Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

Author's Note: This story was written for the 2022 Zenmasters Anthology on tumblr.

CHAPTER TEN
SIDE ROAD

Thoughts about Michael were growing fewer by the day. Jackie still missed him, but she'd been so focused on acting camp—and having fun with Steven—that she had less time to miss him. This summer felt like a months' long circle without the red, puffy eyes and ravenous hunger.

She was having some trouble, however, with a particular scene in Two Directions. The director at camp suggested she practice at home with a partner. She tried with Fez, but he upstaged her with his dramatic flair. The scene called for rising escalation between both characters equally.

Eric could've been an option. He owed her after the help she'd given him this week, but he was anxious about what Donna would write back. If she'd write back. For distraction, he'd dedicated himself to building a model of the Doom Star … Death Star. Whatever. Space movies were stupid, and the Formans' basement resembled one with the Star Wars models he'd already built.

Rhonda scared her, so she was out. None of Jackie's teammates on the cheer squad were available, which meant only one person might possibly do.

On Saturday morning, around ten a.m., she found Steven alone in the Formans' kitchen. He was eating a late breakfast and reading the newspaper, same as every Saturday. She'd gotten his routine down.

He glanced at her with surprise. He clearly had her routine down, too. Normally, she arrived a half-hour later, and he said, "Jackie? What's goin' on?"

She sat at the breakfast table with her copy of Two Directions open. Her finger tapped the left page. "I'm going to mess up the whole play if you don't read this scene with me."

"I don't think so," he said with a laugh. His attention returned to the newspaper, and he ate his last spoonful of Sugar Smacks.

"I'm not saying I'm not a great actress. I'm fantastic, but the performances are in a week. If I can't convey the emotions in this scene authentically, the play'll be like a seesaw without its fulcrum."

Steven put down the paper and waved for the play. "'Cause you made a clever analogy."

She gave him her copy. "I'm Susan—"

"I know." His eyes scanned the scene. "Means I'm Fred."

A smile rose on her lips. "Exactly. We're fighting over having children. My character has gotten into nursing school—"

"Mrs. Forman would dig that."

"And you're arguing you married me with the belief we held the same ideas about family, and I'm torn between my love for you and my individual dreams."

He closed the play, but his thumb kept his place like a bookmark. "Seems like this part's made for you, man. Don't see why you're havin' trouble."

"The director said my performance is coming across as wooden."

"Bet it's 'cause you're not goin' into your feelings."

She slapped his arm lightly. "That's what she said! When did you study acting?"

"It's an obvious guess. Need a few minutes to read the scene." He reopened the play, and she waited silently until he finished. "Yeah, I can help, but you're gonna have to be a little brave here."

"Oh. Can we do this somewhere more private?"

"Was gonna suggest that myself."

They went downstairs to his room. Jackie locked the door, and he turned on the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He stayed in his white undershirt and gray sweatpants, but she was fine with it. His night clothes were a familiar sight during their weekend hang-outs.

He settled onto the old armchair with her copy of the play. She had the lines memorized, and her character stood during the scene, so she remained on her feet.

"Okay," he said, "remember when Kelso told you he'd be the famous, financial success of the family and you wouldn't have to work again?"

She exhaled a heavy breath. "How could I forget?"

"Think you've been tryin' to forget it." He gestured at her. "You're probably banking on Kelso's opinion changing once he's home from Europe, on him choosing you over that idea." His hand swept through the air dismissively. "Forget that. Temporarily. Just for the scene, man. Dig deep."

Her pulse tightened. Her conversations with Michael about their careers hadn't only pissed her off. They'd frightened her, and goosebumps rose on her arms at the memory. "I can do it."

"Then here goes nothin'." He looked at the play and read his first lines. "''When I proposed, you kissed me and excitedly declared we'll start our family during the honeymoon. What happened to that?'"

"'I got into nursing school.'"

"'I didn't even know you'd applied.'"

"'Because I thought I wouldn't get in—'" Jackie recalled the joy, the surprise, she'd experienced when the acting camp accepted her—"'but I did! I still want children, but if we have them now, I'll miss my chance to heal people.'"

Steven sat straighter in the armchair. "'That's preposterous. Our children will have plenty of cuts and scrapes for you to clean up.'"

"'It's not the same, Fred. I've felt this calling in my heart since I was a child.'" She patted the center of her chest. "'I thought I was supposed to join a convent and become a nun, but I met you … and my heart was pulled in two directions.'" Her voice carried the real pain she experienced from Michael's absence, at the reason for his absence. "'I understood I couldn't give myself up completely to God because then I'd never feel whole.'"

"'Are you telling me you won't feel whole raising our children?'" Steven sounded truly angry, and she winced.

"'Yes.'"

He pushed himself off the chair. "'All I need is you. The children we'll bring into the world—'" he reached toward her stomach—"'they'll be extensions of our love.'"

She withdrew to his cot. "'So you'll be happy quitting your job at the ad agency and raising our children while I work in the hospital?'"

"'You're not talking rationally, Susan. Maybe we should call Dr. Broeker—'"

"'A psychiatrist? You can't be serious!'" She touched her stomach. "'I need you to respect me as more than …'"

"'More than what? A woman?'" Steven advanced on her and clasped her shoulder. His free hand held the play near his face. "'There is nothing greater in this universe than to be a woman. You bring new life into being. Men can't do that. Without women, humanity would cease to exist. Then who would be left to give glory to God? Animals and trees, perhaps?'"

Jackie glared at Steven, who was playing Fred, but she envisioned Michael. "'Does that mean you'd trade places with me?'"

Steven, as Fred, refused to answer.

She took a long stride away from him. Her wedge shoe snagged on the blanket of his cot, but she retained her balance. "'I want my own life, Fred. I deserve it. God wouldn't have put this calling in my heart otherwise.'"

