33. Josie

33

Josie

I 'm supposed to be on a date right now. My amazing boyfriend planned a day date for us, but I had to cancel at the last minute, which makes me feel like a terrible girlfriend.

I'm not even sure what Van was planning because he insists on keeping it a secret, but I am absolutely sure I'd rather be on a mystery date right now than where I am.

It's not that I've never been in a principal's office before. I have. I used to help the secretaries during my study hall. I can run a copy machine and alphabetize mail at the same time. I'm a pro.

I've just never been to The Principal's Office before, and neither have any of my siblings. Until now.

"Josie, honey, Dr. Helwig is ready for you." Mrs. Vernon has been the secretary since before I started kindergarten. She's the epitome of kindness, but I just nod and avoid her gaze. If I make eye contact now, I will burst into tears. Thanks, anxiety.

I step into her office. It's decorated in various shades of purple, which I appreciate. What I don't appreciate is the defiant look in Milo's eyes as he sits in a chair that's way too big for him. His feet don't touch the ground, but the angry set of his shoulders nearly fills the room.

I'm not even sure why I'm here. All I know is that I was getting ready to meet Van when I got a call from the school. When that number appears on my screen, I know it means the bus will be running late, so I almost ignored it. But I was alone in my dorm, so I answered the robo-call. Except it wasn't a robo-call. It was Mrs. Vernon asking me to come pick my brother up so we could count today as his first day of out-of-school suspension.

When Van appeared in my doorway a few minutes later, I dashed past him and mumbled a string of apologies and promised to be back in time for tutoring. Depending on how long this meeting takes, and the traffic on Route 33W, I hope I won't be late.

I sit down next to Milo, but he won't look at me. Zane's at hockey practice and the girls are with Mrs. Fulton, so at least everyone is accounted for. I'm sure Tillie is in hysterics, but I'll deal with that when I get Milo home. Right now, I need answers.

The door opens and Mrs. Dailey walks in. She's been the twins' teacher for the past year and a half since they loop second and third grade, so I know her pretty well. I know her classroom is decorated in rainbows and that she tells her students her favorite color is glitter. I know she loves to get coffee shop gift cards for Teacher Appreciation Week. And I know she has a basset hound named Frank. We give him doggie treats at the holidays. But I did not know she had a great poker face. The woman is giving nothing away and I feel clueless.

I take a deep breath and remind myself that I'm basically Milo's parent, so falling apart is not an option, at least not for several hours. I'm also an adult with responsibilities. There are things I love about my job at the library, like finding the book someone is searching for. There are also things I dread, like having difficult conversations with volunteers about coming in on time, or completing assigned tasks instead of getting paid to study or chat with friends. Those conversations are not my favorite, but they are a necessary part of the job. And so is this.

"Thank you all for meeting with me," I begin. My voice trembles a little, but I don't let that stop me. "I received a message from Mrs. Vernon and came here as quickly as I could. I was told that Milo's being suspended, but I haven't been told why. Can we please start there?"

Dr. Helwig nods. "Of course, Ms. Reynolds. My apologies. I'll let Mrs. Dailey explain since she observed the interaction that has resulted in Milo's suspension."

I'm not sure what Milo did—and knowing my eight-year-old brother, it could be anything—but it definitely sounds ominous. My anxiety ratchets up a few notches, so I take a calming breath and hold it in for four counts before releasing it. That helps, but what really centers me is the picture of Van that my subconscious sends to my brain. Something in his smile tells me I've got this. Armed with borrowed confidence, I focus my attention on my brother's teacher.

Mrs. Dailey smiles kindly. "Let me start by saying that Milo typically exhibits better behavior in the classroom. I've seen so much growth in him over the last year and a half, that I was really surprised by today's outburst. Josie, you and I have discussed Milo's ADHD on several occasions, and I feel confident in saying that it's well managed. I hope today's incident was an aberration, but if something like this happens again, we'll have to make a behavior improvement plan."

She's right. Milo showed signs of ADHD all the way back in preschool, but we manage it with meds and therapy, the same way we manage Levi's PTSD, my anxiety, and Zane's depression. It's the same way we'll navigate any challenges Iris and Tillie face. My dad was a child psychologist and my mom was a music therapist. We are all about behavioral health in my house.

"Milo," she says, turning to my brother, "I understand you were frustrated and annoyed. There are appropriate ways to express that you want to be left alone, but the language you chose was not Rainbow Room language."

I'm about to use language unfit for the Rainbow Room if someone doesn't tell me what happened. Both women are looking at Milo expectantly, but I know my brother. He's as stubborn as Mom was. He feels an injustice has been committed against him and he's silently protesting.

Milo's current grudge-holding record is six days.

I don't have that kind of time.

