Perfectly Messy (30 page)

“What? Jackson was a saint.”

Dad laughs. “No, he was all over the place. If I turned around, he’d be climbing the counters. He figured out how to climb the walls when he was three. Three!”

“He was an amazing athlete.”

“He was a kid with a great heart, but a total headache.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a photo. Jackson’s got a huge smirk on his face, standing way too close to a cliff with his hands on his hips. “He refused to walk away from the edge until we took this picture at the Grand Canyon. That kid got in so much trouble pulling that stunt. I swore I’d never let him out of the car again.”

“Weird, I don’t remember Jackson like that.”

“Of course you don’t. He was your big brother, purely amazing in your eyes. You two were great together. I loved watching you play. Jackson’s saving grace was how much he cared for you. He thought you were the world, wanted to teach you everything.”

“Yeah, that’s the Jackson I know. He knew how to do everything right. He was perfect.”

“Jackson was fantastic, but far from perfect. He almost burned down our house once!”

“He probably didn’t know what he was doing.”

“No, he knew. He managed it while he was home on Hospice, a few weeks before he passed away. He was eight. He knew how fire worked.”

“Then why’d he do it?”

“He was angry he was going to die,” Dad says, taking the photo back and carefully putting it in his wallet. “The thing is, even in those moments, he was fantastic. Before he got sick, I used to research ways to raise a challenging child.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “I bought so many books. Nothing worked. Jackson did his thing and, thankfully, his heart was good. But man, did he love to screw things up.

“After he got sick, I saw him more clearly. How fantastic Jackson was for thinking outside of the box, for pushing the limits. It’s what made him so great. He fought for what he wanted, hard. He never gave up. Even his last breath was strong.”

“How come you’re sharing this with me now?”

“I don’t know. The whole photo scandal reminds me of something that would’ve happened to Jackson if he was here. That frustration… I wasn’t used to feeling that toward you. After raising Jackson and it ending the way it did, I wanted everything to go right for you.”

“Dad, Jackson didn’t get leukemia and die because of anything you did, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know, but the reasoning behind my hopes for your life is real. I wanted you to have it all. You did. You do.”

“Weird…”

“What?”

“I always wanted to have it all because of Jackson. Wanted to be the perfect son and make up for what you guys were missing with him gone. Jackson’s behind so many of my decisions. He always seemed to have the right answer.”

“For you, he did. But in reality, he made mistakes. We all make mistakes. That’s okay. Listen,” he taps my knee. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to be perfect just because I wanted you to have it all.”

“You didn’t ever drive perfection into me. That’s my own deal.”

“Based off of trying to be a replacement for Jackson for me and your mother?”

My nose starts to burn as I look away from him. Whoa. I didn’t see this conversation coming, ever.

“Let it all go. Fight fiercely for what you want. If that means some plates come crashing down, I’ll help you clean up the mess.” He eyes the broken photos on the floor. “We’ll always love you. No matter what. This year seriously messed me up. Actually, that’s why I came home tonight.”

“Why?” Did he and Mom get in another fight? Things have seemed better between them since he fired Paul.

“To tell you about a decision I made with your mom tonight.” A light, relaxed smile spreads across his face. “After firing Paul, Mom and I revisited if we really did want to start down the track toward presidential candidacy. We agreed it’s something that we don’t want. I do still want to be Minnesota’s Governor, so I’ll run another term. If I lose though, it’s okay. Mom and I are planning to start up a non-profit in our retirement. Something local and involving education. The idea’s still a baby, but we are passionate about making it a reality.”

“Wow, that’s great. No, it’s awesome. I didn’t want you to become president either.”

“Yeah. That path in life isn’t for me. It’s not for my family either.” He takes off his sport coat. “It feels amazing to not have ‘presidential candidate’ on my radar anymore.”

“I bet.”

“So,” he stands, grabbing the broom from the floor. “Why are the photos smashed on the floor?”

“Eh, I’m…”

“Oh, just spill it.”

“I asked Lucy to take me back tonight and she rejected me. So I threw the pillow.” My face burns as I bend down with the dustpan, keeping it still while Dad sweeps into it.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

He puts down the broom. “Why wouldn’t she take you back?”

I reach down, mulling it over as I pick up the last photo. Jackson holding a baby. Me. His smile is crooked and there’s a wild look in his eye. Dad’s right, he did have that mischievous look. And there I am, sleeping peacefully in his arms. Being perfect.

That’s it.

Oh my gosh. Lucy was right. Of course she’s right! She’s the smartest wise ass I know.

I’m obsessed with perfection. Just because it doesn’t feel correct doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Unknowingly, I’ve gone through life as a critical asshole. I thought I was just striving to do good, but the moment things got too overwhelming, I fled. I couldn’t handle things being real. My pursuit of perfection kept me from learning how to cope. No wonder Lucy kept her feelings from me. She was trying to keep our relationship easy,
perfect
, for me. She knew I needed it. She did what she could to hold us together. She’s able to roll with the punches, even when they hurt, and I couldn’t. I freaked out.

“There it is,” Dad says. “Did you figure it out?”

“Yeah, I think I did. Perfect doesn’t mean right.”

“Love isn’t perfect, Justin. It’s a terrifying, messy thing that requires the strength to not only believe in it but fight for it. Work on it. Love is hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done and the greatest thing I’ll ever do.” He picks up a photo of Mom. “I’ll fight for her the rest of my life. I want you to know that.”

“I do. Thanks. She deserves it.”

“She does.” He takes the photo out of the shattered glass. “So, what’s next for you?”

His words freeze me in place. Terror doesn’t even begin to describe what I think I’m about to do.

