“Um, Jess, I—”
“Can you believe we won’t need to IM late at night anymore because you’ll, like, be there. Right there. Right there with me and—”
His hand retreats. “Ah, Jessie…I…”
“What?” I shake my head. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have let you do this. I’m the queen of proposals and I totally just screwed this up.”
I smile at him, but the guy is going pale, like he’s just been whipped into buttermilk. “Blake, it’s okay. It’s me. We’re best friends. I mean, there’s not too much we can embarrass ourselves with, you know?” I chuckle. He tries very hard to smile, but it doesn’t come through.
I look into his eyes, searching for that excitement that was there just moments ago. I panic a little because I feel like I’m bungling his moment. But what I’m seeing in his eyes is not fear or hesitation. It’s raw pain.
“Blake, what’s the—”
“Jessie, I wanted to see you tonight to tell you I met someone.”
I suddenly can’t breathe. “You met someone?”
He nods, watching me carefully, sadly. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you in person because you are my best friend and you mean so much to me. Her name is Denise, and I think you two would really hit it off—”
“What are you talking about? I saw you!”
“What—”
“I saw you. Today. At the house. Our house! Talking to Him. Didn’t He tell you? Didn’t He?”
“What are you talking about, Jessie? What house?”
“With, with, with…our porch swing.”
Blake’s eyes are wide, searching. “Jess, I didn’t build that for me. It belongs to somebody else. I’m just doing some work for—”
Suddenly a pin-thin, gorgeous brunette approaches. I’m expecting her to ask what I want to drink, but she slides into the booth, on the other side, next to Blake, who says to her, “Um, listen, maybe you should…could you just wait for a sec to—”
I stare at both of them and then shove myself out of the booth. “I gotta go.” I bolt, and I mean in a full run, out of the restaurant. I feel like I’m going to puke. Holding my stomach, I manage to get to my car. I slam it into reverse, not even looking behind me, and peel out of the parking lot. I catch a glimpse of Blake, standing at the door of the restaurant.
I punch my hand into my dashboard and scream at the top of my lungs.
twenty-five
If I could bury myself in sand, I would. Instead, I stomp across it, kicking it as I go, punching the air. But nothing I do is taking away what just happened. I hardly got a glimpse of the woman that Blake has fallen in love with, but I got enough of one.
Brunette, for one thing. Brunette. The guy doesn’t even like brunettes…right? Otherwise, what’s wrong with me? Her hair was long and straight, layered around her face. Wide brown eyes, perfect olive skin, a grin that evokes instant jealousy.
How could I have been so stupid? “I am such an idiot!” I scream to the water. “To think Someone out there was writing me a love story! Who does that?”
“One with faith.”
I don’t even turn around. I don’t want to see Him. “Shut up! Just shut up! You are not real. You are some whacked-out figment of my whacked-out imagination that I made up because I’m whacked out.” I wipe my eyes. “Because I’m pathetic.”
“You are not.”
“I have to write imaginary guys into my life. Dance with them alone on my birthday while everyone around me can see me for what I am. A freak. A freak and never anybody’s choice.” I turn around, walking backward, and look at Him. “Never anybody’s choice but Yours. So stay away from me. I don’t want to be Your choice anymore. I want You to leave me alone.”
“Jessie, what happened with Blake…I know, it was upsetting. But you are not a freak.”
“Oh? Then what am I? No, don’t answer that. Get away from me.” I turn back around and march forward.
“I wish you could see yourself through My eyes.”
“I think that’s the problem. Go away.”
“Did you know your name means ‘God sees’?”
“No kidding. I thought it meant ‘Old Maid.’”
“I whispered your name in your mother’s ear when you were born.”
I stop and whip around to face Him. “Fantastic. Is that supposed to give me some kind of hope? God sees? No, God doesn’t see. Because if God sees, He would’ve seen a lonely and scared little girl who has lived all of her adult life alone and who just wants somebody—”
He’s got an expression on His face that I haven’t seen before. He actually looks like He wants to cry.
