Chapter Sixteen Mo
Chapter Sixteen
Mo
During a lull in activity at his shop, Mo slid his phone out of his pocket and checked to see if he had any notifications. All he saw was his home screen. He’d sent Jess a text the previous evening, checking in and asking how her meeting with the archers had gone. She usually replied in less than an hour, but it was ten a.m. and he hadn’t heard from her.
Probably busy. I’m sure everything’s fine.
He was working with one of his apprentices, going through the checklist he had created for trainees. He had been very satisfied with her work thus far and didn’t feel the need to watch her every move. What he did feel was a stronger and stronger urge to get in touch with Jess. Like other times that he’d felt the need to reach out to a family member and had found out that something was wrong, he just couldn’t set the feeling aside.
“Grace,” he said, tapping on the apprentice’s shoulder. “Be right back.”
As he walked to his office, he searched his mind, trying to name the exact feeling that was welling up inside. It wasn’t quite anxiety; it wasn’t fear. It was a clear need to hear Jess’s voice to be sure that she was okay. He closed the door to his shop and leaned against it, pulling his phone from his pocket, then he dialed Jess’s number.
“Hey,” she answered after the second ring.
The uncomfortable feeling abated.
“Hi,” he said. “How’s it going?”
The line was silent a moment.
“Um.” She sighed. “Good, I guess.”
The feeling came back. Her tone was wrong, her voice too quiet.
“Am I interrupting you?” he asked.
“No, no, not at all,” she said. “I came into work to get ahead on some things. Sorry, by the way. I saw your text from last night. I was going to text you back, but I kind of got lost in everything.”
Something was definitely off. She sounded defeated.
“That’s okay,” he said. “We still on for dinner tonight?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely,” she said.
He hesitated between asking if something was wrong and not prying. He hated it when other people pried with him, and he did his best to avoid doing it to someone else.
“Are you sure you want me to come over?” he asked. “I can make you dinner at my place if you want.”
“No. I’m really happy to have you come over,” she said. “Let’s not change anything.”
“Okay,” he said, hoping his smile came through the phone. “Be there at seven?”
“At seven,” she said.
—
At 6:53 that evening, Mo parked his truck at the curb in front of Jess’s house. The tag at the collar of his Henley kept annoying him. He hadn’t worn it in a long time and had forgotten to cut out the tag. At least unbuttoning it a bit had slackened the collar. He repositioned the bouquet of Maiden Pinks on the passenger seat. During his “hopeless romantic yet terrified of big feelings” period as a teenager, he’d learned the meanings of at least fifty flowers. The plan had been to tell a girl how he felt without having to experience the muscle-burning fear of saying the words. It had fallen flat since he’d been the only one to know the meanings. He’d chosen Maiden Pinks because they signified admiration. She probably wouldn’t know that, but he liked making the gesture. He’d considered pink roses, as they also meant admiration, but he’d been worried that their additional meaning of blossoming love might be too forward.
Why are you winding yourself up? She wouldn’t jump to conclusions.
He was certainly falling for Jess, though. Even though he’d grown more confident about being open with Jess, he was still finding his feet with his own reactions. His mind interpreted his body’s involuntary responses to Jess, like his heart racing or his breath catching, as mortal danger. Going slowly had given him time and space to understand that he was actually safe and that he didn’t need to run away. If anything, he wanted to keep moving closer. He checked the time again. Six fifty-six. When she wasn’t around, he was always thinking of her, remembering something she’d said, her determination, her laugh. That determination was lacking in her voice earlier in the day. Was it the Ren Faire situation? Now that she’d spent time with the other archers, maybe she felt resigned or sad. He checked again. Six fifty-eight. He got out of his truck, carefully taking the flowers with him. He took his time getting to her door. It opened as soon as he reached it.
“There you are,” she said, smiling. “Did you need a little more time on the phone?”
“On the phone?” he asked.
