Why Can't I Be You (15 page)

I
woke up with
my head on Fish’s chest and his arm around me. I didn’t feel like I wanted to run screaming. I just wanted to stay.

“Hey, you,” he said, when I yawned. “I’ve been trying so hard not to wake you.”

“I don’t think you did,” I said, sitting up so I could look at him. “I’m pretty sure I woke of my own volition.”

“Whoa,” Fish said. “SAT words first thing in the morning?”

“It’s never too early for grandiloquence,” I said, smiling.

“You,” Fish said, touching his finger to my bottom lip, “are even better than my memories of you.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I kissed him. I loved that I was a better Jessie than the actual Jessie, that I was a better fit for Fish.

Fish’s phone beeped. He got out of bed and reached for his pants, retrieving his phone from the front pocket. He was naked, and gorgeous. He had the most perfect ass.

“Breakfast?” Fish said, putting on his boxer briefs. “Robbie just texted to say they’re all going to Twede’s for hangover food.”

“I have the closing session for my conference.”

“So,” he said, climbing back on the bed, “I shouldn’t be a bad influence and tell you to blow it off.”

“No,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You shouldn’t.”

But with the two choices in front of me—going to the last meeting of a conference that had only served to teach me that I was completely and totally bored with my choice of careers, or one last moment with Fish, Myra, Robbie, and Heather—I couldn’t make a good case for sitting in a conference room watching yet another uninspired PowerPoint presentation.

“Although,” I said, “I could really go for some pancakes.”

“Really?” Fish’s whole face lit up.

We showered together, and got dressed and walked through the lobby holding hands, and I felt the kind of nervous excitement that I think you’re supposed to feel about meeting someone new. I didn’t feel the crushing weight of everything I was responsible for; it had been shoved to some small, dark, out-of-the-way place in my brain.

When we got to his truck, Fish opened the passenger door for me. It wasn’t locked. It was a Ford pickup in the same avocado green as my grandmother’s refrigerator. It was probably just as old, but the chrome was shiny and there wasn’t a spot of rust anywhere. Before he got in, he lifted the floor mat and held up his car key triumphantly. “Yes!” he said. “Robbie remembered to leave it.” He smiled. “I worried about payback for leaving him stranded at the campground last month. Drove all the way home from Dungeness before I realized I still had his keys.”

“Oh no.”

“Heather was so pissed,” Fish said, laughing. “She’ll get me back one of these days.” He started the truck and gave the dashboard a pat. “Can you believe Robbie has kept this thing going for me all this time?”

“It’s in really good shape,” I said, running my hand along the seat. The vinyl was spotless and uncracked.

“I was going to get a new truck last year, but the look on Robbie’s face when I talked about it killed me.” He clutched his chest. “I felt like I was cheating on him every time I went car shopping.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said.

“Yeah,” Fish said, laughing. “I guess all the time he spent hot-wiring cars in high school was its own kind of education.”

We drove on the same road the hotel shuttle had taken to get to the lodge. It was mostly wooded and so green, with a mountain that I guessed was the actual Mount Si looming in the background. I wondered if Fish and Myra and Robbie and Heather even noticed the mountains anymore, the way I had stopped noticing the abandoned restaurant next to my apartment complex. When you grow up with mountains, does every place else feel like it’s missing something? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t. I was supposed to have grown up with mountains too.

At the edge of the town was a white diner with a big red neon
T
and very familiar white-and-yellow café sign out front. I felt like I was in
Twin Peaks
all over again.

When we got to the diner, Fish parked the truck and asked, “Are you ready for Robbie?”

“Um, I guess,” I said. “Is he going to tease us about driving together?”

“You don’t remember? Robbie in the morning is a whole lot of Robbie.”

I laughed. “I guess I forgot that part.”

As soon as Fish opened the door to the diner, Robbie shouted, “Jessers! Fishy!” from a booth in the corner. The inside of the restaurant didn’t look like the
Twin Peaks
diner, but there were photos from the show on one of the walls. The booths were shiny blue and the floor clean white.

Myra had her head in both hands. She moaned when Robbie dragged an extra chair across the floor and it squeaked.

Heather looked a little tired, but not much worse for wear. She slipped out of the booth to give me a hug while Robbie was still standing.

“So,” she whispered, “Fish is wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday.”

I blushed.

“Never you mind,” Fish said. “For all you know, I picked her up on my way here.”

“Ooh!” Robbie said, loud enough for everyone in the diner to hear. “Sure you did.” He winked at us.

“Why . . . ,” Myra said, when Robbie sat down again. “Why must you be so . . . ?” She raised her hand toward him and flopped it around.

“Tablespoon of honey before you go to bed,” Robbie said. “You never listen to me! Honey chases the drunk away.”

“No,” Myra said, staring at him. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her face was very pale. “That’s not a thing, Robert. Stop trying to make it a thing.” She dropped her head into her arms.

