I went to my bedroom door and threw it open. Coming up the stairs as I was about to head down them was Jake, carrying a heavy backpack filled with books. From the library.
"Has hell frozen over?" I asked him as he went by me on his way to his room.
"Don't start with me, I've got finals," he growled. Then, just as he was to the door of his room, he turned and, with all apparent sincerity, said, "Nice dress," and disappeared into the confines of his bachelor cave.
I couldn't help smiling. It was the first compliment I'd ever managed to wring from Jake.
I started down the stairs, one hand lifting the hem of my gown. They were the exact same stairs, I realized, as the ones Mrs. O'Neil had chased me down about, oh, 150-something years ago. I wondered if, in my current ensemble, she'd have mistaken me for a hoochie mama. Somehow, I doubted it.
It's nice, I thought, that we have stairs like this. Stairs a girl can really make an entrance on. I got to the last landing, the one that basically served as a stage for girls who were going to their first Winter Formal to pivot and show off their dress to the people waiting in the living room, and paused, preparing to do just that.
But it was no use. I saw that at once. My stepfather was running around with a spoon filled with something green, urging everyone he encountered to taste it, just taste it. My mom was trying to figure out how her new digital camera worked and not doing the world's best job at it. My youngest stepbrother, David, was talking a mile a minute to my date about some new advances in aeronautics he'd seen on the Discovery Channel.
And Max, the family dog, had his nose buried in the front of my date's tuxedo pants.
I guess it was a pretty typical familial scene, one that I'm sure occurs in millions of homes every night.
So why did tears spring to my eyes at the sight of it?
Oh, not at Andy and his spoon, or my mom and her camera, or David and his complete conviction that anyone wanted to hear the entire transcript of the show he'd watched.
No, it was the fact that the family dog kept thrusting his nose into inappropriate places on my date, and that my date had to keep shoving Max away, that made the tears well up.
Because Max could smell my date. Max could finally smell Jesse.
David noticed me standing there on the landing first. His voice trailed off and he dried up, and just stood there staring. After a minute, everyone was staring.
I hastily blinked my tears away. Especially when Max rushed over and tried to thrust his big furry head beneath my skirt.
"Oh, Susie," my mom cooed and to everyone's surprise - especially her own - managed to snap a picture. "You look beautiful."
Andy, spying another victim, raised his spoon toward me, but my mother cut him off at the pass.
"Andy, don't you go near her with that stuff while she's in that dress," she warned.
That made me smile. When I looked at Jesse, I saw he was smiling, too. A secret smile, just for me - even though now, of course, everyone else could see it, too.
It still took my breath away, same as ever.
"So," I said as casually as I could with a giant lump in my throat. But this one was from joy. "I see you've met Jesse."
Andy summed up their introduction in two words before heading back to the kitchen with his spoon. "He'll do."
My mother was beaming. "So nice to meet you," she said to Jesse. "Now come down here, I want to get your picture together."
I came down the rest of the stairs and went to stand by Jesse's side in front of the fireplace. He looked so tall and handsome in his tux, I could hardly stand it. I didn't even care that my mother was completely mortifying me in front of him. I guess those kind of things don't really matter when you nearly lose your reason for living, then get it back again, against all odds.
"This is for you," Jesse said when I came close enough. He handed me something he'd been holding. It was a single white orchid, the kind you usually only see at funerals. Or on graves.
I took it from him with a wry smile. Only he and I realized the flower's significance. To my mother, who came rushing over to pin it to my dress before she took the picture, it was just a corsage.
"Now, say cheese," she said and took the picture, thankfully without actually making us say it.
Andy reemerged from the kitchen, this time without his spoon, and started looking parental.
"Now, you have her home by midnight, understand, young man?" he said, clearly enjoying being father to a girl instead of a boy for a change.
"I will, sir," Jesse replied.
"One," I said to Andy.
"Twelve thirty," Andy countered.
"Twelve thirty," I agreed. I'd only argued because, well, that's what you do. It didn't really matter what time Jesse had to bring me home by. Not when we had our whole lives together ahead of us.
"Suze," my mom whispered as she fussed with my shawl, "we like him, don't get us wrong. But isn't he a little, well, old for you? After all, he's in college - Jake's age."
If only she knew.
"That makes us about even," I assured her. "Girls mature faster than boys."
Brad chose that moment to come barreling in from the TV room, where he'd been playing video games. When he saw we were still in the doorway, his face twisted with annoyance.
"Haven't you guys left yet?" he demanded and stormed back into the kitchen.
I looked at my mother.
"I see what you mean," she said and patted me on the back. "Have a nice time."
Outside in the crisp evening air, Jesse looked over his shoulder to make sure my parents weren't watching. Then he took my hand.
"Between doing that again and an eternity in hellfire," he said, "I'd take the hellfire."
"Well, you'll never have to do it again," I said with a laugh. "Now that they know you. And besides, they liked you."
"Your mother didn't," Jesse assured me.
"Yes, she did," I said. "She just thinks you're a little old for me."
"If only she knew," Jesse said, voicing, as he so often did, exactly what I'd been thinking.
"Your stepfather, on the other hand, invited me to dinner tomorrow night."
"Sunday dinner?" I was impressed. "He really must like you."
We'd reached Jesse's car - well, really, it was Father Dom's car. But Father D was letting Jesse borrow it for the occasion. Not, of course, that Jesse had a license. Father Dom was still working on getting him a birth certificate . . . and a Social Security card . . . and school transcripts, so he could start applying for colleges and for student loans.
But, the good father had assured us, it wouldn't be hard. "The church," he'd said, "had ways."
"Madam," Jesse said, opening the front passenger door for me.
"Why, thank you," I said, and slid in.
Jesse went around to the driver's seat, slid into it, then reached for the ignition.
"You're sure you know how to drive one of these things?" I asked him, just to make sure.
"Susannah." Jesse started the engine. "I did not sit idly by eating bonbons for the 150 years I was a ghost. I did make a few observations now and then. And I most definitely know - " He started backing the car out of the driveway. " - how to drive."
"Okay. Just checking. Because I could always take over if you need - "
"You will sit where you are," Jesse said, turning onto Pine Crest Road without nearly hitting the mailbox, which was something even I, a driver with an actual license, rarely managed to do, "and look pretty, as a young lady ought to."
"Wait, which century is this?"
"Humor me," he said, looking pained. "I'm doing it for you, in this monkey suit."
"Penguin."
"Susannah."
"I'm just saying. That's what it's called. You need to get hip with the lingo if you're going to fit in."
"Whatever," Jesse said in such a perfect imitation of - well, me - that I was forced to mock punch him in the arm.
I sat and looked pretty for the entire rest of the two-mile ride to the Mission. When we got there, I even waited and let him come around to open the car door for me. Jesse thanked me, mentioning that his male ego had taken enough blows over the past week.