“Oh, I thought that’s why you were in your truck for so long. It wasn’t?” She waved him inside.
“Ah,” he said, realizing he may have made himself look like a stalker.
“No, not on the phone. I didn’t want to ring the doorbell early. Here,” he said to Jess, offering the flowers as he crossed the threshold. “These are for you.”
She smiled, accepting them and closing the door.
“It would have been okay if you were a few minutes early.” She shifted the flowers to one arm. “You didn’t have to,” she said, nodding at them. Mo’s jitteriness had abated enough once she’d smiled at the flowers for him to focus on her vibe. She sounded good, but not quite like herself. As she went into the kitchen for a vase, her cat, Steinem, ambled his way over before sitting down and looking up at Mo, sniffing the air in his direction.
“Flowers are always good,” Mo called to her. “Hi, Steinem,” he said, smiling at the cat. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
The cat meowed once.
“I’ve heard nothing but good things,” Mo said to Steinem. Jess laughed from the kitchen. Her laughter felt right.
“Don’t lie to him, Mo!” she called out. “Grab a seat on the couch.”
Mo laughed and followed her instructions. Steinem joined him, walking at his side. When Mo sat down, Steinem sat beside his feet and looked at him.
“You know, you’re an especially dapper tuxedo cat,” Mo said to Steinem. He smiled when the cat raised his chin and meowed back. It almost seemed like the cat had smiled. Mo turned to Jess as she joined him, handing him a glass of sparkling water. He thanked her.
“Listen,” he said. “I know we talked about it, and I appreciate you keeping in mind that I don’t do well with a lot of people. Dinner and a movie here is great, but we can also go out for our dates. I don’t want you to feel boxed in here or at my house.”
Jess waved the idea away.
“Going out can be fun,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But I’m basically a homebody. My friends used to have to drag me out of my apartment in England. Besides, we can watch a movie here without having to—”
Steinem jumped onto Mo’s lap. He made a trilling sound, so Mo started scratching under his chin, then behind his ear.
“Where do you prefer your scritches?” Mo asked him. “Behind this ear? Maybe on the back of your neck?” He kept scratching, and Steinem began to purr. He noticed that Jess wasn’t saying anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was listening to you. As long as you’re comfortable staying in, I’m happy with that.” Steinem moved closer, bumping his head on Mo’s chest. He kept scratching down Steinem’s back. Jess was staring at them.
“Is everything okay?” Mo asked.
“Uh…It usually takes a lot more time for Steinem to warm up to somebody. When we were in England, the fastest he allowed a new person to pet him was like three days. And he certainly wouldn’t approach someone right after they walked through the door. Normally, he hides.”
“Oh,” Mo said. “Animals usually like me. They often seek me out. And I like animals a lot, so it’s nice.”
He continued scratching, enjoying the low vibration of Steinem’s purring. Watching them, Jess shook her head and picked up her glass with a little smile.
“I still can’t believe that we both love The Princess Bride, ” she said.
Mo nodded, smiling back. That had been a lovely thing to discover when they’d been trying to decide on the movie for that evening. Steinem stood on Mo’s lap suddenly, turning on himself and curling into a ball. That made him chuckle. He looked back at Jess.
“Makes for an easy movie night choice,” he said.
“It does,” she said. “But there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?” he asked. Her tone had him a little concerned.
“I’m hungry,” she said. “I know we said movie first, then dinner, but I don’t want my stomach growling while we watch.”
Mo laughed.
“Sounds like dinner first, then,” he said.
Leaving her glass on the coffee table, Jess reached out and scooped up Steinem. She stood. The cat protested.
“Sorry, Sty Sty,” she said. “Mo and I gotta eat.”
—
Jess had already set the table, but Mo insisted on doing something to help, so he carefully brought the serving bowl of soup from the kitchen to the dining table.
“It smells delicious,” Mo said as he sat in the seat beside hers. “Did I tell you I’m a big fan of soup?”