"'And I deserve a wife who will bear my children and raise them. That's who I thought I'd married.'"

"'It is!'" Genuine tears welled in Jackie's eyes. "'But I'm not just a wife and, someday, won't just be a mother.'"

"'Just be? Just be?'"

"'You're not defined by your gender. Why shouldn't I have the same right?'"

"'Because you're a woman!'"

She punched her thundering heart. "'I'm a person!'"

He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "'That's the problem with your sex: logic escapes you.'"

"'How dare you? How ...'" She put up her hand, both as Susan and Jackie, to stem her fury. "'I had no idea you were so limited.'"

"'I'm limited?'"

"'Yes, and it's not a failure of your gender. It's a personal failure of yours.'" A tear slid down her nose and fell to the concrete floor. "'I guess we were both mistaken about who we were marrying.'"

She moved to the door.

"'Susan,'" Steven said as Fred..

She left his room, but Steven, as Fred, called after her, "'Susan!'"

Darkness accompanied a click behind her. Steven must have turned off his light bulb. The scene was over. She darted back into the room as he turned on the light.

"How was that?" She wiped tears from her eyes and closed his door. "How was I?"

He gazed at her with an awe she hadn't witnessed in him before. "Incredible."

She needed a few seconds to absorb his reaction. Then she balled her fists and flexed her biceps in triumph. "I felt it, Susan's pain. She's so conflicted, but she chooses herself despite losing the man she loves … but she never really had him in the first place, did she?" She twirled her finger at the light bulb. "Nice touch, by the way."

"It was in the stage directions." He put her copy of the play on his dresser. "I feel a little dirty after reading that part."

"You actually startled me with how much you put into it. But Fred is a loving, supposedly reasonable man earlier in the play. This is the climax for their story."

Steven dropped onto his cot. "Two months in acting camp, and look how damn far you've come."

She kicked aside the blanket she'd tripped on earlier. "You had the key. I was trapped behind a locked door of emotion until we did this." She sat next to him. "With a few words, you taught me what to do."

He'd been teaching her a long time how handle tough situations. And, lately, ways to respect herself and recognize what she truly deserved, even though she was an imperfect student.

"Goes both ways, Jackie."

She squinted at him incredulously. "Really? What could I have possibly taught you?" She pointed at his cheeks. "You're still scruffy with facial hair—" she traced a circle around his body—"and dress like a bum who spends his nights sleeping outside record stores, waiting for concert tickets to go on sale."

"Hey, I just helped you out here. What's with the burns?"

"No, no, I was burning myself."

He returned her incredulous squint.

"You don't dress like a bum, and I like your scruffiness," she said, and blood heated her neck. "I mean, you've been working hard at Trinary Records. My dad brags about you. It's a little annoying to be honest."

"So your problem is?"

She gestured between them. "What are you getting out of this?"

"You're cool to hang out with."

"But you said I'm teaching you stuff."

Steven scratched the nape of his neck. He was uncomfortable. She'd learned what his body language meant, and their conversation must've entered roped-off territory.

He probably hated having someone in his personal space, too. Particularly her, considering she used to invade it constantly. They were sitting flush together on this cot, and her skin tingled where their bare arms touched. The sensation should've been unpleasant, but it wasn't.

"I'm sorry," she said and scooted to the end of his cot.

"For what?" he said but didn't let her answer. "I have this view of life as bein' shit, you know? For me. That my life'll always be shit. But when we hang out, life doesn't seem so bad."

He motioned for her to sit by him again. She did and said, "That's really sweet."

"Don't let it go to your head."

He was smiling at her, and her stomach quivered. She touched his cheek. "I really do like your sideburns."

"So do I," he said.

She giggled despite that her words, her emotions, terrified her. "I also like you."

"And I can honestly say bein' friends with you doesn't suck that much."

"Steven." She nudged his shoulder.

He laughed quietly, and their faces drew closer to each other. Their lips inched closer, and the urge to kiss him grew stronger, but she whispered, "Michael."

Neither she nor Steven moved. The barest of space existed between their mouths, but she'd spoken Michael's name to remind herself of him. Denying how much his absence affected her must've scrambled her brain. She was thirsty, pouring apple juice into an empty milk bottle. She liked apple juice, but she loved milk.

"I wish Michael would be home in time to see me in the play," she said near Steven's lips, as if that would explain everything.

She straightened up. So did Steven. They were both silent, and her stomach became heavy. The excitement inside had hardened to stone.

"Were you about to kiss me?" she said.

"Nope."

"I wasn't about to kiss you either."

Steven stood with his back to her. "Unless you want to run through that scene again, I gotta take a shower."

"To wash Fred off you."

He pulled fresh clothes from his dresser. "Yup."

"Okay. I've got … absolutely nothing to do on a Saturday, so I better get started on it."

"Stick around." he said. "We can do nothin' together."

She bounced on his cot, the heaviness in her stomach gone. "Okay."

His clothes were gathered in a pile in his arms. She picked up her copy of the play and left his room with him.

In the basement, Eric was on the sofa, working on the Death Star. "Watch this," Steven whispered to her. Then at Eric he shouted, "Hey, Donna!"

Eric tossed a piece of gray plastic and his glue bottle into the air. He jerked his head toward the back door, but his glare landed on Steven a moment later. "Hyde, what the hell?"

"Checkin' if you hadn't lost your hearing. Good news: you haven't."

Steven chuckled, and Jackie laughed, with him. His prank on Eric was mean but funny, and it had partly been for her. To relieve the tension between them, reassurance their friendship hadn't changed.

But she was changing, like Susan in Two Directions. Maybe Michael wouldn't be in love with her anymore when he got home. With the person she was becoming.