“It’s not a thing? How come I’m not hungover?”

“Because you’re evil,” Myra said, her voice muffled by the inside of her elbow.

“Someone’s cranky,” Robbie said, laughing.

“I’m not a morning person,” Myra said. “Not everyone gets up at dawn crowing like a rooster.”

“Are you calling me a cock?” Robbie still wasn’t using his inside voice.

“If the beak fits,” Myra said.

“You’re not really a night person either, My.” Fish said.

“I’m a four o’clock in the afternoon person!” Myra shot Fish a dirty look over the crook of her arm. “Four o’clock. That’s my time.”

Thankfully, the waitress showed up with a thermos of coffee and mugs all around. Robbie poured three sugar packets into one of the mugs, filled it with coffee and enough cream to make it the color of a manila envelope. He slid it slowly across to Myra like he was worried she might bite him if he startled her.

“I love you,” Myra said, in a small, soft voice, lifting her head up so she could drink it.

After we ordered, Robbie started drumming on the table with his fork.

I laughed. “You can’t sit still, can you?”

“Every other day of the week,” Robbie said, “I’m up at five, working on tractors. My hands need to move.”

“I,” Heather said, “am back in bed for an extra two hours of sleep at five.”

“You’re not a morning person like Robbie?”

She shook her head. “No one is a morning person like Robbie.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze.

The waitress brought us a huge tray of plates piled with eggs, potatoes, pancakes, and sausage. Myra perked up a bit. Everyone settled into their food, and chewing took the place of conversation until we’d made a dent in our breakfasts. Then they were back to teasing each other and laughing, sharing stories about their week, and eating off each other’s plates without asking. Fish’s knee rested against mine under the table.

Myra absentmindedly drew dresses on her place mat with the crayons from the kids’ pack. Heather pointed at the drawings and said, “I want that one but with those sleeves.” Robbie ordered an extra plate of pancakes “for the table” and ate them all himself. Fish picked up the coffee thermos and everyone handed their mugs to him for a refill. I looked around the table and all I could think was,
I want this.

We paid the bill and piled out into the parking lot. Robbie kicked at gravel as we walked. “So,” Myra said, having perked up considerably, “I made the bed in the guest room.”

“You’re staying?” Fish asked. His whole face lit up.

“Jessie and Fishy sitting in a tree,” Robbie sang.

Fish blushed, but he didn’t say anything. My hand was right next to his, but he didn’t reach out to hold it. I wondered if he didn’t want them to know that we’d hooked up.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Come on,” Myra said. “It’s like fate. Your trip was canceled. You’ve got the week off from work.”

“I have tomorrow afternoon off,” Fish said. “Myra doesn’t work on Mondays. We can go hiking.” And the way he smiled made me honestly believe it was a good idea to stay.

I
wasn’t scheduled to
check out of the hotel until the next morning. I had to e-mail Monica a report about the conference. Myra had to go to the store to do some work. Heather and Robbie had errands to run, and Fish said he had to get through some paperwork. So Myra arranged to pick me up in the morning. Fish drove me back to the lodge. He leaned across the front seat to kiss me when he dropped me off at the front door.

“I’m so glad you’re staying,” he said, resting his hand on my cheek. I felt flush with happiness, even though I wasn’t sure I was going to stay. I still hoped maybe I’d find the willpower to take an early flight back to Rochester.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, and let myself kiss him one more time.

I spent the afternoon writing up a report of the seminar. I don’t know why I felt the need to cover for the presenters, but I embellished, adding my own knowledge and information to the report, as if the conference had been more than a regurgitation of basic social-media common sense. I guess when you’re raised to be an enabler, it’s hard to know when to shut it off.

I e-mailed the report to Monica, flopped down on the big fluffy bed, and flipped through channels on the television. But even though I was completely exhausted, I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t decide if I should book a ticket home for the next morning. Or maybe check myself into a mental institution. Home makeovers and crab fishermen and reruns of
Boy Meets World
could not take my mind off what I had done and whether I should stay. I pulled out my laptop again and started looking for flights home. I compared layover times and tried to decide if I’d rather spend two hours stuck in the Cleveland airport or four hours at O’Hare. I couldn’t make a decision. I just kept thinking about kissing Fish good-bye and how I didn’t want it to be the last time I kissed him.

So as soon as the dining room opened, I put on one of my new skirts and wandered down to the lobby. The idea of eating dinner in a fancy restaurant by myself was a little uncomfortable, but the idea of staying in my room alone with my thoughts was far worse. At least I could people watch and eat good food.

The dining room was gorgeous. Wood beams and a roaring fireplace. Since dinner hours had just started, the room was sparsely populated. I asked for a table by the fire and studied the menu as if it were the most all-consuming task in the world. The room filled up fast. Mostly couples.

