Chapter Eleven
Jinnie
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I LIE IN BED STARING at the ceiling. It’s cold and I don’t want to get out of bed. I also don’t want to lie in bed all day. It’s my day off but I can’t sleep in. My body has its own internal clock. Nothing I do allows me to sleep past seven. Never mind I stayed up late last night trying to pretend I wasn’t waiting for Jack to call.
I didn’t even know where he was or what time zone he was in. He fell off the face of the earth. Well, I would think that if I didn’t constantly see and hear about all the places he’s been over the last few weeks. It’s been seventeen days since Jack’s last call.
I scroll through my phone, thumbing past video after video of Jack. There he is, flashing that easy smile I used to love, but now it feels different. Calculated. In one clip, he’s meeting fans, signing autographs, and leaning in for selfies. He’s wearing that damn purple shirt again, the one Liz probably picked out for him. It’s too shiny, too perfect—nothing like the worn cotton t-shirts he used to wear. The ones that stretched across his broad chest and showed off the defined biceps that came from years of working on a farm.
In another interview, he’s talking about his “journey” and “gratefulness” to the label. His words sound rehearsed, like he’s reading from a script. And then there’s the many photos plastered all over the internet. Jack Hayes, all clean-cut and polished in designer suits that cost more than my home. He looks like a stranger. The way he poses, the way he smiles—it’s not him. Not my Jack.
My thumb hovers over a video someone posted of his live performance in New York. I press play before I can stop myself. The crowd roars as he walks on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder. But it’s not the one he played at Aggie’s bar. It’s some sleek, glittery thing that looks like it belongs in a museum. He starts playing. The music is good—better than good—but there’s something missing. That raw, unfiltered emotion that used to pour out of him whenever he sang is gone. It’s been replaced by something polished, something...safe.
I close the app and toss my phone onto the bed. Max jumps up beside me, curling into a ball at my feet. I scratch behind his ears absently, staring at the ceiling.
“He’s different,” I say aloud, though Max doesn’t respond. “He’s changing.”
And maybe I knew this would happen. Maybe I should have seen it coming from the moment Liz took him away. But it still hurts. It hurts to see him becoming someone I don’t recognize. And just as I expected would happen, he’s forgotten all about me. I’ve gotten a couple of random texts, but no phone calls. I think I’d forget the sound of his voice if I didn’t hear every time I turned on the damn radio.
I drag myself out of bed and go into the kitchen to make coffee. The flowers are long gone, but for some reason, I keep looking at the space they occupied for more than a week. They’re gone...just like him.
The coffee maker gurgles as I lean against the counter, hugging my arms around myself. It’s colder today than it was yesterday. I can feel winter creeping in at the edges of my tiny house. Or maybe it’s just loneliness settling into my bones.
My phone buzzes on the counter, breaking the silence. For a split second, my heart leaps—maybe it’s Jack—but then I see it’s just an email notification from work about next week’s schedule.
I sigh and pour myself a cup of coffee, wrapping my hands around the mug for warmth. “What am I doing?” I mutter to no one in particular.
Maybe it’s time to let go. Maybe it’s time to accept that Jack isn’t coming back.
Of course I’ve said that probably a thousand times and I never do it. I sip my coffee and decide I don’t want to sit around home today. I did tell Stephanie I would take some pictures and schedule social media posts. I didn’t get time to do it yesterday. I may as well do it today.
I shower and head to the bakery.
“Jinnie?” Stephanie asks. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to get ahead on next week’s posts.”
“But it’s your day off. You should be—”
“Nothing better to do,” I interrupt, my voice too bright.
“Well, while you’re here, maybe you can take a few pictures of the wedding cake I’m just finishing up.”
“Absolutely.” I smile.
Stephanie is putting the final touches on a three-tiered masterpiece. The cake is stunning—white buttercream with intricate lace detailing and sugar flowers that look almost real. I snap a few shots, the camera shutter clicking softly as I circle the table, capturing it from every angle.
“This one’s going in the portfolio,” Stephanie says, stepping back to admire her work. “The bride wanted something classic but with a modern twist. What do you think?”
“It’s incredible,” I say honestly, zooming in on the delicate sugar roses. “You’re going to get so many bookings after this.”
She smiles. “Jinnie, can I ask you something?”
I lower my phone. “Sure.”
“Are you okay? You’ve been...quiet lately. And you’re here on your day off. That’s not like you.”
I shrug, pretending to adjust the camera settings. “I’m fine. Just keeping busy.”
