It's close to eight, that same night, when Mae turns onto Weed Street.
Her bike spins silently, a single headlamp floating down an empty road between mud-colored houses and sensible sedans. The shabbiness of the bell and aluminum screen door at 317 Weed Street—she checks the address twice as she knocks—calms her nerves. Daryl doesn't say anything when he answers.
“Is Jasper home?” No doubt this is Jasper's father. They have the same broad neck, the same shrunken head.
“Not at the moment, no. He should be back any minute now.”
Mae toes her kickstand and crosses her arms. “I'll wait.”
“On the front stoop?”
The smallish interior looks as though it might burst from all the floral and lace. Silk flowers adorn every surface. Inanimate porcelain faces stare out blankly from shelves built into wallpapered walls. “Welcome to the doll house,” Daryl quips. “I can call it that because the wife's in bed already.”
A willowy child bounds in from the kitchen. “Is someone selling girl scout cookies?” Harry wears footed pajamas and carries a bag of cheese puffs. When he sees Mae standing in the middle of the living room, he lets out a scream and dashes upstairs.
“No idea what that was about.” Daryl picks up errant cheese puffs on his way to the kitchen. “I wouldn't take it personally. Boys can be weird.” Opening the fridge. “Fancy a pop?”
“Uh, no thanks.” Mae wonders how likely it is that this father has seen her naked. Sitting down feels too final, so she's still standing in the middle of the room when the front door swings open. In clomps Jasper, pulling off his sweater to reveal a white undershirt, until he notices Mae. “Hey.” The sweater slides back on.
“What are you doing here?”
Daryl returns with her soda. “I'll leave you two alone.” He retreats upstairs as well, leaving the pair staring at the damask rug.
“I don't want this.” Mae sets the soda can on a low table between them. “You have it.”
“Thanks.” Jasper pops it open, a metallic truce. “Did you come here to scream?”
Such an odd choice of words. Mae imagines entering this pin cushion of a room, opening her mouth wide, and exhaling a chilling scream. “No, I didn't come to scream.” Not a bad idea, though. “We should talk.”
Jasper drinks half his soda in one gulp. A lump of liquid bulges beneath his Adam's apple. “Outside?” He leads her into perfect early fall air. Mae stuffs her fingers into tiny cardigan pockets and looks up at stars glittering through a clear sky and does not feel as angry as she thinks she should. They sit across from each other at a picnic table painted bright red. “Lay it on me. I deserve it.”
So she feigns anger. “Why'd you record it?”
“I wish I could answer that.” He gazes at slabs of wood, thick neck rested between hands. “I'd take it back if I could. If it's any comfort, not that it should be, I didn't mean to make it public.”
“I want you to delete it.”
“I'm telling you, I wish I could. I didn't mean for it to go as far as it did...”
“It's not on your phone?”
“No, it's still on my phone.” He fumbles for his device.
“Take it off.”
Jasper cocks his head in concern. “But even if I do, it's already...” His balance is off. He swipes blindly til he reaches the infamous video.
“But first, watch it.”
A pause. As if to compensate for all the femininity indoors, the O'Tooles' backyard has a basketball hoop and a boat and a four-wheeler parked on the opposite side, next to the shed. No flowers, real or silk. Jasper sits defeated among accessories of masculinity. “Now?”
Mae slides one leg around the bench and uses it as leverage to crawl onto the table. She settles into a cross-legged seat—embracing dominance in a position that usually reduces her size. Colors become more vivid: white phone popping against red paint. She peers down at the top of Jasper's head. A sandy blond mess. Chaotic cowlick. “Press play.” Blue-lit bodies cavort in the darkness. Jasper squirms. “Keep watching.”
Jasper looks up, pained. “Can I delete it now?”
Mae sees his fingers tremble. He is just a simple, pathetic boy, who fell for Ethan's charm. Not strong like her, who never did. “You may.”
And he does.