He looks over at me. “Hey!” he shouts over the music blasting in his ears. I lift my hand, gesturing him to lower his voice. He removes the plugs. “My bad.”
“It’s cool. Happy birthday, man.” I walk over, lifting my fist in front of me.
He taps a closed fist to mine. “Thanks. Tonight’s gonna be wild. I think there’s gonna be over fifty people here.”
Fifty people is a lot for our parties. We usually keep it low-key and to a maximum of thirty. “That’s cool,” I say. “You need me to pick anything up for tonight or you think we got it all covered?” I ask. I’m pretty much up, so I reach for the already brewed pot of coffee and pour myself a cup.
“Nope. We have plenty of burgers, ribs, and chicken for the grill. I think we have enough beer and liquor to last the entire summer.” He laughs, but I know he’s probably right. The entire shed is stacked with cases of beer.
“Cool.”
Still trying to catch his breath, he asks, “What are you doing up this early?”
I gulp down half the coffee. “Pfft. I wish I knew. But I was out early last night, so that may be it.”
“Ah.” He nods.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” he says, raising his hands.
“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all. What?”
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “I thought maybe you were keeping tabs on Jenna.” What is that supposed to mean? “You know, since she’s outside and all.” He nudges his head toward the door.
I look out the window above the sink and scan the outside. I don’t see anyone on the deck or the dock by the lake. Then my eyes catch movement by a large tree on the left side. She’s on the bench swing. By herself. “What does her being outside have to do with me?” I look back at Bryson, who’s slowly backing away into the living area.
“I don’t know. Go and talk to her.”
“I did. Last night. And she doesn’t seem interested. And you seem kind of pushy. What happened to not flirting with our clients?” I shrug it off as no big deal. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Well, I had a little talk with her this morning. She seemed very interested in you. She couldn’t stop asking questions.”
“Really?”
“Now who’s smiling?” he asks.
“Dick.” I look back out the window. “Maybe I can take her out a cup of coffee.”
“Nope. She doesn’t drink coffee.”
“Does she drink orange juice?” I ask, facing him again.
“How the hell should I know? I need to shower. Peace.” He flashes two fingers, turns, and then jogs up the stairs.
I don’t know why, but Jenna seems different than the girls I’ve always interacted with. Girls I’ve pursued in the past never pushed me away. They’ve always been pretty flirty, willing. Jenna is distant, shy, and keeps to herself. Sometimes, if a girl is worth it, I kind of like the chase. I’m curious to find out about her, to slowly break through her defenses, in a non-stalkerish, friendly kind of way. I’m not sure that even makes sense. But I’m damn well gonna try.
“Well, isn’t this your lucky morning.” I announce as I approach her.
She slowly crooks her neck to look up at me. “How so?” Well, at least she’s not pushing me away. Yet.
“May I?” I point at the empty space beside her. She nods. I sit down, stabbing a foot to the ground to give us more of a push on the swing. “I brought this for you.” She takes the red Solo cup filled with OJ.
“This isn’t spiked, is it?” she teases, but something tells me it’s a serious question.
“There’s only one way to find out.” She lifts the cup to the tip of her nose and takes a sniff. I laugh. “I’m joking. It’s pure orange juice with some pulp.” She flashes me a sly grin, then takes a sip. After the first taste, she downs the rest of it. “Whoa. Take it easy there, killer. You don’t want to OD on pulp.”
“Funny,” Jenna says. Then she looks back at the lake. “It’s peaceful here.” She breathes in deeply. “It feels easy.”
Easy sounds like the wrong word choice, but I encourage her to go on. “Yeah? Easy how?”
She leans back, getting comfortable on the wooden bench—the bench my brother and I built together. “Just easy. Life feels like it’s always hard. There’s never a calm way to get through it, to just breathe. Every day brings the same challenges, the same routines…the same everything. And as much as I hope the next day will be different, it’s not. It’s just the same old cycle over and over again.” She turns her head and rests her chin on her shoulder. “Sorry. Is this too much for an early morning chat over orange juice?” She giggles nervously.
“No, not at all. I sometimes feel the best mornin’ talks are had over a fresh cup of OJ.”
She laughs. “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For yesterday morning. And I’m sorry about last night—you know, the way I acted on the dock. It wasn’t right—”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. And you’re welcome. Again.” I tease.
“Again?”
“I mean…” I purse my lips, lift both arms, and shrug. “I keep saving your life: the pool, that Matthew dude, and then from the evil, perfect house. I think we’re meant to be. After all, how could you resist this body?”
“Wow. Are you always this into yourself?”
“Hmm.” I tilt my head, pretending to be in serious thought, then nod. “Pretty much.”
She nudges my arm. “At least you’re honest.”
I smile. “That I am.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, thank you for all three.”
“It does,” I say. Jenna laughs again. Then my mind drifts back to her earlier statement. “If it makes you feel any better, I do feel that way sometimes. Like you mentioned about life being a constant cycle.”
“Like you’re trapped in a nightmare, where you’re screaming for someone to wake you, but it never happens?”
I nod. It does feel like that at times.
Jenna’s expression changes to compassion. “I remember you saying something like that yesterday. After you lost your brother, right?” she says.
Yesterday, as she stood in her pajamas on the corner, I told her how after Sean’s death, I felt like I was stuck, at a standstill. Me and my big fucking mouth. It’s been two years since his death, and it still kind of fucking hurts to talk about him. But I do anyway. “Yeah. We were really close.”