“No,” she said. “But that tracks.”
Mo didn’t quite follow. She shrugged.
“Soup is warm, comforting,” she said, ladling some into her bowl. “If you can call a whole type of food comforting. It’s mellow. You’re mellow. It fits.” She winked at him and picked up her spoon. “Let’s see if it came out all right.”
Mo nodded and took a large spoonful. It was more flavorful than he’d expected, and he savored it, while taking the opportunity to check Jess’s vibe again. It was much better than earlier that day, but something still wasn’t right.
“This is amazing,” he said. “But how do you get it so…detailed?” He chuckled. “That doesn’t seem like the right word.”
Jess swallowed her mouthful.
“The key is using whole herbs, except the root. Some people feel they’re too strong, but you don’t keep them in the pot the whole time. You cook them inside a cheesecloth, checking the intensity as you go. That’s how my mom…does it.” Her face fell when she said “mom,” but she seemed to pull herself in and quickly took another spoonful.
There were two ways he could go about this. She’d never mentioned her mom before and maybe that was because it would lead to her sister. Mo could either ask some gentle questions or be direct. Jess was usually direct; he’d take a chance. He put his spoon down.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“About what?” She took another spoonful.
He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap.
“It seems like something’s wrong,” he said.
“Something’s wrong?” More soup.
“You aren’t yourself,” he said.
She stopped, about to dip her spoon in again.
“What do you mean?” she asked, not looking up.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “But it feels like something’s been wrong since this morning. You sounded defeated on the phone.”
She rested her spoon against the bowl and sighed.
“It’s hard for me,” she said.
“What is?”
“Talking about my family, about what I feel.” She looked up at him. He was astonished to see tears in her eyes. That wasn’t Jess at all. “We don’t have a good…” She sighed. “My sister…Cassie—Cassandra—would have wanted me to,” she said, voice strained.
Hesitantly, he reached for her hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” she asked, letting him close his hand around hers.
“That’s the first time you’ve told me her name.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek. She rubbed it away with her free hand. He could feel her struggling, so he thought it was best to be indirect.
“Tell me more about what she liked,” he said.
“What she liked?” Jess asked.
Mo nodded.
“You told me about the Ren Faires, but what else?”
Jess tilted her head to the side then squinted, the tears in her eyes shimmering.
“She adored doing Children’s Story Hour at the public library, where she worked. She always said that reading to the children was the best part of her job. She’d even dress up, get multiple uses out of her Ren Faire garb. She also had other costumes for other sorts of stories.”
Jess laughed once, the previous sadness on her face giving way to nostalgia.
“It makes sense, if you think about it. She was the ‘dress up’ sister. When we were kids, she’d make costumes out of anything. For her, for me. Even for our dog. Very on brand for Cassie to find ways to wear costumes as frequently as possible.” Jess smiled at him, but it was a broken smile. He smiled back and began stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
“Cassie was a librarian?”
Jess nodded, whisking away another tear.
“A children’s librarian,” she said, smiling. “She loved books and kids and…God, I feel so guilty.”
Mo had wanted to ask if Jess knew the name of the branch of the library where Cassie had worked. He’d taken Maddie to Children’s Story Hour, and she’d loved it. There was a small possibility that he’d crossed paths with Cassie. But Jess feeling guilty was a more important issue. He needed to tread lightly with an emotion as weighty as guilt. Especially after the shift from the positivity of happy nostalgia. He didn’t see what she had to feel guilty about, and he wanted to push the feeling off of her, but he didn’t want to approach it in a way that made her feel invalidated.
“Jess,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Would you help me? I don’t understand what you feel guilty about.”
Jess slumped forward. She put her elbow on the table and supported her forehead with her hand.
“I’m…I’m kind of taking her place, a place that was once hers and never can be again,” she said. “It’s wrong; I’m wrong. I’ve been wrong on so many levels when it comes to her.”
