Waking Up to Love (12 page)

“Fingers crossed!” Ramona added.

Debra seemed satisfied with the answer.

“I'm sure you blew them away,” Scott said, laying it on thick and sweet.

“I sure hope so,” Ramona said. “I'm really good at … spritzing people.” She was babbling again. To his credit, Scott didn't laugh at her awkwardness. Well, he might have chuckled under his breath.

“I'm sure you are, dear,” Debra said.

Jeffrey chewed loudly.

“Not everyone figures out in first grade where they want to work,” Ramona said. And it was true. Scott had stood up in the middle of Miss Holmes's first grade class and declared that he wanted to be a forest ranger. And while his current job traded the forest for the desert, it was basically the same position. He was lucky.

Scott smiled at Ramona. “I guess I've always known what I wanted.”

Ramona flushed at his choice of words. He chose Nessa. He had made the wrong choice. And now she was going to prove to him how wrong that was.

“You certainly have,” she said, and kissed him flat on the mouth.

He clearly hadn't been expecting that. Thankfully, he wasn't in the middle of chewing anything, or else that would've been pretty messy. He didn't pull away.

After a few seconds of interlocking lips, she pulled away first.

“Ah, you two,” Debra said.

Jeffrey ate his potatoes and pretended not to notice. Sometimes, he could be pretty mature for his age.

“Scott always knows the right thing to say,” Ramona said. She smiled at him.

“I'll be right back,” Debra announced. “I think the gravy is hot enough.” She quickly walked into the kitchen.

When the door swung shut, Scott turned toward Ramona. His mouth was flat—neither a smile nor a frown—but his eyes were wide open. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

Ramona ate another giant forkful of mashed potatoes. “Eating mashed potatoes,” she said. “And they're delicious.”

He ignored her joke. “That was … surprising,” he said.

“Just playing the part,” she said. “It's what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah … I, um …”

Ramona knew she'd caught him completely off guard. Well, not completely. He did kiss back.

Jeffrey looked at them in confusion. “Should I leave the room?” he asked.

“Stay right there,” Scott said.

Jeffrey shrugged. He popped another Brussels sprout into his mouth. “'Kay.”

Before Ramona could say anything else, Debra returned with another steaming bowl of potatoes. “Just what the doctor ordered,” she announced.

“Great!” Ramona said. “Your mashed potatoes are my absolute favorite.” She shoveled a helping and a half onto her plate. Its buttery scent filled her nostrils.

“That's strange,” Debra said.

Uh-oh. “What is?” Ramona asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Debra said. She silently scooped some more mashed potatoes onto Jeffrey's plate.

“What's wrong, Mom?” Scott asked.

“Oh, it's just … strange. Growing up, you never ate my mashed potatoes. You always said that you hated the chunks of potato skin that I left inside. Your sister Ramona was always the potato fan. She couldn't get enough of them.”

Ramona could've kicked herself. Since she'd started pretending to be Nessa, she thought she had all her bases covered: sit with her legs crossed, laugh in a higher voice, never crack her knuckles. She thought she had everything under control. But she completely forgot about food. Nessa had polar-opposite eating preferences—vanilla instead of chocolate, beef instead of chicken—and Ramona should've remembered that. Now, most of her plate was covered in a food that Nessa would've dubbed “whitish garden vomit stuff.”

She was caught in a lie and now had to crawl her way out of it. She looked to Scott for help, but he was still caught off-guard from the kiss. Then she looked at Jeffrey, as if a seven-year-old could swoop in to rescue her.

No, if Ramona Scapizi was going to get out of this one, she would have to think fast. Unfortunately, her mind was blank. The gears weren't spinning. They had ground to a halt. And all that was left inside her skull was a dull throb and the words “Holy crap holy crap holy crap” repeating over and over.

“Um,” she said. “It's just …” She took another bite, trying to stall the conversation.

“She's learned to love them,” Scott said. “I cook them sometimes—your recipe—and she always compliments me. I think it's probably because they're one of the only things that I can cook and she doesn't want to hurt my feelings. Isn't that right, babe?”