I point a finger at Him. “You are no more real than that boy who used to follow me around when I was nine. I can’t believe You anymore.”
“Why?” His tone is calm and self-assured, which makes me want to scream.
“Why? Do You know how much it hurts to be standing here with the one person who has the power to fix this—and everything that’s wrong in my life—but He won’t? He just keeps alluding to the idea that something is out there waiting for me, but there’s not! You, of all the great loves in my life, have led me on worse than anyone.”
God steps forward, gently, His eyes intense. “I need you to do something.”
“No,” I say. “No! I’m not doing anything for You anymore. Everything You ask me to do leads me to nothing. Writing my initials in the sand? Yeah, that was my favorite. Very mysterious. Made me believe that it was possible, that something good was possible for me. But it all leads to my heart getting ripped out.” I stare hard at Him. “Whatever You have in mind for me, I don’t want it.”
“It’s not just yourself you’d be hurting, Jessie, if you give this up. You have someone else to consider. Someone who’s been waiting for you. Just you.”
I laugh harshly. “Oh, come on. We’re still there? At the one-true-love thing? Why should I believe a word You say? Every day starts the same and ends the same. I need to just accept it, stop hoping for something more. It’s not worth all this pain.”
His eyes shimmer with tears. “Love is the one thing worth pain.”
I stand there for a moment, my heart pounding, out of breath, the hairs on my body standing at attention. I stare at Him, and for a brief moment my heart starts to soften; I want to be held by Him. The feeling flees quickly though. I make it flee. Anger returns. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and hit speed dial, never taking my eyes off Him.
“Hello?”
“Brooklyn, it’s me. Meet me at that karaoke bar. I want to see how your half lives.”
“Jess? What? Jessie—”
I snap the phone closed and walk away from Him toward my car.
For once, He doesn’t follow me.
“Woo hoo!” I pump my arm up and down and cheer the fat lady on. “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings!” I holler. Brooklyn grabs my sleeve and yanks me back onto the bar stool.
“Shut up. What are you doing?”
“Can’t a girl have—” I glance up and see the bartender. “Another one! Pour away, kind sir!”
The bartender glances at Brooklyn, then pours me another shot. I swallow it in one gulp. It burns all the way down my throat. At least I think it does. I’m not really feeling pain right now.
What I am feeling is the urge to dance. I bounce around on my bar stool. Yeah, karaoke is way cooler than hitting the dance floor with an imaginary partner.
Brooklyn doesn’t seem to be having the fun I am. “Come on,” I yell over the music. “Why aren’t you drinking? Isn’t this what you do? Drink, dance, sing? That should be a Coke commercial or something.”
“Maybe we should go home.”
“Home? Come on! We’re just getting started here.” I signal for the bartender as I talk to Brooklyn. “So, the test drive on the new guy didn’t work, huh?”
“Jessie, what is your problem?”
“Can’t a girl have some fun? I think those were your exact wo
rds a year ago at that beach party.” My cell phone vibrates a few inches across the bar. “Maybe I shouldn’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Could be God.”
Brooklyn rolls her eyes. “You are really scaring me.”
“I’m not kidding. The guy is kind of stalker-like. Very nice. Quite the gentleman. But doesn’t take hints, you know?”
Brooklyn grabs the phone and looks at the screen. “It’s Malia.”
“Terrific. It’s my never-to-be mother-in-law.” I pick up the phone and without answering it put it in front of my face. “Nobody’s there. Here, I mean.” I laugh, put the phone down, and am feeling an urge to sing. And none of that old-fart stuff either. I want to jam up there on stage, rock the house. American Idolize myself. “Woo hoo!” I hop off the bar stool and dance toward the line for karaoke. Yeah, this feels sooo right. I’m way more loser. Looser, I mean. “Lookie, Brookie!” She’s not. She’s ducking her head. Some people are so uptight.
