Off Book

15. Jade

15

JADE

“And though she be but little, she is fierce.” Act III, Scene II

“Hey.” Mac pops his head into my room, where I’m finishing the final touches on my eyeshadow—forest-green and gray, our school colors. “What time is Ian coming over?”

“He’s not,” I say. “He’s with his dad. We’re meeting them at the tailgate.”

At rehearsal two nights ago, Ian invited me, Jessie, and Mac to hang out with him and his dad at the homecoming weekend tailgate. He said his dad and his college buddies do this every year and go all out with a big tent, a grill, and “more beer than four grown men over the age of fifty should be drinking,” according to Ian. Mac has been itching to spend more time with Ian since we went bowling three and a half weeks ago, so he was an instant yes. Jessie hates the sports games and insisted a day to herself would be nice, but she decided last minute that she needed a break from studying. I think she just got a little FOMO.

“Oh, right. When will you be ready?” Mac asks. “Your makeup looks good, by the way.”

“Thank you. Give me, like, five minutes.”

Mac gives me a thumbs-up and disappears.

I’ve opted for a simple look: silver eyeshadow on my lid, with the dark gray on the edges covered over with a tasteful green and silver glitter. I didn’t even do lashes today, so it’s practically a natural look.

I make a few finishing touches and examine my work. Green eyeshadow usually gives “working my shift in the Emerald City,” but I think I’m making it work. Glitter makes it more fun, and the silver makes it brighter. Less “Oz nightlife” and more “hot girl goes to a football party.”

I throw my leather jacket on over my black floral corset. Paired with my straight-leg jeans and black ankle boots, I look hot. I don’t dress for anyone but myself, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want Ian’s eyes on me. If I didn’t want him thinking about what’s underneath the outfit.

Between the extra rehearsal and the impending Thanksgiving holidays, exams, and the performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream , we haven’t seen each other much in the ten days since that day in the booth. I know I could have invited him back here after a rehearsal or gone to his place, but getting physical with Ian again is a one-way ticket to Feelings Town, and I don’t really want to move there. The cost of living is too high.

I finish my look with a berry-red lip and do a final mirror check before meeting Jessie and Mac in the living room, where they’re sitting on the couch.

“Damn, girl,” Mac says, and Jessie whips her head around to me.

“Jade, holy shit. You look so hot,” she says.

“I know, right?” I pretend to flip my hair but don’t actually move it, because it looks perfect the way I just had it—half-up, with two thin pieces of hair to frame my face and the rest of it lightly curled—and I don’t want to mess with it.

“Aren’t you meeting Ian’s dad today?” Jessie asks.

“Yes, and . . .?”

Jessie gestures to my outfit. “Dressed like that?”

“Okay, Mom,” I say and roll my eyes as we head out the door. “This is not a ‘meet the parents’ situation. I’m not trying to impress anyone’s dad today, unless you’ve got someone in mind,” I say with a wink.

“It’s still a lot of cleavage for hanging out with a group of middle-aged men,” Jessie says, ignoring me, but I see Mac fighting for his life, trying not to laugh.

“They’ll look anyway, cleavage or not,” I say. “I dress for me.”

“Me too,” says Mac, who’s wearing an old soccer jersey layered under his Patagonia puff jacket, paired with jeans and some luxury tennis shoes. As usual, he looks put together even in the most basic of outfits. Jessie is wearing our school colors: a forest-green Middle Penn College crop-length hoodie, straight-cut black jeans, and her trusty white high-top Converse.

We walk to the football stadium parking lot. It’s the only thing on campus that’s close to our apartments, so there’s no need to drive. I finally texted my dad and took my car into the shop, but it isn’t fixed yet, and I’m still relying on people for rides, so I’m glad I don’t have to beg yet another ride off Mac and Jessie.

I smell the tailgate before I see it—burgers, hot dogs, and cheap beer mingled with the cool air of the first Saturday afternoon in November. As we get closer, the sounds of sizzling grills, music from various tailgate areas, and cheers from people winning beer pong fill the air.

