Chapter Nine
Jinnie
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T HE MORNING OF MY BIRTHDAY , I wake up to an empty bed.
It’s not new—Jack’s been gone for two months now—but today, the space beside me feels wider. Colder. The sheets stay smooth where I left them, no tangled limbs, no warm imprint of his body. Just me.
He’s been busy. I’m not surprised. This is what I knew would happen. Memphis and the success are everything I’m not. I can’t offer him anything. That life is what he wants.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Jack: Happy birthday, beautiful. Call you at noon?
I imagine his voice saying them. The Jack I knew would have woken me up with kisses, would have made pancakes, and maybe played me a song.
The phone buzzes again.
Jack: Check your porch.
My heart jumps. Is it a surprise visit? I hop out of bed, imagining him standing there with a cocky smile. That’s exactly the kind of thing I would expect him to do.
I jerk open the door, not caring that I have bedhead. But when I open it, he’s not standing there. I feel my soul deflate. The scent hits me first—overpowering roses, lilies, something expensive and cloying. That’s when I see it. How could I miss it? The bouquet is massive, spilling out of a crystal vase that definitely didn’t come from anywhere in our town. Flowers, red, yellow, and pink, explode in a burst of color.
A card sticks out from the blooms:
Happy 19th to the most beautiful girl in the world. Can’t wait to celebrate with you soon. -Jack
The handwriting is too perfect. Printed, probably.
I lift one of the roses to my nose. It smells like money, like something Liz would pick out. The old Jack would have brought me wildflowers. The flowers are beautiful, but they feel...wrong. Like someone is trying too hard.
My throat tightens.
The flowers weigh a ton. I struggle to lift the vase with both hands, nearly dropping it as I kick the door shut behind me. Water sloshes over the rim, splashing my bare feet. Great.
“Holy—” I curse under my breath, staggering toward the table. My tiny house wasn’t designed for floral arrangements the size of a small child. More like a small horse. I try setting it on the table, but it takes up too much space. I’ll end up knocking it over.
I look around and realize I truly don’t have the kind of space I need for this monstrosity. How could something so pretty be so offensive? I end up putting the flowers in the corner of the room. The flowers practically engulf the entire living area. I step back and stare at it, feeling weirdly invaded.
My phone buzzes again.
Jack: Did you get them?
I type back quickly: Yes, they’re beautiful. Thank you.
I don’t add that they’re also overwhelming and nothing like anything he would have chosen before. I don’t tell him they make me feel like I’m dating a stranger. Instead, I snap a picture of them dominating my living room.
Jack: Glad you like them. The florist said they were the best in town.
I sink onto the edge of the couch, surrounded by the cloying scent. Two months ago, he left. All the promises to bring me out to see him had yet to be fulfilled. We typically texted a few times a day, but there were times I wouldn’t hear from him until two in the morning.
I felt him slipping away. He still promises we’ll see each other soon, but honestly, I’m losing hope. I know he’s wrapped up in recording his new album. He tells me he works sixteen hours a day sometimes. I trust him. But I don’t trust the people he’s around. There have been several times when we’ve talked and I can hear people in the background. The scene in Memphis is far different than the one here in town.
I scoop Max’s food into his bowl, the dry kibble clattering against the ceramic. He weaves between my legs, purring like a tiny engine, his tail flicking against my shin. “You’re the only one who’s happy to see me today,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears. He meows in agreement, or maybe just because he’s hungry, and dives in to his breakfast.
I grab a mug and pour myself a cup of coffee, but it tastes bitter, even with sugar. I dump it down the sink and lean against the counter, staring at the flowers. They’re still there, looming like a neon sign I can’t turn off. A constant reminder of the boy who has my heart and doesn’t know it.
“Ugh,” I groan, turning away. “Stop thinking about it.”
Max looks up from his bowl, tilting his head like he’s judging me. “What?” I say defensively. “You think I’m being dramatic?”
He blinks slowly and goes back to eating.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I mutter, heading for the bathroom.
The shower is my escape. I crank the water as hot as I can stand it and step under the spray, letting it wash over me. Steam fills the tiny room. Fall is in the air and soon, it’s going to be cold mornings. Cold, lonely mornings.
