Mallory was an anomaly.
There was no rhyme or reason to the way she ate her dinner tonight, which, for most people, wouldn’t be an issue. But I’d fully expected our mealtime to mimic the way she ate her particular order at Blue Duck last Tuesday, and it didn’t. Not even a little bit.
Tonight left me crazy confused.
We’d eaten mashed potatoes with turkey and peas, and I kid you not, she’d mashed the entire thing together like a stew. As in, had turkey and potato and peas all on her fork at one time, consumed in one bite. And she drank water with ice. Ice. There went my theory that she was British. I’d heard once that they didn’t put ice in their drinks. But Mallory clearly did tonight, and she clearly hadn’t on Tuesday.
Tuesdays were different for some reason. A reason I really wanted to uncover.
We ate at the formal dining table with her grandmother, a woman she introduced only as Nana, and a man she called Tommy. I couldn’t figure out the relationship with Tommy. He looked to be right in the middle between Mallory and Nana age-wise, but the fact that Mallory addressed him by his name made me think he probably wasn’t her father. Or if he was, there was some story there.
Tommy was a man of few words. None, actually. I didn’t know whether he was born the way he was or if some event in life had led to it, but he didn’t speak, hardly interacted, and needed assistance to eat his food and get around the house, a job that Mallory seemed happy to help with. I hadn’t been around many people like Tommy, and it was strange because he didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, but instead I became uncomfortable with myself. Like I was suddenly aware of how easily I lifted my own utensils to my mouth and how effortlessly I could speak or engage in conversation. Somehow the things that I never thought about, I was thinking about. And I felt guilty over it.
But as I watched Mallory—how she readied and held out the fork for Tommy, bringing it up to his mouth all while maintaining eye contact and conversation with me—it made me realize there shouldn’t be anything uncomfortable about it at all. I wanted to say it was human nature to feel sorry for those who were different from you in any way, but I wasn’t sure that was the case. For Mallory, it was human nature to jab Tommy when he’d turned his nose up at his last bite of peas. Or when he’d burped aloud after a huge swallow of root beer like any man would and she’d scowled at him in reprimand.
For Mallory, it was human nature to treat Tommy as she would any other human.
That humbled me completely.
And it made me think she was the most awesome girl in the entire world.
After we’d eaten, we cleaned up the dishes, Mallory washing and me drying. Every time she would hand me a plate, I’d purposefully brush my fingers to hers. I wanted her to feel it, to know what I was doing—how I was trying to touch her—but she was so wrapped up in whatever it was that she was talking about, I doubted she noticed. Which was fine because I really wasn’t paying attention to what she way saying, either. Instead, I found myself fixated on the way she said things. There was so much life in her voice. That was the only way to explain it. Every word she spoke was filled to the top with passion. Her whole body wore it. Her eyes would do this thing where they would round like silver dollars. Pure innocence. And she’d bounce up and down on her toes, not rising all the way, just a little bounce, like she was preparing to jump, revving up. And her smile. God, her smile. It was breathtaking. She had teeth that were probably a little too big for her face, but they looked just right on her.
“Heath.” She paused, mid wash. Her hand found the faucet handle and pulled it down so the water shut off and the room quieted as the water dripped and trickled down the drain of the porcelain sink. “Why haven’t we had any classes together?”
“I moved here last year. My dad got a position at the hospital. I lived in California before that.”
“California!” I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes widened even more. “No way! So you’re a surfer, huh?”
“Hardly.” I took the plate from her hand and drew the towel over it, not sure it was doing anything anymore. It was sodden and damp, but I didn’t want to ask for another one. I just wanted to keep her talking. Keep her in this moment.
“California seems to be as coastal as it gets.”
“Not all of California is the beach. We used to live in NorCal. On a ranch. With horses.”
“Horses?” she said breathily. “That’s incredible!”
I never really thought it was incredible, mostly just a lot of work since my parents were always gone at work, but Mallory’s reaction grew an instant appreciation for my time at the ranch. It almost felt like I should rush home to thank my parents for the childhood they’d given me, the one I’d taken for granted. I couldn’t understand how a few words from Mallory could make me suddenly appreciative of my upbringing, but she did that. She was magic.
“Do you like horses?” It was such a lame thing to ask, but I knew I couldn’t say anything nearly as interesting as what Mallory could. It wasn’t like she was spouting off some intellectual ramblings or philosophical questions, but she was awe-inspiring still.
“I don’t have much experience with them, but I’m sure I’d love them.”
She was bursting. People burst with joy or gladness, but Mallory burst with life. Everything about her was magnified.
“I’ll take you riding someday.”
Her hand caught mine as she handed off the last plate. It was deliberate and welcome and I gave it a squeeze as she said, “I would love that.”
I was sure she would. I had a feeling Mallory Alcott loved everything.
By the time we’d finished tidying up the kitchen, it was well past dark. I’d said that I was fine to walk home, but Mallory and her grandmother wouldn’t allow it. The “crazies” came out at sundown, Nana had said. I wasn’t sure who these crazies were, exactly, but she seemed to think the safest way to avoid them was in a car. That you needed the protection of metal and steel, and her 1976 powder blue Buick Regal evidently offered just that.
That vehicle was a tank. There were only two doors and they made me feel bad about myself as I struggled to open them. They were so damn heavy. I’d crawled into the backseat of the musty car, surprised when Mallory followed immediately behind. I was more surprised when she took the middle seat. It was intentional and so bold to sit right next to me, our thighs pressed solidly together.
I wondered if all girls were like this here. It hadn’t been that way back at home in California. Game playing seemed to go with the territory. The chase. The retreat and then more chasing. There was no chase here, no game. Everything Mallory did meant something. Like she was telling me she liked me too, with not so many words.
And it didn’t feel desperate or too soon. Hell, I’d known tons of guys at my last school who hooked up with girls without even knowing their names.
I knew Mallory’s name.
I let that simple fact give me permission to start falling for her.
In reality, to continue falling.
