Starting Fresh - Part 7

 

The sun was dropping behind the dunes, throwing long shadows across the weathered wooden deck of the Crab Shack. The salt air had cooled down with the afternoon breeze, rustling the grease-stained wax paper in the red plastic basket between them.

Only one cold, battered calamari ring was left, sitting on top of a heap of squeezed lemon wedges.

Jake leaned his head back against the pine railing, letting out a long, gravelly breath through her mouth.

His muscles felt completely shot. Four hours in the ocean had beaten the restless anxiety out of him. His shoulders and chest had that deep, radiating sunburn heat that you don't really feel until you sit down in the shade. Her hair—thick and stiff with salt—was tied back in a messy knot that kept pulling at the nape of his neck.

Across from him, Marie was slouched flat against the table. She had Jake’s long legs stretched out under the picnic bench, her chin resting right on the red-and-white vinyl.

"I'm so burnt," she mumbled into the table, her voice flat and raspy coming out of his adolescent chest.

"You didn't put on the nose stuff," Jake said. Her voice was soft, husky, and quiet.

"I forgot."

"I told you to put it on twice."

"I know." She rolled his teenage head to the side, looking at him with one half-open eye. "My back is gonna peel."

"Serves you right."

"Shut up." She reached out a long arm, lazily snagged the cold clam strip, and ate it in one bite. "You ate all the fries anyway."

"Because you were staring at a dog for ten minutes."

"It was a really cute dog, Jake."

"It had three legs and barked at a trash can."

"A cute dog," she repeated, the corner of Jake's teenage mouth twitching up.

They went quiet for a while. The restaurant speakers were humming some worn-out Fleetwood Mac song over the low murmur of people drinking draft beer at the railing. The breeze smelled like fried oil, cold beer, and low tide.

Jake looked down at his arms folded on the table. The unbuttoned gold sundress had slipped off one shoulder. The skin along her collarbone was flushed bright pink, dusted with fine white salt crystals that rubbed off under his thumb. He touched his own neck, feeling the delicate pulse beating slow and steady under the skin.

It was weird how quickly the panic had faded. Two days ago in that empty living room, he’d thought he was going to vomit from the shock. Now he was just sitting here picking dried salt off her arms, listening to the gulls.

"Water's cold," Jake said idly.

"Freezing," Marie agreed. "Felt good, though."

"Yeah."

She turned his head back, resting her chin on folded forearms. She was quiet for a second, watching him across the table.

"You did alright out there," she said.

Jake looked up. "What do you mean?"

"With the breakers. I thought you'd freak out with the hair and the suit."

Jake snorted, her shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "I almost lost the top on the first wave."

"Gotta tie the neck string tighter," she said matter-of-factly. "Told you that before we left the house."

"You didn't tell me it chokes you when you pull it."

"Beauty is pain, honey."

Jake shook his head, looking down at his lap. The emerald bottoms were still damp against his hips, the Lycra tight and cool against the sunburn.

He shifted his weight on the hard wooden bench. As he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the vinyl, the sundress fell open, the soft weight of her chest pressing against the edge of the table. He didn't even try to pull the fabric shut anymore. He was too tired to care, and there was nobody at the table except his own face anyway.

"Hey," Jake said quietly.

"Yeah?"

He picked at a chip in the red paint on the tabletop.

"School's in two weeks."

Marie let out a long, pathetic groan, burying Jake's face in his arms. "Don't. Please don't."

"I'm serious."

"I don't want to think about eleventh grade," she muffled into his t-shirt sleeve. "I did eleventh grade twenty-five years ago. It sucked."

"You don't have to do it," Jake said.

Marie lifted his head slowly, looking at him with a squint. "What are you talking about?"

Jake rubbed the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the damp curls. He hadn't planned on saying it out loud, but sitting here in the quiet, with the salt drying on his skin and the sun going down, it suddenly seemed completely obvious.

"Nobody knows us here," Jake said. His voice stayed low, almost under the sound of the wind. "Nobody's seen you. Nobody's seen me."

"Jake..."

"I'm just saying. Why do we have to switch back before Monday? Or whenever?"

Marie stared at him with his own hazel eyes. She didn't laugh, and she didn't look mad. She just looked surprised. "You want to stay like this?"

"I don't know," he said, feeling a tiny spike of heat in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. "Why set a date? What if we just... let it ride for a bit?"

"Just let it ride."