I close my eyes and tell myself to stop it. I can’t be sad. He’s achieving his dreams. If I loved him, I would be happy for him. I did love him. Although, it is growing more difficult to acknowledge that love. How can I love someone I haven’t seen in forever? Someone who hasn’t said he loved me.
I push away the thoughts. I have to be patient. I’ll give it a couple more months. If Jack doesn’t call for me, I will have to accept it’s over. He’s doing what he needs to. I will have to move on. If you love something, you set it free.
I’m letting him go free.
I get dressed, putting on a warm sweater with a comfy pair of jeans. I know my parents are expecting me at their place. We’ll have dinner and Mom will have made my favorite chocolate cake. I putter around the house but I can’t seem to ignore those flowers.
The phone rings at exactly noon.
It’s Jack. At least he kept his promise to call. “Hi,” I answer.
“Happy Birthday, baby!”
I smile. “Thank you.
“Do you love them?”
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re huge.”
“Aren’t they great? Liz helped me pick them out. Said nothing but the best for my girl.”
I swallow hard. “That was nice of her.”
I’m not surprised in the least Liz was involved. My eyes go to the flowers and I hate that I hate them. He sent them because he wanted to do something nice for me. And they are nice, but they feel tainted.
“So listen,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice, “I was thinking—once we wrap recording next month, maybe you could come down? You have to see this penthouse.”
The excitement in his voice is contagious, and for a second, I let myself imagine it—walking into his arms in some glittering Memphis high-rise, seeing his face light up the way it used to when I’d surprise him at the bar.
Then reality crashes back.
“Yeah, we’ll have to plan something,” I say.
“We’re finishing the record and then there’s going to be a huge promotional push,” he says. “They said this is the fastest they’ve ever produced a record. I got almost all the songs I wanted on it. We had to cut a few, but I’m cool with it.
“That’s amazing, Jack,” I say, trying to match his enthusiasm, but my voice sounds hollow even to me. “I’m so proud of you.”
He doesn’t seem to notice the strain in my tone. “You wouldn’t believe the studio, Jinnie. It’s insane. Like all this equipment and the microphones. And Dex is a genius. He’s worked with everyone. Everyone . You know that song we were working on? He took it and made it a hundred times better! I can’t wait for you to hear it!”
“Sounds like you’re in good hands,” I say. Max jumps up beside me on the couch, nudging my hand with his head. I scratch his ears absently.
“Yeah, it’s wild,” Jack continues, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Liz says they’re planning a big release party for the single. There’ll be press, industry people—it’s going to be huge. I meet with a stylist tomorrow. They have a suit they want me to try on.”
I swallow hard, picturing him in a suit I’ve never seen, surrounded by people I don’t know. “Sounds fancy.”
Someone murmurs in the background. Liz, probably.
“Shit, Jinn, I gotta run. Studio time’s expensive, you know?” His laugh is nervous. “But happy birthday. I’ll see you soon.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, sadness washing over me. I can’t stop the tears. I’ve lost him. I know I have.
That evening, I head to my parents’ house. I don’t miss the extra cars in the driveway. I sigh, debating on whether or not I want to go inside. I appreciate the idea of a party, but the last thing I want is an actual party.
But they went through the trouble of throwing it so I have to go inside.
“Surprise!” everyone shouts, though it’s not much of one.
I paste on a smile. “You guys didn’t have to—”
“Shut up and blow out your candles,” Aggie interrupts, shoving the cake toward me.
Nineteen flickering flames stare back. I make a wish— please let him come home —and blow.
The room erupts in cheers. A couple of friends from school along with Lisa are there. For a few minutes, it feels almost normal.
The party winds down around ten. Everyone leaves with hugs and promises to “do this again soon,” though we all know we won’t.
Aggie stays behind to help clean up. She doesn’t ask if I’m okay. Just hands me a trash bag and starts stacking plates.
“You know that boy loves you more than anything.”
I crush a paper plate in my hands. “Does he?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course, he does.”
I don’t believe her. How can I? There is no proof of his feelings. In fact, if I step back and look at the situation objectively, it’s clear he isn’t coming back and I’m not going to him.
When I get home, I turn off my phone. I don’t want to leave it on because then I’m just going to keep checking it to see if he’s texted or called. It’s better to make a clean break.