I usually skip homecoming tailgating and the game because there’s some theater thing going on, but the calendar was oddly free today. I didn’t exactly know what to expect, but there’s a real energy about the place. It’s a similar buzz to a regular season game, but the faces in the crowd are more varied, some people just a few years older than me, but lots of people in their forties, fifties, and sixties, all wearing Middle Penn College colors and gear.

Mac and Jessie follow me as I wind through the crowd. Ian gave me an approximate location and sent me a photo of the setup, so I know what to look for, but Mac finds it before I do, waving, presumably, to Ian.

We approach the tent and realize Ian wasn’t exaggerating: they really do go all out. There are four men, any of whom could be Ian’s dad. They’re all in their early fifties or so, wearing various MPC gear but all looking like they could be on a golf course. I half-expected the kind of men who paint their bodies for NFL tailgates, but these guys have a way classier look to them.

Ian stands close to one guy in particular, both of them with big smiles plastered on their faces. It has to be Ian’s dad, because their smiles are identical. They look like friends rather than a father-son combo, the way they’re talking and laughing. The tug of jealousy happens so suddenly in my chest, I cough to try to clear it.

Ian notices us in his peripheral and does a quick double-take.

“Hey!” He waves and gestures for us to join him.

I crack each of my knuckles as we approach. Mac reaches Ian first, and they shake hands and do a bro hug—some combination of a high-five and a hug—like they’ve been friends for years. Ian and Jessie even greet each other with a hug.

When Ian turns his attention to me, he freezes for a second, just taking me in. “Are you kidding me?” he says as he pulls me into a hug. “You look so fucking hot.”

I smile into his neck, breathing in his woodshop scent. I don’t know how he still smells like fresh-cut wood. Does he go into the scene shop every day? Does he have a specific cologne? Does he just rub wood shavings on himself?

He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before releasing me and then takes my hand and leads me to his dad. It’s so casual I can almost pretend like it’s normal for him to do such a boyfriend-y gesture, but it’s not. We hooked up once, and yeah, I like kissing him, but not in front of people? Like, that’s not what this is.

Now isn’t the time to say something to him, but I plan to later.

“Dad, this is Jade. Jade, my dad,” Ian says with all the joy of a kid doing show-and-tell at school.

As casually as I can, while I shake Ian’s dad’s hand, I slip my other hand from Ian’s and push my sunglasses up onto the top of my head. I tuck both hands in my jacket pockets. I will not be holding anyone’s hand today.

“Bill,” Ian’s dad says.

“So nice to meet you,” I say with my friendliest smile, because it really is nice to meet the man Ian looks up to so much.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Bill says.

“All of it is true,” I say with a smirk. “Especially the bad stuff.”

I wink at Ian, and his cheeks turn a pale shade of red. A bright red splotch appears on his neck.

Bill laughs and introduces us to his friends, and we introduce him to ours. He offers everyone drinks, and while Mac and Jessie each take a beer, Ian appears beside me with a can of Diet Coke in his hands.

“When did you get this?” I ask. I didn’t even see him disappear—I thought he was next to me.

“Just a second ago.” He gestures to a second cooler closer to the car, red Solo cups on top of it. “And I put whiskey in the cup in case you don’t want to be entirely sober.” He holds up the Solo cup and jiggles it, making the ice clink around inside.

“And if you do want to be sober, then I’m happy to drink it,” he says.

“Are you a brown liquor kind of guy? I really had you pegged as, like, a craft beer guy,” I say.

“I do love a craft beer,” Ian admits with a smirk. “But you don’t come across those a lot in these settings.” He gestures to the tent and the parking lot. “And my dad is a whiskey guy, so . . .”

“Ahh.” I nod, understanding. I can’t wrap my mind around wanting to be anything like either of my parents, so I don’t relate, but I get why Ian likes it. It’s easy to picture young Ian dressing just like his dad, copying him on the golf course, wearing an apron in the kitchen because his dad did, asking for mini versions of the same tools his dad would use to fix things. It’s endearing to think about, and it makes me wish I could look through a scrapbook of Ian’s life and see him at every age.