“Right,” Ramona mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. Relief washed over her. Scott McInney, saving people left and right.

“So I guess she's learned to love them,” he said, glancing at Ramona as he said it. There was more to that statement than just potatoes. He was feeling her out, trying to figure out how much that kiss really meant to both of them.

“I guess she has,” Debra said.

“And I don't remember Ramona liking them so much,” he added. “I must've forgotten that about her.”

“Yeah, I don't remember that, either,” the real Ramona said.

“Well,” Debra said, “as long as someone enjoys my cooking.”

“I like potatoes, too!” Jeffrey shouted. And just like that, the conversation took a sharp right turn into all of the grandkid's favorite foods, which included most types of bubble gum, leftover meatloaf, and anything banana-flavored.

Ramona was in the clear.

While Jeffrey babbled on about how school lunches were disgusting unless chicken nuggets were involved, Ramona turned toward Scott. She didn't dare say “Thank you,” but she mouthed out the words when no one else was looking.

He shrugged, and mouthed something back at her. She didn't understand him, so he repeated himself in a whisper, “No. Thank you.”

• • •

After dinner, Debra insisted on cleanup duty. Ramona and Scott both argued with her, but she was insistent: “It'll keep my mind sharp,” she said.

Ramona didn't quite understand how rinsing off plates and sticking them in the dishwasher was a good mental exercise, but she didn't want to argue. Jeffrey offered to help, and grandmother and grandson began to clear the table.

“You two can have some alone time,” Debra told them. “We won't be long.”

Scott wrapped his arm around Ramona's shoulders and led her into the living room. When he knew they were out of sight, he pulled away. “So dinner was a little … interesting,” he said.

“A little,” she agreed. She knew she had made the first move.

“Listen,” he said. “You're doing a great job pretending to be Nessa. I really believed you in there. For a second, I thought … well …”

“You almost died today,” Ramona said. “I was so worried. And I thought if you had died, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. I would've regretted not telling you …”

“You saw me today?”

“Yes.”

“Wait. How? Why? I was at work. You weren't—”

“I was there, Scott. And I'm here now. And I kissed you. Now I'm just waiting for you to say something.”

Scott walked over to the coffee table and readjusted a few of the family photos. He must not have realized that the first one he touched was from his wedding.

“I don't know how I feel,” he said.

“It was a good kiss.”

“It was a good kiss,” he agreed. He looked down at the picture in his hands, and saw it for the first time. “I always liked that one,” he said. “We both looked so happy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It's such a shame you have a little wedding cake on your chin.”

“What?” he said. He flipped it around. The picture fell from his hands and struck the edge of the coffee table.

“Okay,” she admitted. “I lied about the cake.”

They both reached for the fallen picture, their fingers touching it at the same time. Ramona waited for Scott to pull away first, but he didn't. Instead, he let his fingertips linger on the back of her hand.

Eventually, she pulled away. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered around, thrashing their wings and nibbling at her stomach lining. The only way they'd stop would be if he actually said something for once, instead of dodging all her questions.

“Hey,” Scott offered. “You haven't seen my old room in a while, have you? Wanna see?”

Ramona could tell that Scott didn't realize the deeper implication of the question until after he'd said it. He was inviting her up to his bedroom. His bedroom. Sure, it was his childhood bedroom, the place where they'd spend hours building blanket forts—but the subtext remained. “Um, I mean … I think it's a better place to talk.”

She nodded. “I'd like to see your room.”

Together, they walked up the long staircase to the first door on the right. Of course, they had to pass by dozens of happy family pictures hanging from the wall. Most were from barbecues and birthdays. Ramona saw herself in a few of them, brighter and happier than she was now.

She pushed the door open and was greeted by a bedroom that was stuck in a time loop. Dark green blankets matched the duck-print wallpaper, but most of the wallpaper was covered by posters of action movies, cars, and maps. The old desk was still there, and the lamp that Ramona accidentally spilled milk on, and the bean bag chair that Nessa had accidentally torn open with her shoe. This room was a life—Scott's life—and it felt so natural to be invited back in.

