P.S. I Like You by Kasie West
“Okay.”
Lucas said something I couldn’t understand. Maybe we both needed to take a cue from Isabel and start miming.
“What?” I leaned close to him this time.
“Do you want something to drink, too?” he asked, gesturing toward where Isabel and Gabriel were walking toward the bar behind us. It was a small crowd tonight, like it usually was with lesser-known bands.
The lead singer on stage was wailing into the microphone, sweat dripping down his temple.
“I’m okay. Maybe when they break,” I told Lucas.
Lucas either heard me that time or understood my hand motions because he turned his attention back to the front as well.
My ears were still ringing and my chest still buzzing even though we were all outside now, on the far end of a parking lot across the street. The night was calm around us. Concerts always left me buzzing in the best ways. I wasn’t someone who needed to be up there in the spotlight, performing. If I could just hear my words being sung, my chords being strummed by someone breathing life and passion into my ideas, I would be so happy.
We had stopped by Lucas’s car, a navy Ford Focus. Not the car I would’ve imagined him in. He seemed more like a beat-up Corolla guy to me. Not that most people I knew matched their cars. I drove my mom’s minivan most of the time … Okay, well that kind of fit.
Isabel plugged and unplugged her ears several times with her pointer fingers. “They need to issue earplugs on our way in the door.” Her voice was loud, her ears probably ringing.
“You sound like a grandma!” Gabriel teased, but he was speaking extra loud, too.
I giggled.
“That was great,” Lucas said, his crooked smile on.
I smiled. “Amazing. Had you ever heard them before?”
“No, I think they’re local. Pretty new.”
“Now we can say we knew them way back when once they get big.”
“Yes. We’ll be smug about it, too,” Lucas said, and I laughed.
Gabriel nodded. “Maybe by then Lily will be just as big and she can be equally smug.”
Lucas spun his keys once around his finger then stopped it with his palm. “Are you in a band?” he asked me.
“No. Not even close.”
“She plays the guitar and writes music,” Isabel put in.
I shuffled my feet. “I used to—well, I tried to. But not anymore. My guitar is broken.”
Lucas tipped his head to one side. “Is it fixable?”
“Not sure. It’s splintered pretty bad.”
“I know a girl at the music store who does guitar repairs. I’ll get you her info.”
“Really? That would be amazing. Thank you.”
Lucas nodded. “A broken guitar is the worst.”
I paused, about to agree, when I processed what he said. “Wait, do you play?”
“I do.”
“Cool,” I said.
“Really cool,” Isabel said, giving me a big smile.
“I’ll try to get her info for you this week,” Lucas told me. “The store might not be open, with Thanksgiving and everything.”
“That’s fine. After this week will be good.”
“I’ll send you a message if I get it.”
“Like in the sky?” I asked with a laugh.
“No, like a text?” he said, confused.
“It was a joke … airplanes … sales … never mind, yes, a text would be great.” Stop referring to your letters like everyone should understand what you’re talking about, Lily.
We exchanged numbers then he unlocked his car and held out one arm. I wasn’t sure what the one arm was offering but I slid in for a side hug. “Thanks for coming. That was fun.”
“It was. See you later.”
When he left I squeezed Isabel’s hand and she squeezed mine back. I’d gone on a date with Lucas! And we’d exchanged numbers. And hugged!
It had been perfect.
I could finally move on from my pen pal.
“Why is he in the house?” my dad asked, stepping over the rabbit. Ashley and I were in the living room, watching a documentary on fire ants (her idea, not mine) that I was finding oddly fascinating.
My mom, who sat at the table, stringing beads onto a necklace, said, “He needs some exercise. If he had a bigger cage … ” She gave Dad her pleading eyes.
“I’m not building a mansion for a rabbit.”
“Did I say mansion? Girls, did I say mansion?”
I held up my hands. “Leave us out of this. That rabbit is evil. I’m on dad’s side.”
“There are no sides,” Mom and Dad both said at the same time.
Ashley looked at me, raised her eyebrows, then said, “So we don’t have to vote anymore? Ever?”
My dad laughed. “Those are just fun and games. Get ready to vote on the best pie in two days. I’ve perfected my recipe.”
Ashley stood up. “Come on, Lily. Let’s take a walk.”
“But I don’t want to. The fire ants.” I pointed to the TV.
She pulled on my arm. “Come on.”
“Fine. We’re going for a walk.”
We were halfway down the block before she said, “Why did you throw away the newspaper clipping?”
“What?” I asked, even though I had heard her perfectly.
“The one I saw on your wall for weeks.”
“I didn’t throw it away,” I argued. “It’s still in the corner of our room somewhere … in a tight crumpled-up ball.”
Ashley bumped my hip. “I thought you were finally going to get over your fear and share your songs.”
“I was. But my guitar is broken so I can’t now.” I didn’t mention that Lucas might know someone who could fix it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up just in case that didn’t come to anything.
“Get a new guitar,” Ashley said as we rounded the corner.
“You know I can’t afford that.”
“Rent a guitar.”