The honeymooners from the shuttle were there. He was in a suit, and she wore a beautiful royal blue dress that she must have chosen just for this. I thought about how their life would go. They were married now. They’d buy a house. Maybe they’d have two children. She’d stay home with the kids for a few years, and he’d work late. Over the years, they’d drift apart, but then they’d drift back together again, and it would be okay, because they loved each other enough. Because they could trust in love. They were ready to say yes to the life ahead. At least that’s what I imagined for them.

Wanting to marry Deagan had nothing to do with being ready to settle down into the life ahead of me. Planning a wedding, buying a house, picking out dresses for our honeymoon—I’d wanted all of that, not because I loved Deagan so much and wanted to spend my life with him, but because I needed the distraction. If I was busy planning, I didn’t have to look too carefully at the things that weren’t what I really wanted them to be. I could believe I was working toward security. The most terrifying thing about pretending to be Jessie was that I could finally see what was missing.

“Are they famous?”

I looked up and there was Kyle, sitting down at the next table. We were both facing the same direction.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Well, you seem so intent on watching that couple over there. I wondered if they were from a reality show I haven’t seen.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “At least not that I know of. I was just thinking. My head was somewhere else.”

“Ah,” Kyle said. “Is it because the seminar this weekend was so inspiring?”

“Actually, it’s partly because it wasn’t.” I was shocked by my own honesty.

“Ouch.”

“Not you,” I said. “You were fine. I just feel like everyone else was throwing catchphrases around without actually saying anything.”

“I hear you.” Kyle opened the menu and started reading. “Wait,” he said, looking up again. “I was only fine?”

I laughed. “You were spectacular. My heart was in my throat the entire time, just waiting for your next brilliant proclamation.”

“All right,” Kyle said, smiling. “Enough of you.”

“Would you like to sit with me?” I asked. It seemed less awkward than sitting next to him and pretending he wasn’t there. And I guess I wanted to give myself one last shot at being Jenny Shaw before I decided to spend the week at Myra’s house. Maybe dinner with Kyle would snap me out of it.

“I don’t know,” Kyle said, tapping his fingers on the table. “You rejected me all weekend. Now you’re making fun of me.” He pursed his lips in mock disapproval. “I think maybe I’m better off eating right here.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, smiling. I pulled my napkin off the table and draped it across my lap.

“All right, fine.” He stood up and took his menu with him. “You twisted my arm.”

He sat across from me and unfolded his napkin.

“Have you ordered?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

He called the waiter over and ordered a bottle of cabernet without any further consultation. It bugged me. Not that I was particularly picky, but it was the kind of thing Deagan did. It made me feel like an accessory.

“The salmon is amazing,” he said. “I had it my first night here. It has a vanilla glaze.”

When the waiter came back, I ordered quail, not because I particularly wanted quail, but because I wanted to exercise my right not to appease people. Kyle raised his eyebrows, like he had expected me to take his advice on the salmon.

The rest of our dinner was pleasant. Kyle, when he dropped the salesman bravado, was actually a pretty nice guy. He told me a story about how one of the other presenters got his tie stuck in his briefcase about twenty minutes before his presentation started.

“He slammed it shut and it locked, but then the lock was stuck. I had to help him open it, but he didn’t want to tell me his lock code. Like I really want to break into that guy’s briefcase.”

I laughed.

“See,” he said, pointing his fork at me. “You’re having a good time.”

“I am,” I said.

He shook his head. “You had a whole weekend and you blew it.”

“Eat your salmon,” I told him.

“You’re so bossy.”

“Actually, usually I’m, like, the opposite of bossy. You bring out the worst in me.”

“Worst or best?” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Because it’s kind of working for me.”

“You’re impossible,” I said.

“Actually, I’m really quite possible.”

“You did not just say that!” I laughed.

Kyle laughed too. “No, of course not.”

We finished the wine and ordered dessert. Kyle tried to pick up the check, but I had the waiter charge my half to my room.

Kyle walked me back to my door. “So, are you headed home tomorrow?” He rubbed his hand over his head.

“Yeah,” I said, and the way he looked at me made me blush. I thought about how much less complicated everything would be if I had gone out with Kyle instead of going to the reunion.

“Well,” he said, giving me his fake shy smile again. He leaned in and tried to kiss me. It would have been so easy to just let him. To go back to being the same old Jenny Shaw, making the same old safe choices. But I didn’t want to. At the last second, I turned my head.

“Oh,” he said.

I grabbed his hand and shook it. “It was really nice to meet you.” I slipped into my room and shut the door behind me before I could make any more mistakes.

I washed my face, trying to focus on the sound of the water running, the calming scent of rosemary-mint soap, and the way the lush loops of the cotton hand towel felt against my skin. I brushed my teeth and counted tiles on the floor. Anything to keep from thinking.

When I checked my phone, there was a message from Deagan, saying, simply, “I thought maybe we should talk.” I didn’t call him back.

Before I climbed into bed, I set the alarm clock, so I’d be packed and ready to meet Myra when she came to pick me up.