“Hasn't changed much, has it?” he asked.

“Not at all.” Ramona walked to the dresser and studied all the familiar knickknacks in front of her. There weren't a lot of toys; Scott had
never
collected toys as a kid. Instead, his dresser was mostly lined with things he'd found in nature: dried plants, strangely shaped rocks, ocean glass. Even as a kid, he was always interested in the outdoors.

Pushed toward the back of the dresser, hidden behind a few pencil holders, was a small treasure chest. Scott noticed it before Ramona did. “Oh,” he said. “I forgot that was here.”

“What is it?” Ramona asked. She ran her fingers along the uneven wood, surprised her skin didn't get jabbed with splinters. The surface felt dusty.

“It's a treasure box,” Scott said. “It's mine and Nessa's.” His voice was unexpectedly solemn.

Ramona examined the box closely. About a foot wide and another six inches long, it was slightly bigger than your average toaster. The whole thing was made out of cheap, unvarnished wood—cedar, perhaps?—and its edges had bronze bolts drilled into the wood. It was sloppily made and flimsy.

Scott looked up at Ramona. He tried to read her face, but apparently he didn't like what he saw.

“What is it?” she asked again.

“You don't remember, do you?” he replied.

Ramona searched her brain. Should she remember this? Did it have some sort of significance that was hidden in the back of her mind?

“No,” she admitted. “I've never seen this before.”

“I made this in shop class,” he said. “In junior high. I got a B-minus, mostly because Mr. Phillips wanted us to varnish our projects and I ran out of time.”

“I wasn't in your shop class,” she said. “I didn't—”

“When I brought it home,” he interrupted her, “I was so proud of it. I mean, I know it's nothing impressive, but back then I was so proud of it. I was going to give it to my parents, but they really didn't seem that interested. Rob definitely didn't seem interested. And you, well … you don't even remember it, so that tells me how impressed you were.

“But Nessa … right away, she saw it and said it was beautiful. It reminded her of the pirate ride at Disneyland. So I gave it to her and she kept it all these years. When we married, we put all our wedding stuff in here: photos, cake-toppers, her garter, everything.”

Ramona wanted to reach out and open it, but something stopped her.

“It was … you know, this stupid box is one of the reasons why I knew Nessa was special. Everyone else saw it and thought it was some rough-around-the-edges piece of garbage. But she appreciated it for what it was, and it helped me realize that I loved her.” He sighed for a second, reaching out to touch the box. He pulled his fingers away at the last second, as if the box would burn him. “I shoved it back there, and I haven't opened it since she left,” he admitted.

Ramona put her hand on his shoulder. “She broke your heart, didn't she?”

Scott didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Ramona knew that Scott wasn't quite ready for that kiss. She would never take it back—not in a million years—but now she knew why he'd chosen Nessa, and why she'd have to wait before he chose her.

Debra walked in on Ramona and Scott arguing about waking Debra up. Ramona thought it was a good idea, because an evening nap would really throw off her sleep schedule. Scott thought it was a bad idea, because if she was tired enough to fall asleep, then that meant that she needed sleep.

Neither of them would back down.

Fortunately, they didn't need to. Debra was awake—because of their loud arguing.

“Oh. Hi,” they both said.

“Thanks for the wake-up call,” Debra said. “But next time, a gentle pat on the shoulder would suffice. Do either of you want tea?”

Ramona looked at Scott, and Scott looked at Ramona. Neither had intended for things to get this heated.

“Okay, then,” Debra said. “More for me.”

As she puttered through the cabinets, Scott wondered if this charade was wearing down on him. He would always be glad that Ramona was back in his life, but this sort of fake romance could only go so far. Last night, she'd kissed him. For real this time. And he'd kissed her back. He'd been about to tell her he loved her, but he couldn't. He'd looked into her eyes, and Ramona didn't look back. Nessa did. That was when he knew he had to show her the treasure chest.