Fixing my eyes on his, I keep my voice gentle but steady. "Milo, I know you're mad and I'm going to let you tell me your side of the story, but first, you need to face the consequences for whatever you said. Am I clear?"

In addition to Mom's stubborn streak, Milo also inherited her blue eyes. They meet mine and he nods before looking at his teacher and principal. "I apologize for my language. I should not have used those words even though Danny would not stop bothering me and I told him eleven times to leave me alone but he wouldn't. I even went to the Calm Down Corner but he followed me and wouldn't stop. So I'm sorry for using bad words to make him get away from me because nothing else worked."

Milo and I are going to have to work on the non-apology, but that's a worry for another day. Right now, the suspense is killing me. "What on earth did you say?"

He looks over at the other women in the room, gauging if he'll be in more trouble if he repeats the illicit words. They sigh collectively and that's when Milo spills. "Danny kept bugging me, Josie. He kept poking my shoulder with the pointer finger of his right hand and everybody knows that's the finger he puts down the back of his pants to scratch his butt. So when he kept touching me and he followed me, I just turned around and said, ‘Do you wanna suck my balls, or what?'"

If you had asked me to write a list of the things I thought my brother might've said, that sentence would not be on it.

"Milo—"

"You can't even be mad at me, Josie. Because I know those aren't Rainbow Room words, but they are 7142 Fernwood Road words."

"They are definitely not," I correct. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, but I know that's not a question anyone in our house has ever asked.

The defiance is back. "Uh huh. Zane watches the same movie late at night every night and I hear the guy say that exact sentence. There's all this moaning and then he says, ‘Do you wanna suck my balls, or what?'"

A glance at my watch tells me I need to be back at Bainbridge in three hours to tutor Van. I should make it, unless I die right here in The Principal's Office of embarrassment.

Once everyone at my house is reasonably settled, and we have had extensive conversations about appropriate language, boundaries, and keeping our earbuds charged, I make my way to my car to start the drive back to Bainbridge.

Levi's plane landed on time, so he's back home to take the night shift. He's fully aware that it's his job to talk to Zane about the importance of, um, self-care, but also about the unrealistic standards and toxic environment of the porn industry and the ways to source ethical adult entertainment.

But Levi's still laughing, so it may be a while until they have that talk.

I tap my phone a few times and cue up my driving playlist, and that's when I see a voice message from Van. I hit the button and his voice fills the space.

Hey, Jos. I'm glad everything's okay. Be careful driving back. And I was thinking maybe we could do tutoring in your room tonight, just this once? And not just because I want to hang out in your room…I figure you had a long day and I want to hear all about it.I was thinking maybe you'd rather read about old, dead, white guy philosophers from the comfort of your bed. Ok, that sounds bad. Anyway, text me when you get home and I'll be over, ok? I just need to make a couple stops first.

He's right on both counts. We definitely should not study in my room, but I totally want to. And if he has a few stops to make, I probably have time for a shower.

My place it is.

An hour later, I'm fresh and clean, and feeling a little more like myself when I answer the knock at the door.

"Nice shirt," Van says, leaning in for a kiss and pointing at the hockey hoodie I stole from him.

"We match," I say, looking at his hoodie. It's a faded, more worn version of the one I swiped.

"Almost," he says, setting two bags on the counter in my kitchenette. "That's a great hoodie," he agrees, tugging on the hem of the one I'm currently wearing. "But this one? It's my favorite."

I look down at myself and then at him. "They are exactly the same. Yours is a little faded and there's a tear at the neck, but other than that, they're identical. And mine is every bit as soft." I'm not sure why I'm defending the honor of a sweatshirt, but it's been a day, so I'll cut myself some slack.

"Nope," he says, a smirk on his lips. "Mine's better. Look in the bags, Jos. Don't you want to see what I brought over?"

"No, I want to know why you think your shirt is superior to its twin brother," I say with more force than is required.

Van's not put off by my mood. He presses a kiss to my forehead before striking a pose. "You don't recognize this shirt?"

I shake my head. "Not as anything other than a copy of mine."

Van's cheeks heat. "It's from that night, at the hockey house. Freshman year. In my room—well, Friedline's room. We couldn't wait, so I laid my hoodie down and?—"

"You kept that shirt?" I'm as horrified as I am charmed. "But you washed it, right?"

"Of course. Like, probably not right away. But I have definitely washed it."

Pieces of a puzzle that I've been staring at for a long time are starting to fall into place.

"There's a crack in the wall in your room. Over by the closet."

"I know," he says, pulling his hair back into a ponytail then taking it out again.

"I'm guessing you drew the short straw?"

Van tips my chin up and looks me in the eye. "No, Jos. Got first pick."

My mind is racing, so I sit on my bed. Van joins me a second later as the tears start to fall. Levi used to hate it when I cried and Dad would always say that people process emotion in different ways. Some yell, some shut down. I cry.

