6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
T he next morning, I awoke with a start from an Austen-inspired nightmare, disoriented and drenched in sweat. Flashes of Mr. Darcy being brutally crushed beneath a carriage coursed through my mind as I sat up in panic, clutching my damp sheets as I clawed my sleep mask off my face. Still shaken ten minutes later, I seriously considered cancelling my next morning run with Jack.
But bailing on Jack wasn’t an option. Today’s half-marathon training plan required 12 miles, which would be difficult to get through alone. Maybe Jack can help me get this dream out of my mind , I thought briefly while knocking on his door at 7:30 a.m. Or maybe he’ll just think I’m insane .
“Hey, come on in,” he said while opening his door. He lived in one of the building’s nicer apartments, with two guest rooms, much more spacious than my modest one-bedroom place. I often wondered why he hadn’t moved to a nicer place or perhaps bought a house or condo by now, given how financially well off he must be. Jack was nothing if not sensible, including with money. But I was loath to ask him. After all, I didn’t want him to move; having my best friend down the hallway was more than just a convenience—it was a lifeline, at times. Best not to even risk putting that idea in his head by asking about it.
I walked in and quickly sank into the nearest chair, yawning. Too late, I realized I’d sat on a book. It must be Belinda’s, as Jack was too tidy to ever leave a book lying on a chair. Belinda was the exact opposite. The two of them had had a warm brother–sister relationship for as long as I’d known them, though I preferred to think that Jack considered me his closest friend anyway. “Bel’s still sleeping, I assume?”
“Of course, as most normal people do if they aren’t waking up early to run double-digit miles.” He chuckled as he eyed me. “Choua says hello, by the way. He was hoping to treat us all to lunch today, but apparently his brother asked him to fill in for him in the early morning shift. I didn’t even know their store was open so early.”
“Yeah,” I said, distracted.
After a few moments of silence as he finished putting his shoes and running gear on, he turned to me. “You’re quiet. Are you all right?”
I nodded and looked at my watch, trying to stifle another yawn. “I’m super.”
“If you say so,” he said, giving me a sideways glance as we left his apartment.
After just one mile of running, the early morning sun promising a beautiful spring day, I felt sluggish and more winded than usual. And more than a little grouchy. Reluctantly, I told Jack I needed a walk break.
He slowed his pace and then looked at me with renewed concern as he touched my arm gently. “Already? Are you not feeling well today? Or just not feeling the run?”
“Maybe it’s just not my day,” I admitted. “But only a mile in, it’s hard to tell.”
“Yeah, but I know you. Something’s up.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if something’s up? Or you don’t know if you want to talk about it?”
I resumed our running pace while avoiding the stray branches and twigs and random patches of ice that hadn’t yet melted on the paved trail. “Lots of branches on the ground this morning. I didn’t realize that weird spring storm last week was so bad.”
I felt his eyes on me, but he said nothing.
“At least it’s not snow,” I added.
“True.”
“That wouldn’t be unusual this time of year.”
“Right.”
After several more attempts at bland conversation, I groaned. It was hopeless to keep anything from my best friend. Besides, we still had two long hours of running to survive this morning. I took a few measured breaths. “OK, if you must know …” When his eyes swung over to me, I continued, “I just had a bad dream last night.”
He didn’t speak at first, obviously uncertain how to respond to such a declaration. “A bad dream?”
“Yes, I sound like I’m in kindergarten,” I said, my brows scrunched together. “But I had a bad dream, and it’s really staying with me for some reason. That’s it. Big mystery solved.”
After a moment, he asked softly, “Care to talk about it?”
I was silent as we ran up a steep hill. When I recovered my breath, I mumbled, “I don’t know … I’m sure you’ll laugh.”
“Me, laugh at you? Why, I never,” he said in his friendly Jack way. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Vivi. Shoot.”
I eyed him briefly, trying not to betray my misery. This was Jack. Kind, supportive, wonderful Jack. “OK, I had a dream about Pride I was embarrassed but pretended not to care. Self-preservation was everything to me. Things were soon normal between us again, and he became my best friend. He knew me better than anyone, better than my girl friends. I cried on his shoulder; I went to him for advice. I had long since ceased thinking of him in a romantic way. He was like my right arm. Not romantic, but essential to my happiness nonetheless.
After all this time, I could handle Jack gently critiquing or even laughing about almost anything I decided to do or say. But today’s problems were different. This time, I might be writing about my own life, and therefore, it felt sacred somehow.
I didn’t want to feel vulnerable.
At least not yet.
Jack would never intentionally hurt me, but my feelings about the Gregory situation were so new and uncertain, and I didn’t trust myself to handle even the slightest, most good-intentioned criticism. Could I even handle a more technical critique? Maybe not. I didn’t even know how to feel, much less how to talk to him about it or how to process any kind of feedback I might get. I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to shut out the swirling thoughts and feelings.
I opened my calzone container and plated it before taking a bite of deliciousness. I could share my writing with Annie, but it was probably best to keep this close to home. I wasn’t quite ready to reveal my thoughts and feelings about Gregory to Annie, and I definitely was not ready to reveal my matchmaking scheme for Annie and Brandon—though I’d probably take credit for it openly once my success was certain. Annie was, in any case, probably busy with Brandon at this very moment.
After deciding to keep my novel to myself for now, I sighed in relief. Settling onto the couch with my dinner, I picked up my latest read, a modern-day adaptation of Persuasion . It was an Austen kind of night, but not just any kind of Austen. I needed to take a breather from Darcy, real or imagined, and a good dose of Captain Wentworth would be just the ticket.