“I … ”
She tapped a mailbox as we passed it, like it had taken her side in the argument. “That’s what I thought. You jumped on the first excuse available to get out of the competition.”
I scowled in annoyance. “Ashley. My guitar is broken. The thing I have to use to write half of the song. I think that’s a pretty good excuse.”
“Fine. If that’s the only reason, you can share the words to the song you’ve been working on with the family on Thanksgiving.”
I paused then said, “Fine. I will.”
“Good. Grandma and Grandpa are going to be there, too.”
“I know.”
“And Aunt Lisa and her kids. And Uncle James and his kids.”
“I know.” Was she trying to talk me out of this or just make me admit I was terrified?
“And Mark.”
“I know … wait … who?”
“The guy from work. We’re getting serious.”
“Really?” My sister never got serious with anyone so that surprised me. “The guy that saw food on your teeth?”
She shoved my arm. “Shut up.”
I laughed. “Just kidding. That’s cool, Ash.”
“So I invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner.”
I nodded. A boyfriend at Thanksgiving would be new. “If you like this guy, keep him far away from our house,” I said. “Especially on holidays.”
She laughed like I was joking but then her laughter trailed off into a worried expression. “Oh no. You’re right. I’ve made a mistake.”
I nodded. “It’s not too late to tell him to stay home.”
“Our family can all be normal for one day, right?” Ashley asked hopefully. “That won’t be hard. We’ve been normal for a stretch of time before.” She sounded doubtful.
“It’s your funeral.”
“It’ll be fine.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’ll be there to run interference.”
“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”
“Do not say things like that w
“I can’t quote The Wizard of Oz? Everyone knows The Wizard of Oz. And if he doesn’t then you should be glad that we found out so early in the relationship.”
She put her hand to her forehead. “You’re right. He needs to stay home.”
“Exactly.”
“He’ll stay home … but you’re still sharing your song on Thanksgiving.”
“You did what?” I was pouring hot gravy into the dish and nearly spilled it on the counter. A little splattered on my wrist and I wiped it quickly before it burned me.
“Please, Lily,” Mom said with a sigh. “Let’s not get dramatic about this. I thought you knew him.”
“I do know him and that’s why I don’t want him over here for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Well, your brother invited him and he accepted.”
Ashley popped an olive in her mouth. “Wyatt invited him to Thanksgiving dinner? Weird.”
“See. It’s weird,” I said. “Just call Cade and tell him there was a change of plans.”
Because Cade Jennings, my enemy, my former secret pen pal, could not show up at my house for Thanksgiving.
“Who’s Cade?” Aunt Lisa asked, a baby on her hip while she stirred yams. She and her three kids, along with my grandparents, had arrived an hour earlier. My uncle, his wife, and their four kids had arrived the night before. And we were still waiting on my mom’s other sister.
And Cade, apparently.
“Lily’s friend,” my mom said.
My face went hot.
“No. We are not friends. He’s Wyatt’s baseball coach.” I placed the gravy boat next to the potatoes. “Mom, our family is too crazy to have guests over,” I tried to argue. And why couldn’t Cade go to Sasha’s house for Thanksgiving? Couldn’t he torture another family?
Ashley, now raiding the vegetable tray, said, “He and Mark can talk.”
“What? I thought you’d convinced Mark to stay home,” I said.
“No, I didn’t. But everyone be normal today, okay? Normal!” Ashley marched out of the kitchen, probably to give the “be normal” instructions to the rest of the family. My family didn’t know what normal was. She’d have to be a bit more specific than that.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and found myself heading to the bathroom and analyzing myself in the mirror. My analysis ended with me applying more mascara, a dusting of blush, and some lip gloss. Not for Cade, but because it was Thanksgiving.
The doorbell rang and I closed my eyes, giving myself a pep talk.
I am glad Cade can spend Thanksgiving away from his house. He needs this. And I can handle him for one afternoon.
Right?
The doorbell rang again.
Did nobody else know how to answer the door around here?
It was probably better if I answered it, anyway. I could let Cade know what he was in for or better yet, turn him away.
I opened the front door and stepped outside while Cade’s fist was in the air, getting ready to knock again. He wore a nice pair of pants and a button-down short-sleeved shirt. His hair was combed and he held a wrapped box in his hand.
He looked at the closed door over my shoulder and then said, “Your brother invited me.”
“I know. Did he warn you about how crazy our house is?”
“No.”
“Well, here is your warning. You can leave now before anyone even knows you’re here if you want to.” I wanted to add that I wasn’t sure our house was exactly a better alternative to his. But that would mean giving away that I knew he was my pen pal.
“I told your brother I’d come,” Cade said.
“Fine. But I want to have a nice day so let’s call a truce, okay? Let’s not fight today … because it’s Thanksgiving.”
“Because it’s Thanksgiving?” he asked, one eyebrow going up.
I hadn’t meant to quote one of his letters again. It just came out. But he wouldn’t possibly guess that I was quoting him. I was the last person he would think was exchanging letters with him.
“Unless that much self-control is too hard for you,” I added, trying to cover.
“You’ve already broken the truce with that comment,” Cade pointed out with a half-smile.
