As it turns out, Jay never had bunk beds as a kid and had always wanted them, so when I took him up to the twins' room, it was like watching a kid open presents on Christmas morning.
"These train sets are wicked!" He'd said as he bent down to examine the various trains strewn across the sets. I watched him fiddle with the trains for a minute before I said, "Jay, it's bedtime."
He looked embarrassed as he straightened up. I put a new pillowcase on the bottom bunk's pillow when Jay cleared his throat. "Yes?"
"I was kind of thinking that I wanted the top bunk," he had said quietly, as if that was inconveniening me. I smirked at him and shook my head. I stood up on my tiptoes and grabbed the pillow from the top bunk and switched it with the pillow in my hand. I turned back to face him when I caught him red-handed looking at what I'm guessing was my ass.
His face had turned a dark shade of pink and he quickly closed his wide-open mouth. Feeling a tad uncomfortable, I pulled my sweatshirt down and made my way to the bathroom door. I stopped just short and looked back at him. "Goodnight, Jay," I had said sweetly.
The pinkness had begun to recede when he said, "Goodnight, Sarah."
I dropped my head when I felt the smile coming on and slipped in the bathroom the connects to my room. That smile didn't disappear until I had fallen asleep almost an hour later.
And it had reappered the moment my eyes fluttered open ten minutes ago.
I don't encourage the sizing up of women like meat, but Jay just further cemented the hunch that he has a crush on me, and I have one on him too. Unfortunately, it seems neither of us is going to do anything about it. I would, but I know if I did something rash and stupid like kiss him, my hunch about him harboring a crush would be totally wrong and I'd lose him as a friend. That's the just the way my luck swings.
Now, if he were to do something, I would like to think I would reciprocate, but I know I'd make up some excuse about having to focus on the twins, which is true, but they're able to take care of themselves half the time. Even before I became a responsible adult, I had committment issues as evidenced by the fact I have yet to be kissed. I was always afraid to put myself out there, and I was always afraid of how my dad would react.
But until either he or I summon the courage, we're just going to continue this awkward, sexual tension.
I throw the covers back and roll out of bed. I start for the door when I smell my breath. Knowing that I'll see Jay very soon, I can't help but shuffle into the bathroom. I brush my teeth and comb my hair. I give myself another glance and realize I don't have a bra on. So, I hustle into my room and shove one on. Feeling like I no longer just rolled out of bed, I head downstairs.
The house is eerily quiet because all of the four boys in this house are still asleep. I walk by the twins still sound asleep on the couch as I go into the kitchen. I start a pot of coffee and turn on the radio.
On Sundays I usually have fun with breakfast unlike during the week when I make it as fast and as painless as possible. I dance around the kitchen and grab the pancake mix from the pantry. I mix all of the ingredients all together and begin to plop blobs of pancake goo on the griddle.
A song comes over the radio that I start to sing along to, loudly. I can't sing at all. Sometimes I think I could break a window with how off-key and high-pitched I sound. I also can't dance, but I don't let either of those things stop me.
I'm in the zone flipping pancakes and acting like a wannabe back-up dancer when Jay walks into the kitchen. Actually, I don't even notice him at first. I only notice him when he starts laughing. I turn down the radio and say, "What?"
He climbs onto a bar stool and props his head up on his elbows. "Nothing," he smirks and then points at the sizzling griddle. "What're you cooking over there?"
"Pancakes," I take a couple golden brown ones off the gridle and set them on a plate. I slide them over to Jay. I pull the syrup from the pantry and slide that to him as well.
"I don't think I'm ever going to leave," he says with a mouthful of pancake.
"With free room and food, I wouldn't either," I quip. Suddenly, the basement door flies open, and a very hungover, rumpled Tony pours out into the kitchen. His brown hair sticks up in tufts all over his head and he's still in the jeans and plaid button down he came home in last night. He seems more alert than his appearance leads on, because his eyes dart back and forth between Jay and I. He raises a finger and points at us. "Please tell me I don't have to beat you up because I have a major headache right now."
"No, Tony. Jay brought you home, and he was too drunk to drive home, so he slept up in the twins' room."
"Where did the twins sleep?" Tony asks, very confused. I point to the living room where they're still snoozing away. Tony peeks around the corner and nods. "Why did they sleep there?"
I place three pancakes on a plate and hand it to Tony. "Because I wasn't going to wake them up or carry them upstairs." He sits down next to Jay at the bar.
