Page 9 of Shaped to Be Yours
“Thanks.”
“I only offered because you won’t need the truck most days,” Sandy said, “since you’ll be coming into work with me. Remember?”
I caught Jason’s sneer as she walked ahead of him into the house. “Right. Great. Fun!” he answered with zero enthusiasm.
“I got you that job because you asked—”
“I know. Sorry, Mom. I’m being a moody prick. I just hate this limbo feeling. I am super excited for you though, Ricky.” He took my bag from me, as we entered the mudroom, making it easier for me to take off my shoes. He’d been doing a lot of thoughtful gestures like that since we started dating, as if he was worried not being on his best behavior would make me stop liking him. He kept forgetting that I’d been friends for years with the version who was rarely on any best behavior.
I still thought the note he’d given me was adorable.
Sure, Jason spoke his mind, sometimes to the point of embarrassment, but that just meant he was honest. The only thing he’d ever not been honest with me about was that he liked me. And being a monster, but he’d kept that from everyone.
He could be a little inept with social cues, but then he’d turn around and be weirdly insightful. He could always tell when I wasn’t having a good time at a party. And he’d do something about it, ask where I wanted to go, rather than staying, even if he was having a blast. He was really sweet when he didn’t get in his own way.
I took my bag back from him and grabbed his bag too. “I’ll put our things in our rooms. I owe my mom a call. You know how she worries. And you two could use some alone time.”
“But you don’t know where our rooms are,” Jason protested.
I’d never been to Jason’s house before, but it wasn’t so sprawling that I could get lost. It was bigger on the inside than how the front made it look, but still homey, cozy, with minimalist Midwestern charm, like the crocheted throw pillows on the sofa. They didn’t need much space when it was only Jason and his mom. But then, my home was only a little bigger than this and had housed four kids. My sisters had shared a room until my brother moved out.
The house smelled like cinnamon, and I saw a sheet of snickerdoodles on the stove that Sandy must have taken out of the oven right before she picked us up.
“I will definitely be back for one of those,” I said. “Or five.”
Sandy chuckled. “Down the stairs.” She pointed to a door halfway between the kitchen and dining room. “Take a right for Jason’s room. Yours is to the left. Thank you, dear. I’ll make us some coffee to go with those cookies.”
“You’re the best, Mrs. B,” I said, and maybe because I’d shortened it, she didn’t correct me.
“Mom, this orchid looks terrible!” Jason exclaimed about the pale pink flower in the kitchen window. “How is it this wilted? This is the easiest plant to care for.”
“I’ve been doing that whole ice cube thing you told me about. Plants just don’t like me. But they always perk up when you're home.” She pecked his cheek.
“That is not an excuse to neglect them.”
“I don't! Now tell me more about that last chat you had at the base.”
I smiled at Jason before heading down the stairs. They did need to talk. She was his mom. I told mine everything, but I also couldn’t imagine only havinghermy whole life, with no dad or siblings or grandparents living close. Alone time was rare in my house, and I’d loved it that way.
I kind of wanted to poke around in Jason’s room once I got down there, but I could wait until he gave me a tour. At first glance, the room didn’t have a window. Then I noticed a door to the outside that must go right under their deck. The room was small but tidy in varying shades of blue. Nothing stood out to me as weird or surprising, because Jason had always been honest with me about his interests, and sometimes only with me.
Like his favorite records. Above his record player was a neon sign that said: “Now Playing,” with a holder for the sleeve of whatever record was being spun. Handwritten by Shawn Mendes was there now, my gift to him for his 21stbirthday. He’d confessed his secret love of Mendes a few months prior and hid the record from the rest of our friends when I gave it to him.
“Dude, this is solame,” he’d said. “I love it.”
Apparently, Jason’s dad had bought the player at a garage sale long before the recent vinyl craze started in the mid-2000s. Jason still had all of his dad’s records, an eclectic collection from Mariah Carey to David Bowie to Slipknot.
There were a few posters on the walls of various musicians, some sports teams and athletes, but my favorite thing, besides having my record on display, was that on Jason’s dresser were four framed photos. One of Jason and his mom from high school graduation. A selfie from when he was maybe fifteen, with some national park in the background like Yellowstone. One of Jason with me from New Year’s, not this past year’s but the one before. Our arms were thrown over each other’s shoulders, and we were wearing stupid glittery hats with streamers and tinsel all over us.
I couldn’t remember if I’d seen that photo before and wondered if he’d kept it just for himself. Because while I was laughing and had my eyes closed, Jason was looking at me like…
Like he wanted to kiss me.
How had I not realized he had a crush on me for so long?
The last photo was the oldest. It showed an only several months’ old Jason, barely able to walk, and his dad was guiding him from behind, holding his hands. Bo Bosco looked so much like Jason. In the picture, he wouldn’t have been much older than Jason was now. He had a little blond scruff on his cheeks, where Jason was smooth, but otherwise, they could have been twins.
So much for not poking around in Jason’s room. I ducked out before I actually started rifling through things and went into mine. This second basement room was so much more obviously a guest room. Just as tidy, but more neutral, with a striped, earth tones comforter.
