Never Always Sometimes - Adi Alsaid Page 0,15

do you accidentally tickle someone?”

“I froze up, okay. He walked out of the stall and I was standing

there trying to figure out how to break the ice. We stared at each

other and then I just kind of . . . tickled him.” She reached for her

glass of water and took a long swallow. “Which, by the way, was an

awful plan. Cornering him in the bathroom and expecting flirtation

to just happen naturally? That’s sloppy planning. I expect more from

you.”

“It was your plan!”

“Don’t split hairs now; it’s too late to apologize. Just do better next

time.” She looked over her shoulder again and gave a little gasp when

she saw Marroney coming out of the bathroom. “I may have yelled

something inappropriate, too.”

Dave held his breath as Marroney walked past the table, his eyes

fixed on Julia’s. “I told him I wanted to lick his face,” Julia whispered quickly, right before Marroney’s mustard shirt passed by their

lowered heads.

56 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

MAKING A MESS

WHEN THEY LEFT Chili’s, Dave felt wonderful. Things had gone

wrong, but in the exact way they should have. Now he had the evening

with Julia to look forward to. He sincerely doubted bright green hair

would look good on him, but he had succumbed to Julia’s rationale

about the Nevers making the end of the year more interesting. So

what if it was some insane attempt to prove herself original, probably

in an attempt to win her mom’s approval; the Nevers brought out a

joy in Julia that he loved being a part of. As long as nothing between

them changed, he didn’t have much to complain about.

“Why’d we add this to the list anyway?” Dave asked after they’d

left the CVS and were parking at Julia’s house. He was holding the

boxes of green and pink dye in a plastic bag in his lap.

“My mom,” Julia said. “She’s always told me that changing looks

has nothing to do with leading a unique life. It’s usually the sign of a pretty ordinary inner self.”

They walked up the driveway to Julia’s house, a modest two-story

with the garage open, her dad’s workstation glistening with tools.

The lawn was lush, almost overgrown. A porch swing hung slightly

off-balance and in need of a paint job. Julia pushed open the door,

placing her bag on the little entry table, which held a basket for keys

and loose change and which was often piled up with unopened mail.

A pleasant smell wafted toward them from the kitchen.

“Hey, homies,” Julia said when she entered the kitchen. Tom and

Ethan were sitting at the kitchen island hunched over a couple of

notebooks. Someone Dave didn’t know was standing by the stove,

tending to about a million different things: a wok, two saucepans, a

cutting board stockpiled with vegetables. He turned over his shoulder

to glance at Dave and Julia, then wiped the sweat off his forehead

with a dish towel before returning to cooking.

“Hello, hello,” Tom said, moving to kiss Julia on the cheek and hug

Dave. “How was your day?”

“Impossible to summarize in small talk,” Julia said, walking over

to Ethan, who was frowning at his notebook and tapping his pen

against the counter of the kitchen island. Julia gave his back a hug.

“You look stressed, Dad.”

“Restaurant stuff.” He sighed and tossed the pen down, sitting up

and rubbing a hand through his graying hair. He almost always wore

checkered shirts with the top button undone. He kept a cigarette

tucked into his ear, though Dave had never seen him smoke. He’d

started an Internet company before they’d adopted Julia, then sold it

to start a string of businesses in the last two decades, none of them

quite as successful as the first one. The latest venture was a restaurant.

“Say hi to Chef Mike. We’re doing menu testing.”

“Hi, Chef Mike!” Julia and Dave said at the same time.

Julia walked over to Chef Mike to see him work while deflecting

58 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

her dads’ questions about her day, probably since the only mentionable

thing about it was tickling a possibly middle-aged (it was hard to tell

exactly how old Marroney was) teacher. Meanwhile, Dave sorted

their mail into little piles on the counter: bills, junk, personal/

miscellaneous. Dave never got any regular mail himself, save for last

year’s college recruiting packets. Aside from that, he was convinced

that ninety percent of the mail in the world was credit-card offers.

He came across a postcard mailed from Mexico, the handwriting

familiar and addressed to Julia.

“Postcard for you,” Dave said, holding it out to her. Her bare feet

pitter-pattered against the kitchen tiles and she snatched it from his

hand.

Julia read quickly, almost breathing the words out loud. Then

she laughed and said, “She sends her love,” to Tom and Ethan. The

postcards didn’t come