Jay passes him the syrup bottle while I make myself my own plate of pancakes once I make enough for when the boys gets up. I place my plate in front of me so I face Jay and Tony who are scarfing down their breakfast. The kitchen is silent except for the sound of forks banging on plates.
I glance outside at the bright, sunny Sunday morning out in the backyard. The wooden swingset that I remember playing on the minute my father hooked up the last swing sits in the middle of the yard, waiting for someone to play on it. The mulch under the swingset needs to be replensihed because I can see it strewn just about everywhere but where it's supposed to be. The grass needs to be mowed as well.
Clearly, Tony has neglected his already minimal yardwork to party.
"Ah man, are there even any pancakes left?" I hear Nick say too exasperatedly for ten o'clock in the morning. Connor wanders in behind him obviously having found his glasses on the coffee table.
I place two more plates of pancakes on the counter for them. I look around the kitchen at everyone in it. Connor and Nick fight over the bigger stack of pancakes at the kitchen table. Tony and Jay still shoveling forks full of fluff into their mouths as if this is the last meal they're ever going to eat.
All of my boys, and Jay, in one spot, woffing down massive amounts of pancakes.
The thought brings a smile to my face.
-------------
"Earth to Sarah," Bridgette waves a freshly manicured hand in front of my face. Today her nails are a raspberry blue with purple hearts intricately painted on them. Her wrist which is adorned with an endless supply of bracelets jingles in front of my face. Some are charm bracelets, and others are braided friendship bracelets.
I smack her hand away. She's blocking me from watching Jay talking to his friends at a different table across the lunch room. He looks as good as ever today with his shaggy blond hair. His eyes are more blue than gray today maybe due to the gray three-quarter he has on paired with khakis. He's been munching on a limp balogna sandwich for the last fifteen minutes, and I've contemplated packing him a lunch for tomorrow.
Suddenly, Jay scans the lunch room, presumably looking for someone, and lands on me. He grins at me like he's caught me red-handed, which he has. He winks at me and turns back to his friends.
"Oh, good God," Bridgette groans with disgust. She rolls her eyes in Jay's direction and then turns back to me. "Please tell me you're not into that."
"First off, he's a person," I say to her. "And maybe a little," I quietly add.
She scoffs loudly and leans back in her chair.
"Just because you're bitter Heather broke it-"
"Heather and I did not break up," she reminds me. "We went on one date, which afterwards she realized she couldn't handle all of this." Bridge gestures to her body.
I heard all about the date the next Monday when Bridge stomped up to me inbetween second and first period and explained how the date went wonderfully until Heather told her she didn't think it would work out. Bridge was crushed then, and still is now three weeks later even though she won't admit it.
"I promise, Bridge, you'll find someone worthy of all of that," I point with my spoon to her outfit, which as usual outdoes mine.
"Anyway," Bridgette changes the subject almost as subtle as slapping me in the face would be. "You've fallen for Mr. Privileged, huh?"
I sigh. Bridgette hates uppity people, or people who even seem remotely uppity, even though she comes from a family that is far from poor. I constantly have to remind her that just because people dress in clothes whose price tag alone could feed a third-world country doesn't mean they're uppity. "Bridgette, he is not Mr. Privileged."
"Senator's son. Drives a brand new Escalade. Lives over in Tall Oaks," she drones on. "If that's not privileged, then please enlighten me as to what is."
I didn't know he lived over in Tall Oaks, which is the most expensive subdivision in the tri-county area. Those houses are huge six or seven bathroom houses. I've heard rumors that some of those houses have indoor pools, but I wouldn't know because it's a gated community. Only those who live there actually know what it looks like, while the rest of us can only speculate.
"I didn't know he lived there," I say quietly while I stare across the lunch room at Jay. I wonder what else I don't know about this boy who spends every Tuesday night at my house, eating my lasagna. Why isn't he at his lavish home being fed by his own mother?
"If you don't know that, then there's probably a whole slew of things that you don't know about him," she says matter-of-factly. She checks her watch, which I didn't realize she was wearing because of her ridiculous amount of bracelets, and groans. "Look, I've got a newspaper meeting to get to."
She stands up and grabs her tray and purse. Before she leaves though, she turns back and says, "Give it time. No need to rush into anything with someone you know nothing about." And with that she saunters to the tray drop and out of the cafeteria.
As I turn back to the empty table, I catch Jay watching me this time. He gives me a grin that I've come to know pretty well. But I realize that beyond that grin and a few tid-bits here and there, I don't know Jay Keely like I feel I should.
And as much as I hate to admit it, Bridgette is right.
Will I tell her she's right the next time I see her?
Not a chance in hell.