My wait in line is a little long. I’ve struck up a convo with Denver, Susan, Charlotte, and London. Add Brooklyn, and we’ve practically got a world map. But we’re having a good time.
Charlotte is next and she sings “Sweet Home Alabama,” which Denver and I are cracking up at since she’s Charlotte. It’s a funny thing what alcohol can do. It can make imaginary friends completely disappear.
It’s almost my turn when I feel an arm grab me. Uh-oh. He’s back. Nope. It’s Malia. Thank God.
“Come on, honey.”
“But I’m next.”
“They’ll save your spot. Come on.”
Malia’s got me by the arm. I trail her, dancing all the way to a rounded booth she insists I slide into. It’s just like the one I sat in with Blake. Perrrfect.
I fumble my way in, and the next thing I know, Brooklyn’s on one side of me and Malia’s on the other. I put an arm around each of them. “Good times. Good times.”
Malia peels me off her. “Blake called and told me what happened.”
“Fantastic!”
“Jessie—”
“No, seriously. It’s fine. The humiliation is spreading like a rash, but I’ve got cream, alcohol, I mean. Maybe he can post the story on a billboard tomorrow. Better yet, tell him to drop by my blog and share.”
“Honey, I love my son. I do. But—”
“Me too. Cheers.” Except I don’t have a drink. I grab Brooklyn’s and sip it. “Water? You are such a drag.”
“Jessie, listen to me. I know what Blake did was kind of stupid. He didn’t think through how to tell you, and he doesn’t really know what a hard time you’re going through. It was just bad timing and…” Malia takes my hand. “You’re a treasure. You really are, sweetheart—”
“Oh yeah. Treasure. Gotta dig so deep, it’s hard to find. Jack Sparrow, call me!”
Over the speakers, my name is called. “Jessie Wessie, you’re up!”
“Saaweeeet!”
“Jessie Wessie?” Brooklyn says. “She is soooo drunk.”
But I’m gone, slipping underneath the table, across the floor, and up on stage. Singing my new favorite song. The only song that makes sense to me right now: “Don’t Want to Know You.”
“You seemed the kind of person
I’d really like to know
But now I’m not entirely sure
That’s where I want to go
The hurt that you unleashed on me
It cuts me like a knife
And now my broken heart cries out
Why won’t you save my life?”
The crowd is feeling it. Several of my new buddies are clapping loudly for me. I’m not actually singing to the ceiling. But they don’t know that. But maybe He’s not even listening.
“So I ain’t listening anymore
You can walk straight through that door
I’m tired and mad to the core
And I don’t want to know you”
Hey! Alcohol also cures tone deafness. I think.
And then I see Him. He’s at the door, watching me. I didn’t see Him come in. I sing to Him. He loves to hear me sing, right?
“I’ve gotta dig down deep within
If I’m to take this stance
I’ll bottom line it for you, dude
I’m over this whole dance”
Whew! I hop right off the stage like I’m Kenny Chesney or something, swinging my hips. Lots of claps for that one. I tip my mike to the crowd. They are loving it!
God isn’t. His face drops at the sight of me. That’s a first.
“I’ll take this lonely road
Because I know it to be true
Your chance has come and gone
And I don’t want to know you
I don’t want to know you
I don’t want to know you”
Before I get another stanza out, He starts to leave.
Oh well. “Bye! Buh-bye. See ya later. Bye-eeee.”
He’s gone.
Somebody’s got my elbow. I twirl around, hoping it’s a hot guy with an empty lap.
Nope. Malia. Again.
“Jessie, you know I love you, which is why you have to stop this.” Malia takes my mike and hands it off.
“Awww, come on, Malia. I was just getting snarted.”
“Started doesn’t have an n unless you’ve been doing shots.” Her tone is harsh, a little motherly-like. “Now come on. Let’s get you some fresh air.” Malia guides me outside.
Brooklyn is right behind me, shaking her head. “Dude, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Brook, shush,” Malia says.
