60. Jillian
SIXTY
Jillian
I freeze, my breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. The world narrows, everything outside of this moment falling away. My son—my beautiful, brave Jamie—just told me he loves me.
I lied before. This is the most beautiful sound in the world. My little boy spoke again for the first time after all this time and the first thing he said was that he loved me.
I want to scoop him up and spin him around the room, to tell him how proud I am, how incredible he is. I want to call every therapist, every friend, every person who has walked this road with us. I want to text Sheila in all caps, call Elliott, and demand Grace stop everything to celebrate with us. I want to shout it from the rooftops, hire a plane to write it across the sky, fill Times Square with flashing lights that scream: Jamie spoke. My baby spoke.
But I don’t.
I tap his nose gently, my fingers trembling, my voice thick as I whisper, “ I love you more.”
I lower him to the floor, his little feet barely touching before he’s off toward his room. “Go get dressed.” I try to keep my tone steady, normal, though nothing feels normal anymore. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast.”
The second he’s out of sight, I stumble into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with shaking hands. My back hits the wall, and I slide down to the floor, the weight of the moment crashing into me all at once.
Laughter bubbles up, wild and unrestrained, spilling out in uneven bursts that turn into sobs. I press both hands to my mouth, tears streaming hot and fast, running down my cheeks like rivulets of joy and love. Tears should taste sweet when they’re happy. My shoulders shake, my body trembling as I gasp for air between the uncontrollable waves. My chest feels too tight, my heart pounding so hard I swear people out in the street must hear it.
Jamie spoke. He told me he loves me.
The thought loops in my mind, over and over, until it feels too big to hold. My chest aches, full and overflowing like my heart is trying to make room for every ounce of love and pride and gratitude flooding in.
I pull myself together slowly as the storm inside me begins to settle. Splash cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror stares back at me, cheeks flushed, eyes still shimmering with leftover tears. I look different—lighter somehow.
I laugh again, softer this time, the sound unsteady but full of something new. Something bright.
By the time I step into the kitchen, Jamie is dressed and has already removed the cover from Daisy’s cage and she’s nibbling on a biscuit. His eyes meet mine, and my heart skips, the memory of his voice still echoing in my mind.
“I think we should have our special breakfast today.” My voice is warm, steady. But inside, I’m still marveling, still holding the fragile beauty of this moment close like a secret too precious to let go.
Jamie’s eyes go wide. He nods so fast, his hair falls over his face. He needs a haircut, but I hate cutting off even an inch.
I tap my chin. “I’m thinking chocolate chip pancakes with bananas and peanut butter sauce.”
His response is to run to the pantry and start pulling out all the ingredients I’ll need.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
We’ve done this together dozens of times. Sunday morning pancakes were CJ’s job. The one day a week I got to sleep in and the two of them would make me breakfast. A task I took over after he was gone. Pancakes tasted like sawdust after. I don’t think they’ll taste like sawdust today.
I connect my phone to a speaker and the first accords of “Sweet Child of Mine” fill the small kitchen. We dance as we prep everything together. Jamie adds extra chocolate chips when he thinks I’m not looking. I don’t say anything. This moment is a throwback to the time before. When the three of us would cook together and dance around each other, Jamie trying to help in the way all toddlers try to help. Making more of a mess than anything. I loved those moments. I treasured them. Never got mad over the mess and extra work. Now, looking back, I have to wonder if a part of me knew those days were numbered.
I blink away the moisture building in my eyes and sing along to the song. Daisy joins in with her screeches. Thank goodness we don’t have neighbors. They’d be banging on the walls if we did.
We eat sitting on the floor in the living room. Our plates on the coffee table and the TV playing How It’s Made . Jamie is fascinated by how things work. We’re having a Sunday breakfast on a Wednesday and it’s perfect.
I check the time. Still have a little over an hour before I have to open the store. I collect our plates and leave Jamie to watch his show and head into the kitchen and start cleaning up. I’m about to wrap the extra pancakes to save for later when my phone buzzes.
Elliott’s name lights up the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hi. I’m downstairs. Can you let me in?”
I blink, caught off guard, then glance at the window as if I might see him through it. “Be right there.”
Hanging up, I stand still for a moment, my heart speeding up at the thought of seeing him. Jamie giggles at something on the TV and snaps me back. I push my doubts back and rush to the steps. I can’t wait to tell Elliott.
I unlock the three deadbolts and open the door, holding a hand up to stop Elliott as I step outside.
He frowns and steps back.
“Jamie spoke.” The words blurt out, bubbling with joy. “This morning.” I’m so giddy I’m bouncing on my feet.