I take the cup from him and pour in my Diet Coke, swirling the liquids around together. I do want to be sober, but one drink won’t even scratch the surface. It’s mostly Diet Coke anyway. I hand Ian the can, and it clinks against the other cans in the recycling bag when he throws it in.

We rejoin the conversation Bill is having with Mac and Jessie.

“I don’t think I caught it—what did you say you were majoring in, Jessie?”

“Psychology, like Mac,” she says with a big, friendly smile.

Jessie is good with parents. If I weren’t such a coward, I’d be proud to introduce my mom to Jessie. It’s my mom that I don’t want to introduce to anyone.

“You guys aren’t theater kids too?” Bill asks his son.

“Mac is in an acting class!” Jessie says like a proud parent. She’s definitely more proud of Mac than his dad is. Which isn’t saying much, because according to Jessie, he’s a pretty big asshole.

Mac’s face lights up in a way that only happens when he’s talking about Jessie or his theater class. “Yeah, I’m taking an Intro to Acting course this semester. Hoping to take Intermediate Acting next semester. I’m having a blast,” he says.

“That’s great,” says Bill. “I wish I’d taken an acting course when I was here. I was a business major, and it was all work and no play. I feel lucky that Ian got me into theater. Did I tell you I’m in the upcoming play?” He turns to Ian. “Oh, what’s it called . . .” He snaps his fingers a few times as if that will jog his memory.

“ You Can’t Take It Home ?” Bill says, not confident.

“ You Can’t Take It with You ?” I say at the same time as Ian.

Bill points to both of us, childlike joy on his face. “That’s it! Thank you!”

“Is that at the Red Barn Playhouse where that job is?” I ask Ian, taking a sip of my drink, but I realize it was the wrong thing to say when Ian pinches his lips together and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Job?” Bill asks.

Ian squeezes his eyes closed for a split second. He hasn’t told him. I thought he would have told his dad by now, close as they are.

Shit.

“Yeah, there’s a position open at Red Barn for a technical director that I’m thinking of applying to.” He doesn’t sound excited about it, but his dad doesn’t seem to read that.

“Did you talk to Robert? Did you want me to talk to him?” Bill starts to pull out his phone like he’s going to do it right now. And I bet he would, but Ian holds a hand out as if to stop him. With the other, he clutches his Solo cup just a little too hard. The cup crinkles under the pressure of his fingers.

“Yes, yes, we talked. He was here not that long ago. We got lunch.”

“How’d it go? Tell me everything!” Bill cannot be contained, and this is where I see a huge difference between him and Ian. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ian this level of excited for anything. I’m not even sure he’s the kind of person who shows excitement like this. This is more like Mac—golden-retriever energy. Ian has black-cat energy, aloof and quiet.

“Yeah, I mean, it was fine. You know, he said if I wanted the job, it was mine to take, but I’m still thinking about it. He gave me until the end of the semester.” Ian stares into his cup, taking a big drink after he’s done talking.

“Ian, what a great opportunity. You would be such a great tech director. Think how cool it would be to work together again—the Davidson boys, back in action!” His dad gives him a light punch on the arm.

“Yeah, no, that would be great,” Ian says, but there’s no life to it. He’s smiling, but it’s so fake it’s not in his eyes. There’s no brightness on his face. Can’t his dad see that?

“You know, your mom and I have been talking about finishing the basement, and it’s got the bathroom, which just needs a touch-up really. There’s even a kitchenette in there. We could finish that up for you so you could live at home but not have your mom and dad in your hair. You’d save so much money, which is so great. We’d love to have you at home,” Bill says, totally oblivious.

I sneak a glance at Mac and Jessie, who are hiding their reactions in their beers and having a secret conversation with their eyes. Or maybe they’ve actually cracked how to communicate telepathically. Which wouldn’t surprise me. If anyone could figure it out, it would be them.

