’re being ridiculous. You’re not going to let a stupid, random kiss ruin your future, are you?”

“River made it sound like you guys were
destined
to be together!” My voice rises in frustration. “I don’t want to be around that.”

He looks up at the sky. “It meant nothing, Dakota.”

“Then why did you do it?” I grind out through clenched teeth.

He gives a helpless little one-shoulder shrug. “I don’t know. I was drunk, I was lonely, I was stupid. If I could undo it, I swear I would.”

“Except you can’t.” I reach for the doorknob.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off, irritated. How dare he touch me? I can’t help but notice how invasive his touch feels right now, unwelcome. An hour ago Jack’s hand on my shoulder felt like a balm, like the thing I craved more than anything.

“Let me come back tomorrow,” Cody says in a meek voice.

“No.” A new thought occurs to me, and I feel like someone’s plunged a knife into my stomach. As much as I want to end this conversation, I have to ask. “Is River home, too?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”

Relief washes over me. I never would have thought I’d be so happy
not
to see my best friend. That’s just sad. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like seeing her again.

“It’s not just us you messed with,” I say, tears stinging at my eyes. “My friendship with her is probably screwed up forever.”

His eyes glisten with tears, too, but I don’t care. I want him to hurt.

“I know I screwed up,” he breathes. “Believe me. I know.”

“Then stop trying to make me forgive you.”

He holds up both hands. “Understood. You need space. But I’m not giving up.”

“Go home, Cody.” I feel very tired suddenly.

“For now. Good night.” Then he steps down off the porch and heads toward his car, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Watching him go, I can’t help thinking that in just a few days I’ve told Jack more about what really matters to me than I ever told Cody. Cody and I come from the same world—hippie parents, tofu since birth, secondhand clothes, all that. Jack and I couldn’t be more different in our backgrounds, yet we seem to connect on a level Cody and I never even approached. I used to think Cody and I were close, but now I see we were just comfortable. He didn’t challenge me or draw secrets from my depths. He didn’t make my heart race with a sideways glance.

Because he isn’t Jack.