The Cutting Room Floor (20 page)

The back door opens and we both jump.

“Hi, honey,” my mom calls out.

Perfect.

Bernie runs past us and up the stairs, without a word.

“Bernie’s not feeling so hot,” Mom says when she swings around the corner. “Oh, hi, Riley.” She comes over and gives us both a kiss on the head. “Date night cut short.”

“That’s too bad,” Riley says, slowly sliding her legs off my lap.

“What about you two?” Mom asks. “I thought you’d be celebrating with the gang.”

“The gang?” Sometimes I don’t know where she comes up with this stuff.

Riley elbows me in the ribs. “We did for a while, but then I wimped out,” she says. “I’m so tired I can barely talk.”

“Let me get out of your way and you two can just relax.”

Finally.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Actually, that’s okay.” Riley stands up. “I’m on my way out.” She starts to gather her things.

“Rye, don’t go,” I almost beg.

“I have to get some rest, Dez.” She smiles and then moves in close. “Can we try again tomorrow?”

I nod, trying to hide the disappointment. “How about some Thai food and movies tomorrow night?”

“Deal.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

RILEY

I take a bath when I get home. My head is spinning and I want everything to slow down. To stop. The water in the tub is extra hot and the lavender bath salts dissolve into steam. I breathe in the sweet smell and slowly sink into the scorching water. First my feet, then my calves, just a little at a time until I get used to it. Once I do, I sit and submerge the rest of my body. I prop my head on Mom’s bath pillow and drape a warm washcloth across my face.

I try to clear my head but despite my best efforts, Dez is here with me.

I feel his lips on mine. Strong but somehow still soft.

I’ve kissed boys before—in plays and our films. And Reed. A quick peck here; an over-dramatic lip lock there. But the way Dez kissed me tonight was completely different. My mind was racing and I wasn’t in the moment. It was like I was outside myself watching from above. Analyzing each touch, each movement. Rating it. Comparing it.

It’s not like it wasn’t nice, because it was. Dez is so strong and handsome. And, he wants me in
that
way. It’s so foreign. Exciting, even. Maybe. I’m not sure.

I keep running the scene over and over in my mind, trying to decide if I liked it—kinda like I do with the green tea ice cream at Happy Garden. I always order it and then spend my time testing it, trying to identify the different flavors. Questioning, analyzing. Never really enjoying or savoring it. Yet, I always come back to it. Look forward to it. Kissing Dez was a little like that, and I look forward to more—I’m not sure why.

I ponder and stew and ruminate. I come up with nothing.

Still, the bath does the trick.

I dry off, slip into my fleece PJs, and slide into bed.

I sleep.

Late.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Mom wakes me. She sits on the edge of my bed, her short hair wisps around the happiest of eyes. “How’s my star this morn—afternoon?”

“Tired.” I yawn. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“Yeah, you looked beat at the party last night. That’s why I let you sleep in.”

“Thanks.”

Mom kisses me. “You were so wonderful last night, honey.”

I smile.

“Well, let’s get some fuel in you. I made a huge brunch. I invited Dez, Trudy, and Bernie too. They should be here in fifteen.”

“’Kay, I’ll get dressed.” My stomach tightens at
his
name.

Normally, I wouldn’t even change out of my PJs for Dez. Now it seems different and I’m not sure I like it.

I pull on some leggings and a flannel and pile my hair on top of my head, holding it together with a pencil from my desk. That’s the most he’s going to get out of me.

In the kitchen, Dad’s working his magic with the waffle press. It smells like bacon and syrup and coffee. Mom slices a ham and motions me to a half-set table. I grab the cloth napkins from the buffet, the ones we use for company, and water goblets (as she calls them) and finish setting the table.

Dez talks to me with his eyes throughout the meal. Dancing glances that tell me he had fun last night. Looks that say he can’t wait until tonight. It’s nice.

Then, somewhere between draining my coffee cup and cramming another bite of waffle into my overstuffed body, it comes at me. Like a hit-and-run, and I’m overcome with pain—without any warning.

Emma.

I have a sudden and overwhelming feeling of missing her. Wanting her. Feeling alone in this room full of people. People I love, but people who make me feel uncomfortable. I want my friend, my girlfriend.

That’s when my heart and head begin a battle. Having gone through it before, my brain recognizes what it is. That regretful aftermath of a breakup. One that can drop in at any time—when you least expect it. One that will, eventually, go away. One, that even though I recognize it for what it is, still hurts like hell.

I need air.

Immediately.

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom notices right way.

Of course she does.

“I think I ate too fast. I need some air.” I get up from the table.

“Me too,” Dez says. “I’ll go with you.”

I want to tell him no, but that would seem too weird with our parents staring at us.

I nod and head to the entryway. I put on shoes and grab a sweatshirt, and we go out the side door.

Dez’s hand goes to my back. “Are you okay? Looked like you were going to get sick there for a minute.”

“I’m fine. I really did eat too much. That and my nerves are still jumping from the screening.”

“Shoot. I was hoping you were feeling a little jumpy over me, maybe even excited for tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m sure
this
”—I wave my finger between the two of us—“has something to do with it too.”

“You’re not getting cold feet or freaking out or anything are you?” Dez frowns.

“No, I’m just trying to let it soak in.”

“Well, Rye, just so you know, there’s no pressure on this end. Let’s just see what happens. Dinner tonight. No expectations, okay?”

And just like that, Dez has talked me off the cliff and put a Band-Aid on the gash left by Emma.