“Yeah, that is definitely one of the pros of the job, but, you know?—”

“Would you get to help pick out the shows? How cool would that be? I know you’ve always wanted to do Sweeney Todd —maybe you could throw that into the ring as one of the first shows you do. Or does the board choose? I bet they’d take your suggestions, being a veteran of the playhouse and all,” Bill says as if his son didn’t just explain that he isn’t even sure if he’s applying for the job.

“For sure. I love that show,” Ian says, still smiling. He steps away to fix himself another drink, and Bill takes the opportunity to lean over to his buddies and tell them about the job with the kind of certainty that doesn’t reflect the reality.

What the fuck?

Bill’s buddies all come over and clap Ian on the back. One even has the balls to congratulate him. I’m biting my tongue so hard it’s practically bleeding.

“This is great, Ian. I can’t wait to tell your mom when I get home. She’s going to be thrilled,” Bill says as he cracks open a new beer.

“For sure, for sure,” Ian says, and that’s my final straw. I cannot just stand here and watch him take this from his dad. Ian’s probably never stood up to his parents, and I’ve spent my entire life parenting my mom and tolerating the man who donated sperm to my creation. Ian is probably concerned about being respectful. I don’t have any such hang-ups.

“What are you going to be telling her, Bill?” I ask pointedly. “Ian said he wasn’t sure if he wanted the job.”

Beside me, Jessie inhales sharply through her teeth. Without looking, I can feel her tensing, the air around her tightening.

“Oh sure, but he’ll take it. It’s the perfect job for him,” Bill says, not losing a hint of the joviality. He slaps Ian on the shoulder.

“Is it, though? Ian is pretty clearly interested in lighting design, and yes, sure, he would be an amazing tech director, but why should he settle for a job that he ‘could do’ when he could pursue something he’d actually enjoy?”

To his credit, Bill barely bats an eye at me. He doesn’t dismiss me either, like a petulant child. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other—the only sign he’s uncomfortable with me challenging him like this in front of his friends, his son, and his son’s friends. There’s a silence so awkward that I’d bet money at least two people in this tent want to pass out from it. But I’m not uncomfortable, and I’m not backing down.

“I can’t argue with that, Jade, but sometimes we gotta take a job we like over something we love because it’s steady and pays the bills,” Bill says.

“And if Ian wants a steady, safe job, then he’ll take it. But he said so himself, he’s still thinking about it, and when you self-insert, he can’t make that decision for himself?—”

“Jade,” Ian says, laying a hand on my arm. His voice makes it clear he wants me to stop, but I’m in too deep to stop now.

“Ian is incredibly talented and could have his pick of jobs. The world is literally his fucking oyster, but he worships the ground you walk on, Bill. Ian won’t make that decision for himself if you won’t let him.”

“Jade, seriously, stop it,” Ian says, starting to turn to me, but Bill holds his hand out as if to stop him.

“No, you know what? Jade is right,” Bill says.

He isn’t mad. He isn’t red in the face, and he certainly isn’t crying like my mom does when I “tough love” her. But I still tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I didn’t realize it, but that’s exactly what I was doing.” Bill straightens his shoulders. “I was just so excited at the possibility of it all that I just charged ahead. I appreciate you pointing that out to me, Jade. And Ian, I’m sorry.” He puts a hand on Ian’s shoulder and stands close to him. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me to take that job. If you want it, we’re going to be so excited, and if you don’t, we’ll be just as excited for you, your mom and I. We want what’s best for you—you know that, right?”

Ian nods and takes a sip of his drink. As for me, you could knock me over with a light breeze right now. I’m not really sure what to do in the face of such a calm, measured reaction. Is that all he’s going to do? I sip my drink just to give myself something to do.

“Thanks, Dad,” Ian says, and Bill pats his shoulder then pulls him into a side hug.

“Just love my boy,” he says, and the splotches on Ian’s neck appear.

