Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble) (9 page)

He wasn’t wrong. November and December were tough months. Unlike Milo, I had divorced parents, and spending time with one parent at a time took a lot longer than Milo’s “family time” did. “I can handle it,” I told him. Two Thanksgivings, two Christmases. It hit me suddenly that dating my father’s girlfriend’s son actually saved me some time. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing ever. No, it wasn’t good. I’d long ago started worrying about the situation getting worse. If Dad broke up with Sheree, it would get awkward with me and Jake. If Jake and I broke up, I’d be stuck doing so-called family stuff with my ex-boyfriend. I should’ve brewed a potion to make Sheree and Dad break up. To heck with the consequences. Life had gotten way too complicated, and the stakes kept rising.

“Zoe?”

Oh, right. Milo. “Huh?”

“Are you still there?”

“Sorry. I spaced out for a second.”

“No problem.”

If Jake and I broke up, I was totally going to erase everybody’s memory because there was no way I was living life in Awkwardland.

Focus on Milo. You’re on the phone with Milo. “It’s going to be great to see you guys on Thanksgiving. And you are going to love Dr. Finnegan.”

“I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

“Oh no. You didn’t. Really.”

“Bye, Zoe.”

“Bye.”

It was a good thing that I was going to see Jake tomorrow because I was starting to worry. Milo thought I was taking on too much, but this was exactly why I always had something scientific to work on, to puzzle over. I was much better off if I didn’t focus on real life too much. I’d end up obsessing over my relationship with Jake.

I was much happier if I spent my energy on unicorn horn possibilities. Now what could I use to get the chalk to work…

“Do you want to practice driving some before I take you over to Jake’s?” Mom asked on Sunday morning as she shoveled two giant pancakes onto my plate. “You haven’t gotten any practice since your birthday.”

“Naw. That’s okay. I have almost a year left. I want to get there and get my homework finished. I’m supposed to help Jake with his biology, and then we’ll get to hang out.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the two of you being alone in the house all day.”

“Mom! You already agreed. We’re studying, taking Indiana for a walk, normal stuff. And it’s only for five or six hours.”

Mom sighed. “I know. You’re right. I already agreed.”

Dad and Sheree were spending the day in Asheville. They wouldn’t be home until evening. “You trust me, right?”

“I trust you,” she said, and hugged me.

“Are you going to be lonely?”

“No. I have plenty of work to do.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Jake opened the door as Mom and I pulled to the curb in front of his house. Indiana came bounding out and ran straight for me. Since I hadn’t opened the car door, he jumped up, placed his paws on the door, and stuck his face against the window.

Mom flinched so dramatically that it was almost audible. She hated scratches or even paw prints on her car.

“Don’t open it,” she said. “You’ll make it worse.”

Suddenly, Indiana flew back a few feet, and I saw that Jake had him by the collar.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, and pushed the door open.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Miller,” Jake called out.

“It’s—”

I slammed the door before we could hear the response. I wasn’t sure my mother could say it convincingly.

“Hi, Indy,” I said, shifting my books to one arm, and bending to scratch him behind the ears.

“Aren’t you going to say hi to me?” Jake asked.

“Not until we get inside,” I said. I turned and waved to my mother and she pulled away.

Jake leaned in as if to kiss me, and I stopped him. “She can still see us. She’s already halfway to freaking out over us being alone.”

“We’ve been alone before.”

“Yeah, but she’s ignoring that.”

“We aren’t alone as much as I’d like us to be.”

“Don’t get greedy,” I said, shoving at his arm. “Let’s go inside.”

I opened the door, waited for Indiana to rush ahead of us, and stepped inside.

Jake moved inside, shut the door, and took my books. He set them on the foyer table, and then he pulled me close and kissed me.

The boy could kiss.

We could spend the next five hours doing this, I realized as a giddy joy spread through me.

No one home to interrupt us. No one to catch us and give us condemning looks. No one to draw us out of the moment.

Indiana barked.

We ignored him. Jake held me even more tightly and my heart raced in response to the intimate dance of our tongues. His hair was damp from the shower, and he smelled fresh and clean with a hint of spice.