Van's voice is gentle when he rubs my back. "Hey, Jos, what's going on? Please don't get upset. If I freaked you out, I'm sorry."

I shake my head in response and my words come out in a rush as the day hits me all at once. "I'm crying because I think you missed me just as much as I missed you and we lost all this time and why would anyone listen to porn that loud and I don't really think balls is a bad word, do you? I mean, you should never tell anyone to suck your balls. That part was wrong, but boundaries are a thing, right?"

Van hasn't heard about my visit to The Principal's Office yet. To his credit, he doesn't run screaming from the room. He just holds me close. "Am I supposed to say yes? I feel like I should say yes. Wait…" he says, reaching for the bags he left on the counter. "My answers are: yes, boundaries are a thing, you should only tell someone to suck your balls under very specific circumstances, balls is a great word, porn volume falls under boundaries, and yeah, Jos. I missed you every bit as much as you missed me. And I hate the time we wasted, but I love that we're not wasting it anymore. But if those are the wrong answers, it's okay, because I brought you mozzarella sticks and oatmeal raisin cookies. They're your favorites and you had a shit day. So, do you want a cookie?"

That's how we end up eating cookies in my bed. They taste so good that I don't even mind the crumbs. Well, that could also be because of the thing Van does with his tongue when I'm on top of him and my thighs bracket his face.

A stressful day turned into a very good night. That should make me happy, and it does. But it also makes me wonder if Van knows that tonight wasn't an anomaly. Crazy things happen each week for me. This isn't the last date I'll have to cancel or postpone. Someone's always going to need a ride home from school, or a late-night run to the store for project supplies. Or someone to vent to when friends are mean and life is unfair.

Van made everything better with his words and a bakery bag of cookies. But how long can that magic last? Won't he soon be tired of cleaning up other people's messes? He'll want me to put him first, but that won't always be possible. Thinking about the future stresses me out, and I've run out of tears to cry, at least for tonight. I let my eyes drift shut as I fall asleep in Van's arms. I'm not sure how long this spell will last, but I'm going to do my best to enjoy it while I can.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Van's naked in my room again.

This time, though, he's getting ready for a game, so I can ogle all I want, but I'll have to wait a while to do anything about it. I'm meeting his mom for the first time tonight, and we're all going out after Bainbridge beats Coleridge. It will be hours before we can have sexy fun times again, but I can't stop myself from looking. And yes, all those worries about the future are still pacing around in my brain, but I'm ignoring them for now. I'm nervous enough about meeting Van's mom, and I don't need to add one more thing to panic about. That's why I'm filling my head with lusty thoughts. It's an excellent distraction technique.

"Like what you see, Jos?" he teases, flexing his muscles.

"You know I do, but don't look at me like that. You have a game. We don't have time." I am resolute in my reasoning, until he starts talking again.

"Don't we? All I need is five minutes," he says with confidence.

I'm unconvinced. "You need five minutes for sex?"

My boyfriend shakes his head. "I need five minutes to put my face between your legs and get your night off to a good start. If you want more than five minutes after I've made you come on my lips, I won't deny you. But if all you have time for is an appetizer, Jos, I'm here for you."

The arena is packed with students from BU and Coleridge. It's only an hour away, so there's almost as much black and orange in the stands as there is burgundy and silver.

"What section is she in?" Mel asks, scanning the crowd. "Is she blonde, too?"

"Van said she's down a couple rows from the press box. And no, I think the Viking hotness comes from his dad's side."

Mel laughs at me, but when I walk toward the center section, she follows. "Thanks for doing this," I say. She could be in our usual seats—yes, I'm that girl who has a seat at every one of her boyfriend's home games—but she knows that meeting Van's mom rates high on the anxiety scale, so she's my emotional support bestie.

"Please," she says, waving me off. "This is gonna be great. How could anyone not love you? Plus, no matter how crazy she is, no one can out-crazy Wendy Franconetti. Did you see my shirt tonight? It's custom-made."

I pause my pursuit of Van's mom to take a look at Mel. She looks perfect as usual in her gray beanie, leggings, and boots. She lifts Will's jersey just enough that I can see her tee underneath. In scrawly print and accented with sparkles, it reads: My boyfriend's gonna kick your boyfriend's ass.

"Wow. Hard to believe that's one of a kind," I deadpan.

"Oh, I never said that," Mel tells me, laughing. "If Wendy has her way, I'm going to help her set up an Etsy shop over Christmas break."

I'm picturing my best friend folding t-shirts with outrageous sayings on them and packing boxes with Will's mom. That is way out of my comfort zone, but Mel will love it. I give the crowd another scan and that's when I see two women huddled together and pointing at me. I thought Van's mom was coming solo? Maybe they're pointing at something behind me? I turn and check, but no. Everyone else is seated or milling about.