“The truce doesn’t start until you enter the house.”
“And it ends the second I leave?”
“Yes.”
“Deal.” He held out his hand like we should shake on it.
I almost walked away from his outstretched hand but figured I should get a head start on playing nice.
I shook. “Good.”
When I tried to pull my hand back, he held on. “You look nice.”
“What?” I spit out. “No need to overdo it. I said no fighting. I didn’t say we had to think of compliments.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “This is going to be fun. And I sense it might be harder for you than it will be for me.”
“Because you’re used to being fake?” I bit my tongue before I said more.
“No, because you seem incapable of being nice.” He dropped my hand and opened the door, leaving me on the porch staring after him.
So had we called a truce or not? Sealing a truce with insults didn’t seem like a very promising start.
He was right, I wasn’t sure I could do this.
“Cade’s here, everyone!” I called, walking in behind him.
“Coach!” Wyatt came running down the hall. It looked like he was tempted to hug Cade, but then he held up his hand for a fist bump instead. Cade complied. Jonah appeared as well, and wanted his own fist bump.
“I’m Jonah. I’m seven and you’ll be my coach in two years,” he told Cade.
“Hopefully,” Cade said. “I might be away at college by then.”
“You can come back to coach me,” Jonah assured him.
“I hope I can. Wyatt, direct me to your mom. I have a gift for her.”
“Why did you bring her a gift?”
“Because it’s polite to bring people gifts when they have you over.”
“I’ve never done that before,” Wyatt said thoughtfully. “Except for birthday parties, but this isn’t a birthday party.”
Cade draped his arm over Wyatt’s shoulder. “You’re right.”
They left and I took a deep breath. I could do this. I’d just imagine Cade as the guy I’d been exchanging letters with, the one my brother looked up to, not as the one who mocked me in the halls and warned guys away from me.
Just as I was about to see if my mom needed help in the kitchen, the doorbell rang again. I turned around and answered it. A guy holding a bottle of sparkling cider stood on the porch. His dark hair was a mess, but his clothes were wrinkle-free and dressy so I assumed the hair thing was purposeful. Considering my own hair on most days, I really should’ve been more forgiving of unruly hair.
“Hi,” I said.
“I’m Mark.”
Ashley’s friend … boyfriend? “Oh, right, food teeth guy.”
His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Come in. I’m Lily.”
“Ah,” he said as if he now understood some mystery. What had my sister told him about me and how could I already have proven whatever that was in two sentences?
“Ash!” I yelled, stepping inside. “Your … boy is here!”
Ashley came sweeping into the room in a cloud of perfume and hairspray. I wasn’t even sure what about her hairstyle required hairspray, but she’d used a lot of it. “Mark! Hi! Oh is that for us?” She gestured toward the bottle he held. “Thank you.” She threaded her fingers between his and led him away.
When had our house become the destination for Thanksgiving visitors? The type that brought gifts? This was going to be the strangest Thanksgiving ever.
Just because our visitors had some form of etiquette training didn’t change my family’s manners. The second my father uttered the word amen, my brothers and little cousins dive-bombed the counter where all the food was laid out. They w
The kitchen became a flurry of activity—my mom taking lids and foil off of everything, my dad calling out for the dark meat, my sister pouring drinks, my grandparents directing from their places at the table, my aunt wrestling her daughter into a high chair while the baby screamed bloody murder and her other two kids ran circles around the counter, my uncle barking orders at his kids. Cade stood as if frozen to the tile, unsure of what to do. Visits to my house needed to come with a training manual.
I looked at the clock on the stove. It was 2:05 in the afternoon. One hour—that’s how long Cade would last before he made an excuse to leave. I’d bet my broken guitar on it.
I gave him a smirk. “I warned you. And if you want any food, you’ll have to take the plunge.”
He did just that. In two steps he had a plate and was filling it expertly. He wound in and out of bodies until he arrived at the end of the counter, where Ashley held up a drink for him. I was the only one frozen to the tile now. The empty roll basket mocked my amateur move of waiting too long. Wyatt’s plate had three rolls precariously stacked and I snagged one as I walked by.
“Hey!”
I patted his head and took a bite, then grabbed a plate. The table was already full as were the bar stools at the counter. So after I filled my plate, I went outside to the picnic table where it was possible to eat comfortably in November, because it was Arizona—the state that tried to kill its inhabitants every summer but made them forget about its attempt by being exceptionally kind every winter.
I dropped a green bean into the rabbit cage as I walked by. Then I sat down. Soon I was joined by Ashley (and her boy). And then Cade came out. My stomach dropped. He was Wyatt’s guest. Shouldn’t he have stayed inside with him?
Mark looked a little deflated, his wild hair flatter than it had been upon arrival. “It’s much quieter out here,” he noted, looking around in relief.
“Not for long,” I said.
“Well, I can’t stay too long, anyway,” he said.
Wow, ten minutes and Mark was already laying down the exit strategy.
“You can’t?” Ashley asked.
“I told you, right? My grandparents are expecting me soon.”
I waited for Cade to say something similar, jump on the easy excuse, but he was too busy eating.