Mac and Jessie let out audible sighs of relief.

I’m still trying to process Bill’s reaction when he moves closer to me, putting a hand on my shoulder like he just did with Ian. It’s fatherly and foreign, and I freeze, unsure of what to do with this affection.

“Jade, that took a lot of courage, and I am really grateful you said something. Thank you. It’s clear you care a lot about Ian. He’s really lucky to have you in his life,” he says.

His words and the genuine kindness in his eyes both break something inside me and heal something I didn’t even know needed healing. I swallow the lump in my throat, willing myself not to cry. No adult in my life has ever treated me with such respect. I feel like he just parented me, in a way, and a lump forms in my throat, the backs of my eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

Bill pats my shoulder again and then says something to Jessie and Mac, but I don’t hear any of it over the buzzing in my ears. I’m shaking a little, and I take a deep inhale and a big gulp of my drink to banish the tears.

I will not cry in front of all these people.

I turn to Ian, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking past me, and before I can say anything, he walks over to his dad’s friends and starts to chat with them.

The tent comes back to life, Bill offering everyone food and everyone reaching for plates and filling them with chips and potato salad eagerly. Everything goes back to normal as if that moment didn’t happen.

Except for the fact that Ian isn’t talking to me. He’s talking to everyone but me, in fact, making a point to single out Mac and chat with him for a bit, and then Jessie, then going back to his dad and friends.

“Is it just me, or is Ian avoiding me?” I ask Jessie when it’s just us standing at the food table. She’s shoving her second hot dog into her mouth, while I’m dressing my second burger with mustard and ketchup and relish.

“No, I definitely noticed that he’s talking to everyone but you,” she says around a mouthful of food.

“What are we talking about?” Mac asks as he sidles up next to Jessie, piling chips onto his plate. He’s got a fresh hot dog, which he drowns in ketchup, and then he stuffs almost half of it into his mouth.

“How stupid boys are,” I say, throwing him a look of pointed disgust.

Mac just nods, chewing on his meal, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, lips covered in ketchup. “Is twue,” he tries to say.

Jessie shakes her head at her boyfriend. “Can’t take you anywhere,” she says as she hands him a napkin.

“Is he seriously mad at me for standing up for him?” I ask Jessie, who won’t have the answer, but I ask anyway.

She shrugs and rolls her eyes. I roll mine too and start in on my burger.

“It’s almost time for the game,” Mac says, his mouth no longer full and the half a hot dog he had left on his plate nowhere to be seen. He holds up his phone to show me the time. “While we break this down,”—he gestures to the tent and the grill—“why don’t you grab him and talk to him?”

“You’re the best,” I say. I give Jessie a finger-gun. “You’d better lock that shit down.”

She turns a tomato shade of red, and Mac nudges her with his elbow, giving her a pointed look. I scarf down my burger and scurry away before they start flirting too hard.

The Fates must be on my side, because I find Ian alone, tying off a full trash bag.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” he says, but he doesn’t look up at me.

“Got a new bag?” I hold up my plate, pretty much scraped clean of any evidence there was ever food on it.

“Yeah, one sec.” His voice is sort of dead, like he’s tolerating this sad excuse of a conversation. He tosses the old bag toward the truck and holds open a new one for me.

After I throw my plate in, he sets the bag off to the side and starts to walk away, but I stop him, grabbing his bicep as he passes me.

“If you have a problem with me, at least have the balls to talk to me about it,” I say.

His nostrils flare and his jaw works, the muscle on the side of his face popping as he grinds his teeth. “You were super disrespectful to my dad,” he says in a low voice. He looks around to make sure no one can hear us.

“Let’s go talk over there.” I point to the space next to us in the lot, which our tailgating neighbors have already cleared out.

Ian looks around again and then nods, and we walk just a few feet away from everyone else. Enough to give us some privacy.