His face transforms from worry into pure joy. Elliott picks me up and swirls me in a circle. “That’s incredible! Jillian, that’s amazing. Oh my God. What did he say?”
I laugh, breathless as he sets me down, and launch into the story, words tumbling out in fast bursts, almost tripping over each other intermixed with my unconfined laughter as I recount every detail.
Elliott’s smile grows wider with every sentence, and as soon as I finish, he pulls me close, his hands framing my face as his lips crash into mine. His tongue invades my mouth in a hungry kiss—heady, unrestrained, and filled with joy and heat. My body reacts instantly, matching his fervor, until the sound of a whistle from someone passing on the street reminds us of where we are.
We break apart, laughing, both of us slightly flushed.
“I’m so happy for you and Jamie.” His voice is softer now but no less sincere. He leans in and brushes another kiss against my lips—gentle, lingering, warm. “Hm… peanut butter?”
I laugh again. “Pancakes. I just made some. There are leftovers if you want.”
“Want? I’m starving.” His gaze sweeps over me, lingering for a beat too long, and a teasing smile curves his lips.
An image of a cartoon wolf with a lolling tongue and heart eyes pops in my mind. Gosh, I need to watch more adult TV. “Upstairs, Romeo.” I roll my eyes and grin as I lead the way back into the apartment.
Daisy flaps her wings and lets out an ear-piercing screech the moment she sees him, her enthusiasm matched only by Jamie, who bounds across the room and throws himself into Elliott’s arms.
“Hey, buddy!” Elliott drops to his knees to hug him. “How are you? Did you leave me any pancakes?”
Jamie steps back, rubbing his belly with a sly grin.
“That good, huh?” Elliott laughs. “If you like them, I know I’m gonna love them. Be right back, okay?” Elliott ruffles Jamie’s hair and meets me in the kitchen. Jamie is already lost to the TV, watching an episode about how helicopters are made.
“Do you want me to warm them up?”
“No, like this is fine.” He grabs a fork as I set the pancakes and peanut butter sauce in front of him.
I pour us both fresh coffees, then sit across from him as he takes his first bite. The groan that escapes his lips is low and shameless, and it hits somewhere deep in my chest.
“These are incredible.” He grins. “Thank God your cupcake skills don’t extend to pancakes.”
Laughing, I ball up a napkin and toss it at him. “Hey!”
He catches my hand mid-motion, lacing our fingers together as his thumb brushes lightly over my palm. The warmth of his touch settles something deep within me, even as the intimacy of the gesture sends a shiver down my spine.
“I wanted to catch you before you got too busy with work.” His voice is quiet, his expression serious now.
“You caught me.” I respond to his touch with a caress of my own as my thumb brushes over his. “I have some time before I need to head down.”
He glances toward Jamie in the living room, then back at me. “I don’t like how we left things yesterday after you came to my office. And I hate that I didn’t call earlier.”
“Why didn’t you?” He could ask me the same question. Relationships are a two-way road.
His sigh is heavy, and for a moment, he looks almost unsure. Vulnerable. “I needed time to think. To figure out how to make this right.”
“And? Did you?”
“I haven’t figured it all out yet.” His hand tightens around mine. “But I couldn’t go another minute without seeing you.” His eyes meet mine, tired but earnest, and I notice the faint shadows beneath them, the stubble on his jaw. “I haven’t slept, Jillian. Not a wink.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. I squeeze his hand back. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. I need to know we’re in this together.”
“Always,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it, his lips warm and lingering.
For a moment, we sit in silence, the air between us heavy with everything unspoken. His thumb strokes the back of my hand absently, but the tenderness of the gesture grounds me.
“You should know,” I say, breaking the quiet, “I overheard what your father said yesterday. About the building.”
He freezes, his hand tightening briefly around mine before releasing it. “Jillian?—”
“I assume he meant this building. My store and my home.”
Elliott’s shoulders sag as he meets my gaze. “Yes. He did. I didn’t say anything before because it was not something I wanted to talk about on the phone. It’s part of the reason I wanted to see you this morning—to tell you in person. I’m going to stop him—I promise you. No more secrets, remember?”
“No more secrets.” I smile.
His shoulders relax, and he leans forward, cupping my hand between both of his. “I’m with you, Jillian. Always. And not just with this building. With everything. You. Jamie. All of it. ”
The conviction in his voice sends warmth spreading through me, melting the last trace of doubt.
“Good,” I whisper, my voice catching slightly.
“Good,” he echoes, his lips curving into a small, soft smile.
We sit there, the world around us fading as we hold on to each other, letting the quiet connection between us speak louder than words ever could.