Chapter 12 The Night of Truth
The Night of Truth
Getting back to the apartment was like waking from a bad dream.
I was so happy to put some distance between me and my parents again.
I didn’t cry when I talked about my grandmother, but there were days when it was hard for me to focus on anything.
In class, I’d rest my chin in my hand and stare off into space, and even when a professor or a classmate tried to bring me back to reality, I still didn’t really feel centered.
Curtis noticed, but he never mentioned it, and no one else did, either. I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I needed people to respect that. What Curtis did do was try to distract me by talking about other things.
I remember one day I asked if he’d called Chris again. We were sitting at a picnic table on one of the quads, and I was stirring a coffee I’d just bought. Curtis shrugged and sighed.
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“I swear, if you mistreat him, Naya’s going to kill you,” I warned him.
“We’re not married, Jenna.”
“Didn’t you have fun on your guys’ date?”
“It was fine. He’s so awkward it’s kind of sweet. But that’s all I can say.”
“He’s a good guy,” I said. “He’s square, but you can’t hold that against him. He was the first guy to be nice to me here, and he hasn’t changed since.”
Curtis nodded and tore off a strip of his cinnamon roll. “I know this is going to sound horrible, but I’m not sure nice does it for me. Or square, or whatever. Like I could probably use a nice guy in my life, but…”
“But let me guess: you want a bad boy?”
He smiled, and we went on talking about other things.
As for the rest, the days passed as they always did: Naya tried and failed disastrously to cook for us, Mike came and went, Sue grumbled, Will was his same kind, gentle self.
Jack slept at home most nights, and we fell back into our routine from our first year together, or the part of it when we were still just friends.
We left the room when either of us needed to change our clothes, we took turns making the bed, we asked each other how our day had been, we watched a movie on the laptop sometimes, had silly conversations…
It was as if nothing had changed, as long as you ignored the bags under his eyes and how terribly thin he’d grown.
My hand was almost healed—in a few days I’d be able to remove the bandages—but I was still supposed to rub ointment on it, just in case, and Jack had taken over that responsibility.
He was a little softer than he needed to be.
I reminded him I wasn’t made of porcelain, but still, every time he’d lean over me, biting his lower lip, he’d rub the cut in soft tiny circles and tell me he didn’t want to hurt me.
For the most part, I liked how things had gone back to the way they’d once been.
What I wasn’t so happy about was Jack’s constant arguments with his brother.
Like the afternoon when I was going over my notes and they both sat down, one on either side of me.
Jack was eating from a bowl of popcorn. Mike reached across me to grab a handful.
Jack pushed him and Mike hit his head, and from the way he was rubbing it, you’d have thought he had a concussion.
“Careful, dude, that actually hurt,” he shouted.
“You can take it,” Jack replied.
“We’ll see if you can take it when I do the same to you,” Mike said.
“We’ll see if you can find another place to live when I throw you out on your ass. Why are you here anyway? I thought with your band’s overwhelming success, you’d be living in a penthouse in Beverly Hills by now.”
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I wasn’t hearing their bickering. Mike accused Jack of not appreciating all he’d done for him; Jack called Mike a parasite and said his life would be easier without him. Then they stooped to kindergarten insults: moron, idiot, loser, jerk.
“You’re both a couple of annoying babies!” I shouted, slamming shut the lid of my laptop. “You’re acting like idiots, so stop arguing about which one of you is worse! It’s both of you!”
They both looked at me with shock. If I wasn’t furious, I would have laughed, because they could have been twins in that moment.
Now, as if they were suddenly on the same team, they both accused me of taking it too far, with Jack reminding me I should show a little more respect to the guy who gave me a place to stay. I held my head in my hands.
“I can’t believe that the one time you two agree on anything, it’s to argue with me.”
Mike laughed and gave me an unwanted squeeze and messed up my hair, and I screeched and stood. “I’m going to take a shower,” I announced, “so I can get at least two minutes of peace and quiet.”
“Getting all sexy for the big night?” Mike asked. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
I stopped in the hallway. “Sorry, what are you talking about?”
“Dinner at Mom and Dad’s house tonight. You’re invited,” Mike said.
“Just skip it,” Jack said. “It’s dumb, there’s no reason for you to go.”
“What is?” I asked.