Ian crosses his arms and finally looks at me. “I know my dad was fine with how you talked to him and what you said, but I wasn’t, okay? I didn’t need rescuing, and you don’t talk to someone’s parents that way. It might be okay for you to talk to your parents like that, but I would never disrespect my dad the way you just did. First of all, I’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble, and second of all, it’s just . . . not okay.”

“I’m not sorry for the way I spoke to your dad, and I’m not sorry for sticking up for you. You sat there and let him walk all over you?—”

“He wasn’t walking on me—he was just excited.”

“He was! He was planning your entire?—”

“That’s his business if he wants to?—”

“It’s not. It’s your future. It’s your business. His job is to shut his mouth and support?—”

“You’re still doing it! Right now! It blows my mind how incredibly rude you are. I sort of thought it was cool at first, like, ‘Oh wow, look at this girl who’ll speak her mind and say whatever she wants,’ but it’s not cool, Jade. Not every thought that comes to your mind needs to be said out?—”

“If you don’t like it, then don’t invite me places. If I embarrass you, don’t fucking hang out with me. I am who I am, and I’m not going to apologize.”

At this point, the distance we’ve created is pointless, because our volume gets louder with every sentence. Ian’s eyes dart to the group and then back to me. His neck is covered in red splotches, and he looks on the verge of tears. When I glance over at the tailgate, though, mostly everyone is making a very pointed effort not to look at us, except for Jessie. We make brief eye contact and she starts to walk over. I meet her partway, and she holds me gently by the arms. My phone starts to buzz in my pocket, but through my jeans I click the side button to silence the vibrations without checking to see who’s calling.

Whoever it is can wait.

“Mac’s friends texted, so we’re going to head to the game. Are you coming? You can sit with us? Save me from the sportsball?” she whispers quickly.

I give her a weak smile and shake my head. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Jessie pulls me into a hug. I hug her back, feeling all the fight in me leave.

“Love you,” she says, planting a kiss on my cheek and running back to Mac. They wave to Ian and take off toward the stadium.

Most of the tent and the tailgate is put away now. Ian’s dad and his friends are cleaning up, chatting with a few of the people walking toward the game and handing out the extra water bottles they have.

I walk back to Ian, keeping about an arm’s length of distance between us. My phone starts to buzz again, and again, I ignore it.

“I like who you are, Jade,” Ian says, softer now. He steps closer to me, unfolding his arms and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But I don’t have to like how you behaved today.”

I step closer to him, teeth clenched. The fight I thought had left me rushes back all at once. “I am not your girlfriend, and I don’t have to behave any particular way. Not around you, not around your parents, not around anyone.”

“Okay, Jade,” Ian says, shaking his head and putting his hands up. “I’m not gonna fight with you.”

“I’m not trying to fight with you,” I say. “You have this idealized version of me in your head, and that’s the girl you brought to the tailgate today. But I’m not her. I want you to see who I am, not who you want me to be.”

Ian is shaking his head and pinching his lips together. His neck is starting to splotch again, and his shoulders are practically touching his ears.

“You know what? Let’s just . . .” He puts his hands in the air like he’s surrendering. “I’m going to the game with my dad. I will . . . see you later. At rehearsal next week or something.”

He walks back to rejoin his dad, and I turn to leave too, but my phone is buzzing again.

Who the fuck is calling me this incessantly?

Fumbling to get it out of my pocket, and dropping it once it’s actually out, I eventually see a second too late that my mom called. That my mom has called four times. That I have about fifteen unread messages from her.

There’s a floating feeling in my stomach, like someone tossed it into the ocean and it’s about to sink to the bottom.

I don’t have to read a single text to know why she called and what her messages will say.

In slow motion, I turn back to Ian, who’s laughing and smiling with his dad.

My heart cracks open and falls into my stomach as I open my text messages.

Jade.

Jade please pick up.

Can you please call me??

Jade????

Rob left.

Idk what to do.

I’m so upset. I knew this would happen.

Jade, can you call me back??

?????????

I’m so lost.

He’s gone.

Jade please call me…