He began to rub her back softly.
“I didn’t…” He needed to pause for a breath because her distress was tightening his throat. He cleared it. “I didn’t have the privilege of knowing her, so I can’t say what she would think. I am confused, though. Why do you feel that you were wrong?” he asked.
Jess sighed and sat up. She still had a firm grip on his hand.
“Because I didn’t see the signs. Well, looking back, I can see some. But I’d just thought he was a garden variety asshole. At the time, I wasn’t paying enough attention to realize what was going on. Like you did,” she said.
Mo didn’t follow. How could he have paid attention?
“Um…” he said. “What—”
“The woman with the car, with the tracker,” Jess said. “You recognized what it could mean.” She took a deep breath and sighed.
Again, Mo was a little lost. Then it clicked.
“Ah,” Mo said. He squeezed her hand. She winced a little, so he loosened it. “Your sister was a victim of intimate partner violence?” he asked softly.
Jess nodded. Then a short, dry laugh seemed to escape her.
“Depends on who you ask,” she said. “There were signs—first physical isolation, then policing her appearance, pushing her to lose weight when she really didn’t need to. I was too far away to see the changes happening, but as she became more and more difficult to reach after being in near constant contact our whole lives, I began to think that something was wrong. My parents disagreed.”
Jess narrowed her eyes and shifted, letting out a light cough before she continued.
“She died in a car accident. But I don’t think it truly was one. It was his fault. He was driving, and he survived. Cassie didn’t. The elephant in the room is that they’d been fighting in the car at the time. My mother waited until well after the funeral to mention that Cassie’s husband liked to drive aggressively to scare her when they fought in the car. And somehow, he always ended up starting a fight with her in the car.” Jess was completely slumped in her chair. Mo didn’t know what to do or say. Tiny, spiky sparkles of ice bloomed over every inch of his skin, each fiber of his muscles. Breathing was of no interest to him. Just a yearning to say something that would help even though he understood that nothing truly could. Jess moved a bit like she was uncomfortable.
“I…I am so sorry, Jess,” he whispered. She readjusted her hand in his and squeezed it hard. He squeezed back.
“Do you want to go sit on the couch?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He let go of her hand and followed her as she made her way over, Steinem staying at her side. When she sat, Mo got close, but not enough to crowd her.
Jess leaned into him, and he wrapped her in his arms. He took a deep breath. She wasn’t crying, even though she had good reason to. She was breathing slow and deep with her head tucked into his shoulder. He stroked her beautiful sable hair. Sometimes it was good to be quiet. Just sit in sadness if necessary. So that’s all he did, no more questions, no trying to get her to talk about it. He’d wait for her if she wanted to speak. After a little while, she raised her head to look at him.
“My mom called me yesterday,” she said. “Wants me to come home for a visit. But it…it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’ve only been once since I got back from England.” She gave him a wry smile. “Cassie sent me a message after my mom called. Or I’d like to think of it as a message from her.”
Mo raised his eyebrows.
“What’s that?” he asked.
She rested a hand on his cheek.
“To give you a chance. To stop holding back. It was a notification of some photos we’d taken a year ago. On the day she told me it was time for me to have a relationship. A real one. Not someone I hold at arm’s length.”
Mo didn’t want to nod, concerned that she might take it as encouragement for her to let her hand slip from cradling his cheek. He smiled a little.
“Do you agree with her?” he asked.
“I do,” she said, leaning in to kiss him, her hand sliding down to his chest.
He was thrilled to be kissed, as he always was when they did. But there was a tiny worry that she was kind of displacing emotions, and she might regret it later. He gently took her hand in his again and pulled back a little.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. “You’ve had a heavy day.”
“I have,” she whispered back. “But I trust you; I feel safe. And I’ve wanted a lot more for a while now.”
Mo’s brain stuttered for a moment. She couldn’t mean…then she was kissing him again.