Jake groaned.

Indiana barked.

Then he barked louder.

Jake pulled away, turned toward the dog, and yelled, “Sit.”

Indiana was already sitting. At least, I thought he was. My head had gotten a bit fuzzy from the kisses.

Indiana whined, but I didn’t care because Jake’s lips were back on mine.

Oh, yeah. Five hours of alone time with Jake.

Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark bark bark. Bark bark bark.

At Indiana’s insistence, we stopped.

Bark bark bark.

“Seriously?!” Jake yelled at the dog.

“Is he going to do that every time?”

“No.” Jake stared down Indiana. “Because he’ll be going outside if he does.”

“I’m so glad you got that fence.”

Jake grinned. “Me too.”

They’d gotten it because Indiana had been hit by a car. Luckily, his injuries healed almost “magically.”

“We should get our homework done,” I said as reason slowly returned to my hazy mind. “Then we won’t have to rush.”

“True,” Jake said. He picked up my stack of books. “Where should we study?”

“Ummm,” I said looking around.

“The kitchen table or the coffee table in the den.”

“Sitting on hard chairs or cuddling on the sofa while studying. Hmmm,” I said. “Let me think.”

Jake slung his arm around my shoulders and steered me to the den. “Good choice.”

He placed my books on the table. “I’ll grab mine and be right back.”

I sat down and Indiana jumped up beside me. “Hi, baby,” I said, petting him. “That’s a good boy.”

Jake appeared, backpack over his shoulder, and he walked around the large, square coffee table to sit next to me. “That’s my spot, Indie,” he said. “Off.”

Indiana jumped down, walked around the couch, and jumped up to sit on the other side of me.

“She’s mine, Indy,” Jake said.

Indiana pawed at my leg. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

“Save the kisses for me.”

“We’ll see,” I said reaching for my biology book. “Let’s get this done.”

Jake didn’t need much help. He was a good student too. He just thought he wasn’t good at science.

We finished in forty-five minutes.

“Now for some cuddle time,” Jake said as he tucked his notebook paper into the book and set it on the table.

“Almost,” I said. “I have some math left, and I know you do too.”

“I do not.”

I leaned in and looked him straight in the eye. “You’re lying.”

He gave me a peck on the lips. “Fine. I am lying.”

“Do your homework, mister.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was no way I could concentrate on my math. Jake and I sat side by side, each of us with a book in our lap, a pencil, and some paper. He pressed his leg against mine and sent heat through my jeans.

Then he started taking a lot longer on each problem, studying it before he started working it out. And while he was “thinking,” he would take my hand in his and rub little circles against my palm with his thumb. I don’t know if he was doing any homework at this point, but I sure wasn’t. I was going to have to fix all these problems when I got home.

“You’re not fooling anybody,” I whispered.

“Just doing my homework,” he said without looking up from his book.

“Whatever,” I said. I was going through the motions now. Writing random x’s and y’s and not even trying to understand much less solve the problem.

“If you want to stop, we can finish this later.”

“No,” I said, keeping my eyes pasted on page 236. “Not until I finish.”

“I thought you might be distracted.”

“No,” I said, determined not to cave before he did.

I wanted to hum or whistle or something to show him how unaffected I was, but I knew I couldn’t pull it off.

“Zoe, you’re killing me here!” Jake tossed his book onto the coffee table and then sent my book flying after it.

“Jake,” I squeaked as he grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing my girlfriend,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “I guess your girlfriend is good with that.”

“She’s good all right.”

And then there wasn’t any talking for a long, long time.

Dad drove me home when they got back from Asheville. I yelled, “Mom! I’m back.”

“In the kitchen,” she called. “Come and join us.”

Us? I couldn’t fathom who “us” would be. Mom never had people over. Maybe she’d made a new friend. Surely if it was a guy, I would have heard about it.

When I got to the kitchen, I fully expected to see some nice woman in her forties who would possibly become Mom’s new BFF, best friend forever.

My mother stood at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan. She had her hair up, not in the ratty pony tail she preferred for cooking, but in a flattering twist. She wasn’t exactly overdressed for a Sunday dinner at home, but she had changed out of the sweats and T-shirt from this morning.