"Yeah. Why not? You go to high school. You don't have to care about grades or social stuff, you just sit in the back and read. And I deal with the house. I buy the food, drive the car, pay the bills."

"You don't know how to pay bills."

"I know how to click 'pay now' on a website, Mom. It’s not rocket science."

Marie sat up a little straighter, his teenage shoulders rolling back. A faint, crooked smile started creeping onto his old face. "You really think you want to be a forty-year-old woman?"

"I've been one for three days and nothing caught on fire."

"You haven't had to go to a PTA meeting yet."

"I wouldn't go anyway," Jake countered. "You never went."

"Fair point." She rubbed Jake’s jaw, her fingers scratching over the faint stubble. "God, your face is scratchy."

"Told you."

Marie looked down at the table, thinking about it. Jake watched her—watched his own eyebrows draw together in that familiar, quiet way she always looked when she was running the numbers in her head.

"Halloween," she said suddenly, looking back up.

"What about it?"

"What are you gonna wear?"

Jake let out a dry little laugh. "I don't know. A sweatshirt."

"No way," Marie said, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "If you're forty-two on Halloween, you have to hand out candy to the neighborhood kids. You gotta look the part."

"Fine, I'll wear a witch hat."

"A witch hat?"

"Yeah. A sexy witch. Whatever."

The word hit the table and just sat there.

Sexy.

Jake stopped breathing.

His brain slammed on the brakes, but the word was already out. He was sitting there in an unbuttoned sundress and a tiny green bikini, leaning his mother's cleavage against the wood, and he’d just casually told her he was going to dress her body up as "sexy."

A heavy heat surged up his neck, flooding her cheeks, her ears, her chest. He stared down at the empty plastic basket, his face burning hot enough to blister.

Across the table, Marie’s eyes went wide, and his old teenage face split into a look of absolute, wicked delight.

"A sexy witch?" she wheezed, leaning in, practically vibrating with laughter. "Did you actually just say that?"

"Shut up," Jake muttered, pressing his palms flat against his burning cheeks. "You know what I meant."

"No, no, you said it!" She slapped the table with his boyish palm, laughing loud enough to turn a couple heads at the railing. "A sexy witch! You've got my body for three days and you're already planning on working the front porch in fishnets!"

Jake sat there under the barrage of his own teenage laugh. The blush thrummed in her ears, hot and prickly. He looked down at the unbuttoned gold sundress, at the emerald fabric clinging to her curves, and then across at his own former face grinning back at him.

The embarrassment flared, peaked—and then broke.

Jake slowly lowered her hands from her face. A slow breath slipped through her teeth, carrying that low, velvety resonance. He pushed her salt-tangled curls behind one ear, tilted her chin up, and looked right back at his own grinning face.

"You know what?" Jake said. "Yeah."

Marie's laugh sputtered, cutting off into a startled grin. "What?"

"Yeah," Jake repeated, his voice dropping into a calm, husky drawl that sat heavy and steady between them. He leaned an elbow on the vinyl, letting his head tilt. "Why the hell not? A sexy witch. Fishnets, velvet dress, slit up to here, whatever. If I'm stuck with this waist and these legs through October, I'm sure as hell not hiding in a potato sack just to make you comfortable."

Marie stared at him, caught off guard. His teenage mouth twitched, the teasing grin shifting into something slightly dazed as she took in the sight of her former self casually daring her right back.

"You're serious," she murmured.

"Completely," Jake said, a small, knowing smirk touching her lips. "I'll make the neighborhood dads trip over the sprinkler. You'll be sitting on the sofa eating mini Snickers in an oversized hoodie, and I'll be the hottest mom on the block."

Marie let out a single, stunned laugh through Jake's nose, shaking his boyish head in pure disbelief. "You are completely out of your mind."

"Maybe," Jake said easily. He reached for the plastic water cup and took a slow swallow, completely unbothered now. "Anyway. Point is, we don't have to plan out the next six months. We just don't have to rush back, either."

Marie watched him across the table. The stunned amusement settled into that quiet, comfortable calm from earlier, easy and worn smooth.

"No rush," she agreed quietly. She reached out with Jake's long, sunburnt fingers and gave the back of his hand a gentle tap against the vinyl. "We just see how it goes."

Jake looked down at her small, plum-tipped hand, then back up at his own hazel eyes. The knot in his chest loosened all the way.

"Yeah," he said. "Just see how it goes."