The Boy Next Door (14 page)

“You allowed to ride on this?” he asked.

Jason nodded, although the hesitation was clear on his face. “Yeah, I just need some help getting on.”

I knew right away that wasn’t going to work. “Where’s your parents?” the conductor asked.

Jason’s face turned white and I spoke up, “It’s okay. He’s with me.”

The conductor looked me up and down, then turned back to Jason. “I’m going to need to get permission from your parents before you can ride.”

“That’s bullshit!” I cried. “You’re letting lots of kids younger than he is ride without their parents’ permission.”

“Look, miss,” the guy said. “Our insurance doesn’t cover this. So if you want to ride yourself, go ahead. Otherwise, please step aside.”

I heard a voice from within the line yell out: “You can ride with me, baby!” My face burned and I was ready to start giving the conductor and everybody on line a piece of my mind, but I could see Jason shaking his head. “Let’s just go, Tasha,” he said. “It’s not worth it. Let’s get corndogs.”

I realized that my getting pissed off was just going to end up making a huge scene, which was the last thing that Jason wanted. So instead of riding the roller coaster, we ended up going to get corndogs, just like we promised our parents we would. Jason ate two of them and I just ate a half because even at age thirteen, I was watching my weight.

“Sorry, Jason,” I said. “I feel like I dragged you all the way over to that ride and then we didn’t end up getting on.”

“Well, you
 
did
 
drag me all the way over to that ride,” he said. “But that’s okay. I mean, it’s just a ride. Who cares?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Roller coasters suck anyway. I hate them.” That wasn’t really true, but I felt like I should say it, considering Jason had never experienced one and probably wouldn’t for a long time, if ever. “But if you really want, when we turn eighteen, we can go to Great Adventure or something and just go nuts.” (We actually did end up doing this the summer after high school ended. We went to a smaller amusement park and rode a couple of roller coasters and some other rides. It was a blast.)

Jason smiled at me and reached across the table at the snack bar to give my hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Tasha,” he said.

I remember at that moment, thinking how glad I was that Jason was my best friend. And at the time, I assumed he was thinking the exact same thing. Except little did I know, he was probably just thinking about what I looked like naked or something.

***

I had no idea how much I talked to Jason in the course of a day until we stopped speaking to each other. It felt like there were at least a dozen times when I reached for my cell phone to text him, then I remembered and put it down. On his part, he didn’t text me either. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone a whole week without talking to him at all.

I was beginning to wonder how long our mutual silence was going to last when Larry said he invited Jason out to dinner with us. “You did?” I asked, trying not to let on that I was actually really pleased.

“Well, yeah,” Larry said. “He’s seemed really down lately, what with breaking up with Melissa and all. He’s such a nice guy and I hate to see him seem so depressed. I’ll bet you could cheer him up.”

Yeah, I’ll bet I could.

We meet at a restaurant after work. Larry and Jason go together after work and are already seated at a table when I arrive. I’m not sure why, but somehow my eyes are drawn to Jason when I walk in. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks now and sometimes I forget how good looking he is. I mean, if he weren’t in a wheelchair, he’d have absolutely no trouble meeting women. He’s wearing one of his green ties and it makes his eyes seem really green, and it looks like he got a haircut since I last saw him. He smiles at Larry and his eyes crinkle adorably. He looks . . . hot. Not devastatingly, dangerously sexy like Hugh Jackman or something, but he’s very “boy next door” kind of hot. Well, objectively speaking, at least.

“Tasha, hi,” Larry says when I come in. He stands up and gives me a chaste peck on the lips. Larry isn’t ugly or anything, but he’s definitely not what anyone would call sexy. “You look great.”

Jason doesn’t stand up, obviously, but he gives me one of his half smiles. “Hey, there,” he says.

“Hi,” I say, my voice catching a bit in my throat.

As I slide into my seat, Larry conveniently excuses himself to use the restroom, leaving Jason and me alone. I was feeling angry at him last week, but I don’t feel that way now. I’m just incredibly glad to see him again. “I’m sorry I was a bitch last week,” I say.

Jason grins. “You were, weren’t you?”

I feel my shoulders relax. “Look,” I say. “I know you were kind of drunk and you were upset about Melissa, and I know you didn’t mean what you said.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What I said?”

“You know, about . . .” I blush. “Being in love with me.”

“Oh.” Jason leans back in his wheelchair and stares at me. In that position, I can slightly see his gut through his expensive shirt and somehow it makes him seem kind of vulnerable. He grabs his beer off the table and takes a swig. “No, I meant that.”

He’s not drunk and he’s entirely serious. I know him long enough to know the difference. “Jason . . .”

He blinks his green eyes. “What?”

I have always loved Jason’s eyes. They’re so earnest and vividly green—although he’s cute overall, his eyes are his best feature. As I look into his eyes, I feel my heart speed up a notch. His face is close to mine—too close. If he leaned in to kiss me, I don’t think I could react fast enough to stop him. I’m not even sure if I’d want to stop him.

Except, of course I’d stop him. What am I thinking?

I clear my throat. “I think you’re depressed,” I say, pulling my face away from kissing distance. “I don’t think you really mean any of this.”

“Yeah, I’m a little depressed,” he says. “I mean, the woman I’ve been in love with most of my life wants to marry a guy who’s going to make her miserable. I think I have a right.”

“A right to what?”

I jump as I notice Larry has re-emerged from the bathroom. He’s wiping his hands on his slacks, which is a habit that annoys me a lot, but I know it’s dumb so I never say anything. I mean, what are paper towels or hand dryers for?

“A right to . . .” A right to what? I look at Jason, who doesn’t seem like he’s going to help me out. “A right to . . . be part of the wedding.”

“Oh!” Larry’s face lights up. “Well, actually, I don’t know if Tasha mentioned it to you, Jason, but I was hoping you’d be my best man.”