“Go to Lucy. Live with your heart, not your head.” He grabs the broom and smacks my leg with the bristles. “Let me clean up this mess.”

Lucy

The shower runs cold. The transition stings my scalp, making my bones shift. Okay, okay. The hot shower obviously didn’t work and this, well,
this
just sucks. I climb out, wrapping in a towel before dressing in my favorite pair of yoga pants and racer-back tank top. My breathing is still rapid, despite the steamy room.

Justin.

Why did he have to come back? Assuming I’d just jump back into his arms. Hell no. Not with that attitude. He hurt me so much. He’s never going to understand it. Screw him. I was finally able to walk around without a thousand pounds weighing down my heart. Move through life, with just nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds weighing me down. But with that one pound gone, I got through. I moved on. But then why does everything feel so fresh? The way Justin held me tonight, for that moment in his arms. God. My skin still burns with his touch. It felt so good, but I can’t let it happen again. Never again.

My heart flips and plunges, my toes curl. Instinct drives my heart, willing it to escape through the floor. This. Pain. Sucks. This isn’t fair. I thought I’d moved on. He shouldn’t be able to have this effect on me. Not anymore.

My phone vibrates on the counter. Surely, it’s Laura’s play-by-play of what I missed at the party after I left. Probably some stuff about Jen and Trish and how people are reacting. I pick it up, hoping that whatever people said to them was kind.

Instead, Justin’s name is branded across my screen.

Justin: Can we talk? Please?

My breath catches in my throat. No. There’s no way I’m talking to him. He ignored my texts forever. Enjoy how it feels, buddy.

I walk away, setting the phone back down as I go into my bedroom. Our team photo from this year hangs askew on the wall, so I reach over and tweak it. Better. On the desk below, two picture frames are turned over. My finger flips it over before I catch myself. Justin stares back at me, his hands wrapped around my waist, smiling as he brushes white paint on my face.

Pressing the photo back into the desk, I walk away. No need to flip over the other photo of us after homecoming and torture myself.

The phone vibrates again on the counter. And again. And again. Seriously? Get a clue. I pace the room with each vibration. The buzzing goes crazy. Oh my gosh. Is he seriously calling me? We haven’t spoken on the phone since the day we broke up.

I crawl into bed, propping pillows on my lap. A lame attempt at self-restraint to keep me from running into that bathroom and answering the phone. I can do this. I can stay away from Justin. I will not fall into his arms just because he’s finally calling me. That’s not how this works.

Suddenly, something
clinks
against my window. Weird. The forecast said rainstorm but no hail. The clinks keep coming, but only on that window, and in rhythmic form. Maybe I should look? There’s always been that crazy part of me that’s wanted the guy throwing pebbles. But, no. I won’t go.

But what if it’s Ian? What if he’s being all cute and romantic, trying to show he really is into me and I should give him another chance? I mean, yeah, that’d be creepy, but he’s homeschooled. That’s what guys do in the movies. It’s already raining lightly. If he was stuck waiting out in that and got sick because of me, I’d feel horrible.

Okay. I move the pillows away. I’ll check, just in case it’s him.

I peel back the curtain and try to see through the branches of the tree blocking my window to the ground below. Dad’s right. This thing needs to come down before it crushes me in my sleep during a storm. It’s way too close. Another clink hits the window, right at nose level.

What the heck?

I focus in on the only place where a direct hit like that could come from. The tree trunk. Justin’s wrapped around it, his hair wildly curly in the rain. The brightness of his green eyes startles me. I jump back, knocking over my desk chair.

“Open the window!”
Justin screams. Oh my god! My parents are going to hear him!

I yank open the window and lean out. “Justin Marshall. What are you doing? My parents are still awake in the kitchen. They are going to hear you.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if the whole world hears me, as long as you hear me.”

I glare at him. He’s insane. “Not happening. I’ve said all I needed to say to you.” I slam the window shut and yank the curtains closed. Holy crap. He’s in my tree.

“Lucy!”

And he’s yelling again at the top of his lungs. I lunge again, opening the curtains and yanking open the window. “I’m not kidding. You need to stop. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“I’m not kidding either. I’ll yell until they call the cops. I don’t care.” He opens his mouth again to shout my name but I throw up my hand.

“Fine,” I say.

“Can I come in?”

“Hell, no,” I say as I remove the screen. I fling my leg over the windowsill, grabbing the branch above me and letting my feet dangle, finding the one below. My arms lift me and I tiptoe on the branch until the two come closer together. The bark is slippery from the mist. My toes slide and I scramble to find footing.

“Shit, Lucy.” Justin reaches out, pulling me around the waist toward the thicker part of the branch and the trunk. He holds me for a moment, with heavy breath. My skin screams for him. Must find distance. I reach above, pulling myself to another branch, giving myself the space I need from his amazing touch.

“Are you crazy?” Justin says, a scold to his voice I’ve never heard before.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” I snap back.

“Not out here.”

“Then why the hell did you climb my tree?”

“You wouldn’t answer the phone. Your light was on…I don’t know. I needed to talk to you!” He pulls his hands through his hair before he stabilizes on the branches. He lets go of the trunk, pulling his hoodie over his head, so he’s just wearing his gray v-neck undershirt. He steps out toward me and I tremble, realizing how horrible I’d feel if he fell. He hands me the hoodie. “Take it. I don’t want you getting sick.”

The hair on my skin is already standing on end, goosebumps becoming more pronounced with each shiver.

“Take it,” he insists and I do. I pull it over my head and the smell—oh God—the warm smell of Justin wraps itself around me. The sensation overwhelms me and I struggle to maintain composure. His smell will not send me to tears.

“Why did you come here?” I ask as he reaches up to steady himself on the branch above me.