He makes everything better.

DEZ

It’s times like this that I wish I was more like Jonah. He actually has a purpose and makes a difference and all that feel-good shit.

He gives, and all I do is take.

Trying to kill time before my night with Riley, I decide to help Jonah with his Saturday Meals on Wheels delivery. Though Jonah insists that his parents
make
him deliver food to the elderly every weekend, it’s obvious he likes it. Since he’s eighteen now, he can do it on his own. Before that, it was a family affair.

Jonah’s been doing the Meals on Wheels gig for as long as I can remember. And then there’s me, who can’t even commit to a job I get paid for. Luckily, I’m a master at landscaping, and the cut from my summer job is easily enough to cover my expenses through the year.

I ride shotgun in Jonah’s old truck for his last five stops of the day. The smell of chicken and gravy drifts up from the back.

“So, what was going on with you and Riley last night?” Jonah asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I told you, she needed a ride home.”

“Mmm hmmm.” He sighs. “Do I look like a moron?”

I don’t answer.

“Dez, don’t be an ass,” he says with a laugh. “Seriously, what’s going on? Didn’t we already talk about this? I mean, you know she’s gay, or bi, whatever, right?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m so hot, I make gay girls go straight.”

“Yeah, right. So what’s the deal then? Is she bi?”

“She’s Riley, and she can be into whoever she wants.”

“As long as it’s you.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Angelina Jolie or Anna Paquin or Lindsay Lohan?”

They were all into girls at one time and now two of them are married. To. Men.

“Are you sure you want to bring Lindsay Lohan into your argument?”

“It’s not an argument. The point is, people change.”

“And you’re sure she has?”

“Well, I’ll find out tonight,” I say, staring out the window.

Jonah pulls up to a small brick house.

“Dude, I just don’t want to see you get whipped over a girl that you have no chance with. Especially when I know a real live
straight
girl who’s interested.”

I tune Jonah out. It’s pointless to continue with this conversation. He’ll never understand, and for once he’s looking at me like I’m the pathetic one. I don’t like it.

“Are you getting out or what?” I ask.

“Why don’t you come in for this one?” Jonah says. “Clara is really sweet and she likes to visit.”

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be a
Tuesdays with Morrie
afternoon.”

“Oh, shut up,” he says, taking out a tray of wrapped food. “Come on.”

I get out of the truck and the stench of garbage and dog shit smacks me in the face. It’s from the house across the street. The house with a bright yellow paper taped to the door, the telltale sign: housing foreclosure. From the looks of it, the people who lived there neglected to pay the garbage man as well. Bags of trash are piled around the garbage bin at the top of the driveway and dog crap covers the yard.

I pinch my nose and turn away. That’s when I notice Marcus standing outside of Emma’s house, a few doors down. I hadn’t even realized we were in her neighborhood. I hold up a hand, but Marcus doesn’t notice. He’s too busy yelling at Emma. She tries to go back into the house, but Marcus grabs her arm and jerks her forward.

“Stop!” Emma yells at him.

I watch them and know this is wrong. It’s not just a typical high-school-relationship tiff.

“Listen to me.” Marcus grabs her other arm and holds her in place.

“What the hell?” Jonah stops, noticing the fight.

I don’t really care for Emma, but I can’t let this go on. “Marcus,” I call out, starting to run toward her house. Jonah’s on my heels.

Marcus doesn’t hear me. He’s shaking Emma now. “I mean it,” he growls.

“Hey!” I yell. I go up the steps. “What’s going on?”

Marcus doesn’t take his eyes off Emma.

“Hey.” I slap his arms.

He finally notices me and turns his head. He looks dazed.

“Are you okay?” I ask Emma.

She doesn’t answer. Marcus releases her arms and she rubs them.

“Oh, hey, boss,” Marcus says. “Lovers’ quarrel.” He flips his hand in Emma’s direction. “You know how it is.”

“Not really,” I tell him. “This is not cool.”

“I’m going inside.” Emma backs in and quickly slams the door.

Marcus laughs. “It’s not how it looks.”

The click of the lock on Emma’s front door interrupts him, telling us
it’s exactly how it looks.

“Dude, I mean it.” I point to his chest. “If I ever see or hear any shit like this again, I’ll turn you in to my stepdad myself. After I kick your ass.”

“Sorry, man.” His body slumps and he walks down the steps. “It won’t happen again. I’m not sure what came over me, but I’d never do anything to hurt a girl. Never.”

He hangs his head, slowly walks across the street, and gets into his car. Then he proceeds to beat the hell out of the steering wheel.

“That dude has serious issues,” Jonah says, peering over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“He’s not all there, but I don’t think he’ll do it again. He seems pretty shaken up. Sometimes these guys just need to get a dose of their own medicine. Like the bullies on the playground. Remember them?”

“Don’t remind me.”

We start walking back to Miss Clara’s.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you back then,” Jonah says.

“What do you mean, back then?”

He punches my arm. “Come on, we’re running late.”

He knocks on the door once, and then opens it. “Miss Clara, it’s Jonah Herron from Meals on Wheels,” he calls out.

From the kitchen, a little gray-haired woman with a walker comes out. “Oh, Jonah. Come in. Come in.”

“You know, Miss Clara, you should really keep that front door locked.”

“Oh, pitter patter.” She slides her walker—with bright orange tennis balls on the ends—into the living room. “It’s daytime, Jonah, and this neighborhood is just as safe as on the day I moved in fifty years ago.”

“I doubt that,” Jonah says.