Chapter 7 Good Night, Jack #2
I phoned Grandma, and this time I got through to her.
She told me basically the same thing as Shannon did: she hadn’t said anything because she didn’t want to worry me, I had my own life to worry about, and so on.
Of course, I couldn’t be angry with her, and what I cared about was being sure she really was all right and wasn’t just lying to make me feel better.
Once I was sure about that, we talked a little bit about school and this and that, and by the time I hung up, I felt better.
It was a lazy, boring day, and I spent much of it trying to get over the blow of what I’d heard.
After my afternoon class, I had a small lunch, went over my notes, vegged out in front of the TV, watched my roommates come and go without really paying them any attention.
They did the same, they were busy, and for me, that was for the best. I honestly wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
Jack walked in at some point, threw his jacket on the couch, and headed straight to the bathroom for a shower. I didn’t even look up from my notes. When he emerged soon afterward, he was dressed in a pressed black shirt and a fresh pair of jeans.
“Did you go shopping?” I asked.
Grabbing his jacket, he answered, “Yeah.”
“You look good.”
“Thanks.”
In the awkward silence my phone buzzed, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Jack noticed. I thought it might be Monty again, but thankfully it was Chris. I picked up and he told me he had good news for me.
“Which is…?” I asked.
“A room’s opened up for you.”
“Seriously?” I responded, surprised.
Jack narrowed his eyes as Chris explained, “Yeah, this girl in one of the single rooms was bombing all of her classes. I don’t know if she was drinking too much or had personal issues, but anyway, her parents came and got her. Her room’s not listed with housing yet, so I can probably hook you up.”
“Can I think about it till tomorrow?” I found myself saying. I don’t know if it was the day I had, or seeing Jack in front of me, but something was making me reluctant.
“I guess so,” he said. “You’re being kind of weird, though. I took it for granted you’d be jumping for joy.”
“I don’t know. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“All right,” he replied. “Well, don’t think about it too long, because if someone else gets word of it, I don’t know when another spot might open up. I’m going to let you go, OK, I have some calls to make.”
“Sure, Chris, thanks.”
I hung up and tried to pretend I was busy with schoolwork, ignoring Jack until he’d walked in front of me and was standing there staring at me, playing with his keys.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“Chris found an open room for me.”
“Are you going to take it?”
“It makes sense, right? We’re clearly not comfortable living together. You didn’t throw me out, and I appreciate that, I really do, but I can tell when I’m not wanted. And that’s fine. Anyway, I’ll be able to save money on my light rail pass, so there’s that.”
His presence, his cold stare, my inability to know what he was thinking—all that made me nervous, and I found myself babbling, as I always do when I feel uncomfortable.
“I can probably take care of it tomorrow. Then you’ll have your room again.
I’m sure it sucks sleeping on the sofa. And another thing… ”
“I don’t want the room,” he burst out. “I want…”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish. But I knew what he wanted to say.
“Actually,” he said, “just do what you want.”
“It’s not just what I want,” I responded. “It’s what you want, too.”
“So what, then, Jen? Do you need me to tell you to leave? Is that what you’re waiting for? Would that make you feel better?” He turned and grabbed his things.
I shouted, “Are you just going to run away every time we start to talk for real?”
“I’m not running away. I have a party to go to, and I’m late.”
“Admit that every time things get difficult, you run away.”
He looked over his shoulder before walking out. “I’d say that makes two of us.”
For a moment, I stared at the door, then I tried to study, but couldn’t concentrate.
I thought about Jack, then about my grandmother.
If everything was fine, as they said, why had they tried to hide it from me?
For a moment, I’d convince myself that I was blowing things out of proportion, then I’d manage to look at my notes, but soon the negative thoughts would start creeping back in, and all evening it didn’t get better.
I was alone until after night fell. Naya had a dinner out, Mike didn’t drop in, and Sue stayed in her bedroom getting ready for an exam.
Will came in around eight and asked if I wanted takeout.
“Let me treat,” I said, and ordered enough food for three.
He thought that was weird, and I told him I wanted to get something for Jack.
“If he doesn’t come home, no worries, one of us can eat the leftovers tomorrow. ”
Will shrugged. “That’s your call, but if I were you, I wouldn’t wait up for him. You look like you could use some rest.”