Jason spits out the mouthful of beer he’d been drinking. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. I’m a little amused to see him lose his composure like that.

“Uh, what?”

“It would mean a lot to us,” Larry says. “It’s because of you that Tasha and I met.”

“Right, well . . .” Jason mumbles. “I’m really flattered but . . . don’t you have any closer friends who you should ask?”

“To be honest, not really,” Larry says. “You’re my closest friend at work, Jason. And I know you’re one of Tasha’s closest friends, but you can’t be in the bridal party, so . . .”

I smile, knowing that I’ve got Jason in a corner now. If he’s the best man, he can’t try to break up Larry and me. Ha.

“Um,” Jason says. “You have a brother, don’t you?”

“Mark and I aren’t close,” Larry says. “Really, I feel much closer to you.”

I can see Jason searching for some kind of excuse, but he knows he’s stuck. “In that case,” he says, “yeah, sure, I’d love to.”

“Wonderful!” Larry beams.

As Larry takes another swig of his drink, I just barely hear Jason whisper in my ear: “Don’t think you’re off the hook.”

True to his word, Jason calls me the next night and I can tell he has an agenda. It’s been noticeable that he hasn’t called me in several days because of our fight, and despite the fact that I know he’s going to bother me, I’m glad to hear the sound of his familiar voice. But I won’t admit that to him.

“I wish Larry were more of an asshole,” Jason says. “That would make it easier. Why does he have to be such a nice guy?”

“Kind of makes you feel bad, doesn’t it?” I retort. “Doing something so shitty to such a nice guy.”

“In a way,” Jason says thoughtfully. “But really, it’s for his own good too. I don’t want Larry to be miserable any more than I want you to be miserable.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But you’re not . . . interested in Larry.” I still feel my cheeks turn pink when I say the words.

“Look,” he says. “Larry likes the idea of you, but he barely knows you. You guys have been together for six months. That’s not long enough to know another person.”

“So what’s long enough? Twenty-five years?”

“Well, you have to admit,” he says, “nobody knows you better than me.”

“Oh, please.”

“It’s true. I know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I say, playing along. “If you know everything about me, then how old was I when I got my first period, smartass?” I figure if you want to turn a guy off, the best thing to do is to talk about your period.

“Oh God,” Jason says. “You were twelve. I know because I overheard your mother telling my mother about it in excruciating detail that I really didn’t need or want to know.”

“Fine,” I grumble, because he’s right. “So what’s my bra size? Larry knows that one.”

“So do I,” he says. “You’re 34C. That’s what you get for making me help you with laundry.”

Okay, yes, there were a few times when I had an overwhelming quantity of laundry and Jason had nothing to do, so I convinced him to come over and help me out. That’s not too weird, is it? I guess I never thought about the fact that he was touching my bras and panties. I always felt like Jason and I had this platonic relationship, but now when I think of how I made him fold up my silky red thongs . . . oh Christ. I encouraged his crush, didn’t I?

Just to be fair, I’ve helped Jason with his laundry too. He has a washer and dryer in his apartment, and I’ve helped him hang up some of his shirts on laundry day. For some reason, I think of the feel of the fabric of Jason’s large button-up work shirt in his hand, with the scent of his detergent mingled with the faint smell of his aftershave. Jason’s been wearing the same brand of aftershave ever since I can remember, and there’s something kind of comforting about that smell. There’s something comforting about Jason in general.

“Name my five biggest celebrity crushes,” I say.

Jason laughs. “Seriously?”

“If you know me so well, then it should be easy.”

“Sadly, it is,” he says. “You’re not exactly subtle.” He thinks for a second. “Obviously, John Cusack, first and foremost, although God knows why. You love John Travolta, especially in
Grease
, and in
Welcome Back, Kotter
, even though you won’t admit you like that show. You also like that weird, blond elf guy from
Lord of the Rings
, which is why you dragged me to that three-hour movie like five times.”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “You know you loved that movie, you nerd.”

“Whatever,” he says. “It’s nine hours of looking for a ring. You really think I liked it? Anyway, so that’s three.” He thinks for a minute. “Oh, I know, you like that gay cowboy.”

“Jake Gyllenhaal is
 
not
 
a gay cowboy! It was a movie.”

“Okay, sure,” he says. “So that’s four. Oh, I know. You’re always talking about how you wish your boyfriend were more like Jim from
The Office
. So I’m pretty sure you like him too. So there, that’s five.”

I huff at him. “First of all, John Travolta has gotten old and fat. Second, the elf’s name is Orlando Bloom, and he’s universally regarded as sexy. And third, I don’t like Jim from
The Office
anymore since he changed his hair. I like Puck from
Glee
.”

“I still think I did pretty good,” Jason says. “I’m sure Larry couldn’t even come up with one.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But I’ll tell you this: he’s seen me naked and you haven’t.”

There’s a long pause on the other line. In a panic, I run through all the times Jason and I have been drunk together and try to remember if I ever started stripping. I’m pretty sure I didn’t. But not absolutely positive. Did I ever take off my clothes in front of Jason? I haven’t. I know it. . . .

“You’ve seen me naked?” I ask, a sick feeling in my stomach.

“Well,” he says slowly. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this . . .”

“Oh my God, tell me!”

He lowers his voice. “See, the thing is, back home, your bedroom window was actually visible from mine and . . .”

“Jason, no!” I’m furious. Was he seriously peeping on me throughout our teenage years? I never would have thought he’d do something like that. “You didn’t!”

“Quit being such a prude,” he says. “It’s not like I got binoculars or something. But, yeah, I mean, I was a teenager with absolutely no prospects for meeting a girl, and the girl of my dreams was doing a little naked dance outside my window. Do you really blame me for looking?”