“Hey, hon,” she said as she stirred. “Finn and I were just preparing a mushroom alfredo—”

Finn?

Standing at the kitchen island, the nineteen-year-old, drop-dead gorgeous Finn held a garlic press over a glass bowl. “Hello, Zoe.”

I couldn’t speak at first. How had Dr. Finnegan and my mother ended up cooking dinner together? “Uh,” I said. “Hi.”

“Zoe, you are going to love this dinner.” Mom smiled at me, not with her usual smile, but with her all-is-right-with-the-world smile, an expression I hadn’t seen in over a year.

Dr. Finnegan must have noticed my hesitation, because he said, “I was contemplating yet another warmed-over meal, alone in my apartment, when your mother telephoned and invited me to join the two of you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would she mind?” Mom waved away his concern as she walked over to check on his progress with the salad. “Looks delicious.”

“Hope you’re hungry, Zoe,” Finn said.

“Um, yeah.”

“Give me a minute upstairs and I’ll be back.”

“Ten minutes,” Mom said.

She must have correctly interpreted my ten minutes upstairs as meaning I needed to check my email and Facebook. I was trying not to panic about the whole Mom and Finn situation. If only I had someone to talk to about this! No one would understand. A ninety-five-year-old man in the body of a college kid. Milo knew about Dr. Finnegan but would never be able to interpret this for me. I didn’t want to embarrass my mother for no reason. What I needed to figure out was if there was a reason.

I needed a diary that would talk back. Maybe an interactive app designed by a combination of Dear Abby and a licensed therapist. Something stand-alone with a great firewall so nobody would ever know what I was asking for help with. Maybe the witch world could come up with something. Regardless, it wasn’t going to help me now. I had a problem and no one to talk to.

Taking a few deep breaths in pseudo-yoga style, I willed myself to chill out. Mom knew that Finn was probably lonely. She had changed clothes and done her hair because Mom would do that with any company. No big deal. Tonight would be fun. Spending time with Finn and Mom could be fun. I’d like to hear more about Dr. Finnegan anyway, and he had been so focused on my tutoring lately that there hasn’t been much time for asking him questions.

“Ohm,” I chanted to myself. “Ohm.”

Ten minutes later, I bounded back down the stairs.

Dinner turned out to be great. We ate in the dining room on the good dishes, and Finn’s salad was the best I’d ever eaten.

“Finn was telling me about life in the fifties and sixties.”

Oh yeah. “That reminds me. I wanted to ask you what it was like brewing potions before the margarine substitution. How could you stand working with dead man’s toe?”

Finn choked on the bite of salad he’d put in his mouth. He coughed and coughed.

“Should I get you some water?” Mom asked.

Finn held up his hand to indicate that she didn’t need to go after water. He held up his wine glass and after another cough, took a long sip.

He set the glass down, patted his mouth with the cloth napkin, and sighed. “I apologize. I guess that bite went down the wrong pipe.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine, dear. I guess this new, young throat doesn’t function as well as the rest of the body.” He took another sip of wine then used the napkin again. “Now what was it you were asking? About brewing potions with dead man’s toe, was it?”

“Yes. I guess maybe it isn’t a good topic for the dinner table.”

“I’m sure it was much worse in reality than it sounds in theory, Zoe.” Mom refilled her wine and offered more to Finn who indicated that he was not ready for a refill.

For all appearances, Finn was underage, and yet, he sat here sipping wine while I dutifully drank my ice water. Of course, he drank wine like a ninety-five-year-old man. No college guy would drink that slowly, casually swirl the wine in the glass, or wipe at his mouth so much. Well, maybe a European who was used to drinking at dinner. Here in the US, us kids were strictly milk with dinner.

Finn hadn’t answered my question, and after my mother’s interjection, I thought he wasn’t going to, but he surprised me.

“Zoe, you should know about the history of potion brewing. The challenges involved in working with dead man’s toe, the ethical considerations, even the events leading to the discovery of fat-free margarine as a substitution. You will need to know all of it, understand the significance, and evaluate the impact this history has or should have, on your own expectations for your future.”