Stephanie doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it. “Well, if you ever want to talk, I’m here. You know that, right?”
“Thanks,” I say softly, though I don’t meet her eyes.
While she gets back to the decorating, I do some editing on the photos.
“You know, when my husband first left for the Navy, I baked twelve loaves of banana bread in one day.”
I laugh because I can totally imagine her doing it.
“Burnt half of them,” she continues. “Couldn’t figure out why, until my sister pointed out I kept opening the oven door to check on them.” She smiles. “Sometimes our hands need to be busy so our hearts can catch up.”
My throat tightens. I focus on the picture editing. “How long did it take? To catch up?”
She sighs. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think we ever really do.”
Lisa walks in for her afternoon shift. “Hey! I thought you were off today.”
“I am.”
“You’ll never guess what came in the mail today!”
I laugh. “You’re right. I have no guesses.”
She takes off her jacket, hangs it up, and then spins it around her arms out to the sides.
Jack’s face stares back at me, his guitar slung across his chest, the album title in bold white letters beneath.
“I ordered it last week,” Lisa gushes. “Isn’t it awesome? Can you believe we know someone famous?”
The air leaves my lungs as I take in her t-shirt. He’s officially on shirts.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Awesome.”
Lisa beams, oblivious to the pain it causes me to see his face. “You must be so proud! When’s he coming back to visit?”
The cinnamon roll I ate earlier turns to lead in my stomach. “Not sure. He’s busy. They’re talking a tour and maybe even going to Europe.”
Stephanie appears like a guardian angel, steering Lisa away with a gentle hand. “Can you take that tray of cupcakes up to the case, Lisa?”
“You okay?” Stephanie asks quietly.
I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just weird seeing his face like that, you know? It’s like he’s everywhere now. Except here.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I quickly look down at the counter, pretending to scroll through the photos on my camera.
Stephanie places a hand on my shoulder. “He’ll come back, Jinnie. This is just the beginning of all this for him. He’s probably overwhelmed.”
“Maybe,” I say, though I don’t believe it. “It just feels like he’s moving on without me. Like I was just a stop along the way.”
“You’re not a stop,” Stephanie says firmly. “You’re his home. He’ll realize that eventually.”
I want to believe her, but the doubt has taken root so deep it feels like it’s part of me now.
Lisa reappears moments later with an empty tray, still talking about Jack’s album as if she hasn’t noticed the tension in the room.
“Did you hear his single’s climbing the charts?” she asks, oblivious. “I think it’s number three now! Can you imagine? Number three! And he wrote that song about this place, didn’t he?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I realize this is a mistake. I need to get out of here. “I think I have everything. I’ll schedule these to post.”
“Thank you, Jinnie,” Stephanie calls out.
I practically run out the door. I go by the grocery store and manage to go through the motions. After feeding Max, it’s time for my weekly dinner with my parents. When I walk into the house, it’s like getting a big hug. Mom stirs a pot of soup at the stove while Dad chops vegetables, their movements synchronized after being married since they were teenagers younger than me.
“Uh-oh,” Dad says. “I take it you haven’t heard from him.”
They know all about my woes. At dinner last week, I told them about Jack essentially ghosting me.
“He said he’d call,” I murmur.
Mom’s spoon stills. “Oh, honey.”
Dad sets down his knife. “You know how those music people are. Probably working him to death.”
“That’s not—” My voice cracks. “It’s not the not-calling. It’s that when he does, he’s different. Like he’s so used to putting on a performance, he’s performing for me.”
The soup bubbles loudly. Mom turns down the heat. “People change, Jinnie. Especially when they’re chasing big dreams.”
“I know. I just thought...”
I thought I’d be part of that dream.
“You can’t put your life on hold waiting, sweetheart,” Dad says gently. “I think you need to consider dating. See how it feels. If you aren’t ready, that’s okay, too.”
The words settle like stones in my chest.
I make it through dinner, and instead of hanging around to play cards, I go home early. I don’t feel like being around anyone.
My house is too quiet. Too empty.
My phone lights up with a notification—some music blog posting about Jack’s “meteoric rise.” I swipe it away, but not before catching a glimpse of the photo: Jack on some red carpet, Liz on his arm, both of them smiling for cameras.
The tears come hot and fast. I miss his laugh. The sound of him plucking at his guitar. The weight of his arm around me as we fell asleep.
Most of all, I miss the guy who wanted me. The one who might not exist anymore.
Somewhere out there, Jack is living his dream.
And here I am—
Just learning how to breathe without him.