“My mom wanted to celebrate your birthday. I told her about your grandmother and she canceled for a little while, but then she got the idea back in her head.”
“If I know Mom,” Mike added, “she’s got an entire banquet set up.”
To say I wasn’t in the mood would be an understatement, but just the thought of getting on Mr. Ross’s nerves was almost enough to make me want to go. Since the funeral, something had changed in me. I wasn’t as timid as I used to be. I honestly felt ready for a fight.
“I’m in,” I said.
Jack didn’t seem excited about it, but I could tell he didn’t want to contradict me. “If that’s what you want…”
“What about what I want?” Mike asked.
“Let me see if I care…” I mused. “Yeah—I don’t.”
Mike brought a hand to his heart as if he’d been shot, played dead for a few seconds, then sat up. “We’ve got time, though. What should we do till then?”
“I vote we take your brother shopping. I’m sorry, Jack, but it’s time. If I agree to go with you to your parents’, I’m not going with you looking like an absolute bum.” Jack whined and protested, but I forced him to agree, and as soon as I showered, we drove to the mall.
Jack’s attitude couldn’t have been worse.
He spent the entire time trying to make clear to me how much he hated the experience.
He moaned, groaned, asked if it would take much longer, checked the time on his phone, took everything I picked out for him and hung it back on the rack…
Mike, on the other hand, was acting like a model, taking turns in the mirrors with the most ridiculous garments.
He never found anything he liked, but at least his ridiculous expressions lightened the mood.
I tried to offer Jack a blue cashmere sweater, then, when he turned it down, a sweatshirt with the Minions on it.
I knew that would irritate him, and I was right.
He admitted that he wasn’t going to like anything, but I put my foot down: I wasn’t leaving until he picked something.
“Fine,” he said, and grabbed a Back to the Future sweatshirt that looked like something a child would wear.
It was horrifying, but Jack grinned and said he loved it.
Mike distracted me, running over with a dozen garments under his arm that he said Jack was going to buy him now that he was rich.
Jack shouted, “I’m not fucking rich!” and Mike recoiled—maybe that was some kind of sore spot for him.
Eventually, we made our way home. Mike had five bags of clothes—who knows where he got the money—and Jack had one, which I decided was a victory.
Since everyone was home and sitting in the living room, Mike decided to show off for them while Jack and I went to the bedroom.
He took out his sweatshirt, threw it on, and said, “Try not to salivate.” Then he tossed his bag into the corner.
Sitting on the bed, I told him, “Yes, your taste is excellent, as always.”
“Why didn’t you buy anything?”
“I don’t want to spend the cash, and I’ve got plenty to wear. And when I run short, I can always raid my sister’s closet.”
Saying that reminded me it was time for me to get dressed, too.
So I told Jack to get away from the mirror and started trying on skirts, pants, sweaters.
Nothing seemed to work that day. Everything was either too stuffy or too informal.
I couldn’t find anything that hit that sweet spot in the middle.
As I was taking off my fourth sweater, Jack asked, “How many times have you changed in five minutes?”
“I can’t help it! I hate everything!”
“Maybe you hate sweaters? Because that’s the only thing you’ve tried on, and I can barely tell the difference between them. Anyway, I think you look great. I get that you’re nervous, but you can’t let that eat at you. Just throw something on, it’ll be fine. Or, I’ve got an idea, let me pick.”
Breathing a sigh of frustration, I replied, “That could maybe work.” Jack dug through my things as I stood beside him with my arms crossed.
There was only so much he could do. In the end, he was just digging back out the same things I had already tried on.
He held up a brown sweater and grunted, “No, this one’s horrible,” then a yellow one, which he dismissed: “Sorry, you’ll look like a bumblebee in this one. ”
Finally, he found another garment I’d stolen from Shannon and said, “This is the one. You had it on when you went to Mike’s concert a long time ago. I like it, red looks good on you.”
“Fine,” I said. “The funny thing is it’s not even mine. I actually gave this sweater to Shannon for her birthday one year, but then—”
“Shit!” Jack shouted, interrupting me.
“What is it?” Had I missed something? He opened a drawer in his dresser while I stared at him, wondering what he was up to, threw a few T-shirts onto the floor, and finally found what he was looking for: a big purple box.
“Thank God I remembered,” he said, holding it up and saying with a smile, “It’s your birthday present!”