He was right, but relaxing was easier said than done.
I kept watching a film scroll past in my head: Jack drunk, Jack high, Jack lost in some shady part of the city, Jack vulnerable, Jack hurt.
It made me shiver, and I started to get desperate.
And the more desperate I was, the more I worried—about Jack, about Monty, about my grandmother—and soon I knew there was no way I was going to get to sleep.
After an hour’s tossing and turning, I went to the living room and lay on the sofa, getting under a blanket and turning on the TV.
I needed a reality show about beach babes and meathead dudes—that would cure my blues.
But when I couldn’t find anything like that, I opted for a rerun of a radical makeover show, then toyed around with my phone when I got bored.
I sent a few texts, watched some videos of artists on TikTok, then finally admitted to myself I was only wasting time because I was hoping Jack would write.
I looked at his Instagram so many times, I started to fear he could feel me watching him.
Then I told myself: If he really matters that much to you, you could write him.
OK. Fine. Hey, I typed. Sorry about what I said before. I just didn’t want to get into an argument again.
I kept rereading my message until I got mad at myself. What the hell did I have to apologize for?
Actually, I’m not sorry, because I know I’m right, but I didn’t want to argue.
Five minutes later: I mean, I’m OK with apologizing, I know I’m not perfect, but sometimes I’m just right and you really could try and listen to me.
Time kept passing, and then my screen lit up. I was so scared I twitched, knocking my phone into the air. I caught it just before it went careening to the floor. Jack was calling. I was terrified but I picked up anyway. “Yeah?”
“You sure are chatty tonight.”
His words sounded a little slurred, and though I knew it might get on his nerves, I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Where are you?” I asked, standing up and looking for my shoes.
“I’m around. Why do you care?”
“Jack, please… I just do, OK?”
“Fine. I’m right outside.”
That bastard… I opened the door and found him sitting on the floor yawning. He had to blink a few times to see me clearly. Then he waved. “Hello again.”
He was still holding his phone to his cheek. I wanted to tell him he could hang up now, but then I saw something else that upset me. His key was jammed into the door. His car key.
“Ross, seriously?” I said. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled hard to get it out. When I’d extracted it, I asked, “Do you need me to help you up?”
“I thought you might be in your new dorm room.”
“I told you I couldn’t deal with that till tomorrow,” I said, reaching out a hand to help him. He refused it, trying to stand, almost toppling over. Once he’d crawled inside, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
“Let me help you over to the sofa, Jack. I’ve got you, I can hold you up.” I meant that in more ways than one.
“Be careful what you offer, I might say yes.”
“Are you OK?” I asked, being serious.
He opened one eye and smiled bitterly. “What do you think?”
I grabbed his hands and tried to tug him to his feet. He swayed toward me, looked at my lips, seemed tempted, then fell back slightly. “I wish,” he said, “that our second first kiss had been nicer than it was.”
I didn’t want to talk about that, so I responded, “Let’s get you sat down.”
He groused and grumbled, but eventually I managed to drag him to the couch, where he collapsed, sighed loudly, almost snoring, and struggled upright.
I didn’t know what to do for him. The only thing I could think of was to pour him a glass of water.
His eyes lit up as he heard the faucet, but when I brought it over, he pretended he couldn’t move.
“I need your help. I’m paralyzed, and water’s very dangerous for a man in my state.
I might drown. Or I could spill it all over myself, catch a cold, and die. ”
He looked at me like a defenseless puppy, and I asked, “Do you honestly want me to pour this into your mouth like you’re a baby?”
He nodded mischievously. Fine. I played along. He took a few sips, then stuck out his tongue. “Gross,” he said. “I thought that was vodka.”
“Sorry, no more alcohol for you tonight. You’ve clearly had all you need.”
Jack leaned his head back and closed his eyes, accepting defeat.
I waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, I thought he had passed out.
After a few seconds, telling myself there wasn’t any harm in it, I stroked his cheek with my palm, feeling the prickle of his beard.
He tried and failed to say something. That scared me, and I asked, “Do you need me to get Will?”
“No,” he replied firmly. “Please, just stay here with me. Please.”
Please, I thought. Now we’re getting somewhere. I haven’t heard Jack utter that word since I got here.