“That isn’t stupid. That’s…wow…it’s fucking great.”
“Really?” she asks uncertainly.
“Really. I wish…” I let out a huff. “I wish Sean had that…had something like that. I mean, I know he was in his early twenties when he was released from jail, but I kind of wish he had that…” I trail off.
She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Thank you,” she says, giving it a tight squeeze.
I smile with a nod. “Yeah, no problem. So…” I shake off my thoughts about Sean and ask, “Why don’t you still do it? I’ve seen your work. You’re talented, Jenna, and to use that talent for something good would be awesome.”
“No. My parents, especially my mother,”—she rolls her eyes when mentioning her mother—“think art is a good hobby, not a career choice.” She shrugs. “Besides, I don’t paint anymore.”
“At all?” She shakes her head. “Why? Shit, if I was even a quarter as talented as you are, I wouldn’t throw that away.”
“Logan, when I paint, I feel. It may not make any sense, but painting brings out a lot of emotions for me. I’m sure, like any artist—musician, writer, sculptor—the emotion just pours out. But sometimes, it becomes too much to handle. You know?”
“Yeah. And what’s wrong with that? Do you know how many people keep so many bottled up feelings inside, there’s no way to just let it all out, and they don’t have a way to let it out. Why not pour it out into something beautiful? Make it a masterpiece, whether it’s a piece of art, or a brilliant poem, or a soulful song? That’s what makes it the best. When someone else can look at your work and see every single nuance, sense every individual emotion. Feel like they were there with you. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t waste that talent.”
“Wow,” she says, lost for words. “Are you sure you don’t have any secret talents you’re hiding from me?”
“Nah. I wanted to be a rock star when I was thirteen, but that was short-lived. When I realized I couldn’t hold a tune, I had to give it up.”
She laughs. Hard. I laugh too. Then she looks at me differently, as if she’s seeing me in a whole new light. “I like you, Logan.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You know, when someone gives you a compliment, just say thank you. Okay? Because you can ruin a moment like this.” She snaps a finger.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
I look across the street where the playground is. It’s nice out and I’m not ready to take her home yet. I’m not ready for her to want to leave either. I want to keep her as long as I can. I want to know her better. I want to just… Dammit. I just want to be able to look at her for as long as I can. “Wanna go to the park and act like big kids?” I blurt out.
“Hmm,” she contemplates. “Okay. I’ll race you.” She quickly stands, removes her shoes, and darts for it.
“Dude! That’s so not fair. You’re cheating!”
I swirl off my seat and run after Jenna, making sure there’s no oncoming traffic as I pick up the pace. I catch up, sticking my tongue out as I pass her. She gasps and runs harder. “First one to the slide wins!” she shouts out.
“Bet!” I respond.
We both run harder. Shit, she can run. I’m all out of breath, but I continue to push through. My legs are way longer than hers, so my strides are wider. She beats me anyway, by a few inches. As she reaches the red slide, she turns around, and throws out her arms, breathlessly yelling out, “I won! Ooot, ooot!” She does a little dance.
I stop in front of her and bend at the waist, out of breath and raspy. “Did you just cabbage patch?”
Jenna lands her hands to her hips. “Yeah, why?”
“You need to get out more.”
She laughs. “Well, you need to work out more. Because…I BEAT YOU! OOOT, OOOT!” She dances backward all the way to the swing. “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, oh, oh!”
“Please don’t ever quit your day job,” I tease, following her and taking a seat on the swing right next to hers.
“I don’t have a day job,” she says softly.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask, swinging beside her, still trying to catch my breath.
“Yeah. My parents won’t let me work.”
“How old are you again? You’re not underage or anything, right?”
Jenna giggles. “I’m twenty-one. Damn. Is it that obvious I live under my parents?”
“Well, yeah. You’re twenty-one and listen to almost everything they say. Don’t you have thoughts of your own?”
She quiets. “Unfortunately, my thoughts are usually drowned out by others.”
“Ah.” I look over at her. She’s staring straight ahead to where the slide and sandbox are. She’s doing that thing again. “You do that a lot, the thing with your cheek.”
Jenna looks at me. “Oh.” She pulls her hand away from the side of her face. “Bad habit. I, uh, chew the inside of my cheek when I’m overthinking, or nervous.”
“Are you nervous now? Do I make you nervous?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m not nervous now.”
“But I do…make you nervous?”
“A little,” she confesses. “I mean I don’t think you would harm me or anything. It’s just…I like you and that makes me nervous. That’s all.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t harm you,” I say. “I like you too. A lot.” I smile.
“Why?”
I shrug. “I’m curious about what goes on in that beautiful mind of yours.”
Jenna rips her stare away, the corner of her lips twisting down into a frown. “Trust me, there’s nothing beautiful hidden inside my mind. Nothing worth telling and nothing worth knowing.”
“I disagree.”
She blows out a long, heavy breath, as if fighting back an urge to argue with me. “Well, let’s just agree to disagree, shall we?”
“Okay.” I don’t push her. “So how was your date?” I had to fucking ask. It’s been killing me the past hour.
She chuckles. “My lunch date with my father didn’t go as well as I’d planned.”
“With your father, eh?” I can’t lie; this news makes my ears ring with happiness. “That bad?”
“Here’s the thing: I’m close with my father. I have a bad relationship with my mother, ‘mommy issues’ you could say. What I thought was going to be a great lunch with my dad turned into a lecture about my relationship with my mother. So yeah, that bad.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Thanks.”
I wet my lips, hesitant to ask this next question, but decide to go for the plunge anyway. “That morning I found you by the street corner in your pajamas, was that about your mother too?”
“Yeah. Something like that,” she whispers.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’d rather not. Thoughts about my mother put me in a bad place. I don’t want to go there, especially not right now.” Jenna looks over, a delicate smile etched along her beautiful, pale face. “I’m having a good time. I don’t want it to be ruined.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Huh?”
Fuck.
Did I just say that out loud? Yeah, I did. Oh screw it; I might as well own up to it. “You’re beautiful, Jenna. I’m a man and I’m not afraid to admit when I’m lucky enough to look at someone as beautiful as you.”
She doesn’t say anything, just stares back at me, her expression unreadable. Did I cross a boundary here? Should I not have said anything?