“What? I’m just saying, I didn’t think—”
“Okay, we get your point. She’s having a rough night, aren’t you, honey?” Malia says, rubbing my arm. We’re standing near the wall of the club, a few feet away from the entrance.
“Look, I know I’m wasted, but I swear the buzz is making everything come into focus. I’m getting it, all right? Really, this time. You guys don’t even have to tell me. I already know. I’m like Sixth Sense crazy. Seeing people where they aren’t. Talking to people who aren’t—uh-oh.”
I have the clarity of mind to vomit in the other direction.
“Whoa. Sorry. That came up fast.”
Brooklyn is making a face. “Jess, good grief. If you can’t hold it down, don’t drink it!”
I wipe my mouth and lean against the brick. “The guy at the door, He took my purple pen. I’m not kidding.”
“What is she talking about?” Brooklyn whispers to Malia.
“I can hear you. I’m only tone deaf. I’m talking about my pen! My pen with the feather. You know the one. No matter. By now it’s probably back in my bedroom. ’Cause He doesn’t need it, see? It’s over. I’m cutting Him off. Zip. Goner. Not that I won’t miss Him, mind you.”
Malia stops me. “Wait. You said the guy at the door?”
“That’s what I said. Mr. Invisible.”
“You mean the one you were singing to so rudely that he bolted?” Brooklyn asked.
“Yeppers. And it’s a real shame you can’t see Him, either, because honestly, He’s cute. But only I can see Him. Well, except ministers. The minister at the chapel saw Him, but that’s because he’s very spiritual. Don’t ask me why I can see Him and you can’t. I ain’t spiritual.”
“You never say ‘ain’t,’” Brooklyn says.
Malia holds out a hand. “Wait. Jess, we did see him.”
The sidewalk is spinning but I manage to focus. “What?”
“We saw him.”
Brooklyn nods. “Yeah. He was there, standing at the door, watching you make a fool of yourself.”
Malia takes my shoulders. “I’m the one who called and told him to come here.”
I steady myself against the brick wall and blink. “God has a phone number?”
“Jessie, that’s not God! It’s Jonathan. The guy I’ve been telling you about? The one I’ve been wanting to introduce you to?”
“The computer geek?”
“Jonathan, yes.”
“He’s not a geek.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Jonathan.”
A memory flashes through my swimming mind. I’m at the gift shop. There is a pregnant woman. “We consider this little guy to be a gift of God. That’s what Jonathan means.”’
“Gift of God,” I whisper.
“I don’t get this,” Malia says, folding her arms. “Don’t you already know him? I told him to go see you at your condo the other night, after you ended it with Clay. He said you invited him in and you were cooking his favorite meal, teriyaki chicken or something like that.”
Since when do You ring doorbells?
“Yeah,” Brooklyn says. “I remember hearing a guy’s voice.”
“He thought that was cool,” Malia continues, “except then you left him to eat by himself. He didn’t quite know how to interpret that, but he thought he’d give you some room. He knew you were going through a hard time.”
The sidewalk is steady, but now my mind is spinning.
“What is going on?” I ask.
“What is going on is that I met Jonathan through work. He owns Fine Computer Techs. Ever since I met him I felt like you two would hit it off. And tonight, well, after everything that happened with Blake, I called him and asked him if he would come. I thought it might encourage you to see this guy who’s been wanting to get to know you. And, I should add, being very patient about it too.”
“But, I—”
“I mean, the guy even sent you a singing telegram with balloons and a tape recorder. How creative was that?”
“I thought—I’m so—I gotta find somebody!”
I take off north. Brooklyn and Malia are right behind me.
“Where are you going?” Brooklyn asks.
“Five blocks this way.”
“Shouldn’t we stop her?” Brooklyn is asking Malia. “I mean, what if she does something stupid?”
“I think we’ve already passed that point,” Malia replies.
“I can hear you!” I say, marching forward. Well, maybe weaving. But I have to say, the buzz is wearing off fast.