"Oh, that's got to be them, come on," Mel takes hold of my arm and whisks me in the direction of the two ladies who are ten rows down from the press box. I don't even have time to panic properly because in a matter of seconds, I'm standing in the aisle next to Van's mom.

"You must be Josie," she says, smiling. That's when I see the resemblance. She doesn't share her dark hair or green eyes with her son. Not her fair complexion, either. But that smile? The perfectly straight teeth that never even needed braces, the singular dimple, and the full lips? Yep, Van got those from his mother.

She opens her arms and leans forward to hug me, then stops and holds out her hand. Almost immediately, she withdraws it, and nearly knocks over her drink in the process. "Oh, jeez. Can you tell I'm nervous? I've been hearing all about you for ages and I'm so glad to meet you. I'm Stephanie Donohue, and this is my sister-in-law, Beth."

"It's nice to meet you both," I say, calming down a little because now I know I'm not the only one who's feeling a little anxious. Mel introduces herself and we settle into our seats.

"We knew it was you!" Beth says, clearly excited to be here. "Van said to look for the prettiest girl we've ever seen and there you were, purple glasses and all. Here, scooch over, Steph. She's not going to have a good view of the ice."

We all shuffle down a bit, despite my protests. "I'm a short girl. I'm used to obstructed views."

"Nonsense!" Beth says. "You need a good seat. How else will you keep track of what's going on?"

"Beth is our resident sports fan," his mom confides. "She's a one-woman cheering section. Van made me promise not to bring the whole family because we can be overwhelming, to say the least. But I couldn't leave Beth at home. Her play-by-play is better than anything you'll hear from the announcer's box."

Beth beams. "There's no point in coming to a game if you're not going to watch every minute of play," she says, pulling out a scoresheet and a pencil.

I tend to think the point of coming to a game is to watch my boyfriend as he dominates the game he loves. And to eat buttery popcorn that can't be duplicated in the microwave. That's plenty of motivation for me, but clearly Van's Aunt Beth is a hardcore fan.

"See what I mean?" his mom says, nudging me. "Beth is going on the road with me next year. We've already decided to make it to as many of Van's pro games as we can."

"Damn right we will," Beth agrees. "Have you ever traveled in an RV, Josie? Tom and I rented one a few summers ago and took it down the East Coast. It was great. It's a hotel room on wheels. I keep telling Steph we should all go in on one and take it around the country to Van's games next year."

"And I keep telling her no. I'm not sleeping in a giant car just because it has a fold out couch. Put me on a plane any day. Besides, Beth, he could get drafted by Portland. That's what the scouting report said. You really want to drive a vehicle that big all the way out west? You can't even parallel park in Center City."

"But you don't need to parallel park these beauties! You just take up six spaces in a parking lot," Beth says matter-of-factly. "How much fun would that be? We could see the sights. Isn't there a giant potato in Idaho somewhere? We could have our picture taken with it. Back me up here, Josie. You're up for road tripping, right?"

Stephanie and Beth go back and forth about the best modes of cross-country travel and Mel chimes in with tidbits about national landmarks.

I'm not following their conversation because it just reinforces what I've been dreading: Van is leaving. And the funny thing is, I want him to go. He was meant to play this game. He was meant for bigger things, just like my brother. I want them both to pursue their passions.

But I want to pursue mine, too.

It's just not as fancy, not as flashy. It's bus stop pick-ups in the rain, carpooling to activities, and hosting sleepovers for a bunch of rambunctious tweenagers.

The practical part of my brain needs to know how we'd make it work, what the logistics would be. And the worrier in me stresses that Van would feel pulled in too many directions, that my attention would be divided, that life in the suburbs would pale in comparison to life on the road. I can hear my mom's voice in my head, warning me not to borrow trouble. And I can hear my teenage self-replying that borrowing trouble is what I do best.

That's one thing in my life that hasn't changed.

"What do you think, Josie?"

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, realizing I've totally zoned out and gotten stuck in my head again.

"Mashed potatoes or twice-baked? Tom says it's sacrilege not to serve mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving, but I like the twice-baked ones better. They have all that good, gooey cheese on top."

Ah yes, back in my comfort zone. I can answer questions. It's kind of my thing. "Well, the filling for twice-baked potatoes is just mashed potatoes, right? So you could serve those to the people who love them, and make a half-batch of the twice baked ones. And you could use the extra skins later, right? Just sprinkle some of that extra cheese and add some crumbled up bacon, and you've got a snack."

Beth looks at me like I just solved the riddle of the Sphinx. "You are a genius. No wonder my nephew is smitten!"

I smile and focus on the ice as the announcers begin to introduce the team. I'm here to watch the game, not to spiral into despair. But I'm a genius, right? I can do two things at once.