34. Margot
34
margot
It might be after ten, but the streets are busy in the city that never sleeps. New York has this bustling energy, not unlike Chicago, but still unique in its own right. My body buzzes with anticipation, but I’m not sure if it has more to do with being in one of the greatest cities in the world, or if it has everything to do with finally being here with him.
Jackson puts his arm around me as we head down the sidewalk, and I welcome the added warmth. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this good. Probably this summer if I had to guess. Being here with him makes me feel more like myself than I’ve felt in weeks. It’s funny how you don’t even realize you aren’t running on full until you are. Before coming here, I thought I was fine. Of course, I missed Jackson, but I was used to it. Being without him was just a part of my life as much as anything else.
But now that I’m here, my heart is full, my cheeks hurt from how much I’ve smiled tonight, and my mind is perfectly at ease. I was nervous about meeting the girl he’s on tour with, and I was nervous things between Jackson and me might feel different, but both those fears have dissolved. Mya is wonderful, and Jackson and I have picked up exactly where we left off.
“So, you bought tickets for us to watch a comedy show?” I ask as we walk.
Jackson lets out a breath of laughter. “Yeah, but it’s probably ending soon.”
Pressing my lips together, I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who would enjoy watching stand up.”
That bashful smile pulls at his lips as he absently scratches the side of his head. “Yeah. I honestly didn’t care about going.”
We stop at a crosswalk and wait for the cars to pass. “Why buy tickets then?”
He looks at me, still holding me close, and I swear there’s a storm brewing behind those gray-blue eyes. I just don’t know what’s causing it. “I wanted to do something for you.”
“And what about me screams comedy show? ” Jackson rolls his eyes, and I giggle. The light tells us it’s okay to cross, so we hurry to the next street. “Is it how funny I am? When you think of me, you think of stage-worthy humor?”
“Yeah, Red. That must be it,” he mutters with a laugh. Once we’re on the other side of the street, he stops, and there’s a seriousness to his features I wasn’t expecting. “Look, I just . . .” He takes a breath. “I wanted to do something a boyfriend would do. I wanted to take you out, and the comedy show was one of the only things starting at a time we could make.”
The corner of my mouth lifts.
“It’s not funny,” he says, even though his expression starts to match my own.
“I didn’t say it was funny.”
He sobers slightly, eyeing me with uncertainty. “Listen, I know I’m not a typical boyfriend. I just wanted to do something the way I’m supposed to do it for once. ”
Taking a step closer to him, I grab his jacket with both hands and pull him toward me. “Want to know what I think?”
The uncertainty in his expression still lingers, but he says, “Sure.”
Seeing him vulnerable melts something inside of me, and I push up on my toes. I kiss him, and when I pull back, I whisper, “Typical boyfriends are overrated.” Jackson laughs but looks away, so I pull him closer again to bring his attention back to me. “And do you know what I really want?”
He gives a slight nod in my direction. “What do you really want?”
My smile warms. “New York pizza.”
There’s a huff of what might be considered laughter as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. He unlocks it and types something before handing it to me. “Take your pick.”
On the small screen is a list of all the nearby pizza places, and my stomach growls just looking at some of the pictures on Google. One picture in particular stands out to me, and I quickly swipe through some of the raving reviews before pulling it up on the map. Turning the phone back to Jackson, I say, “This one.”
Jackson takes his phone back from me and zooms in on the map before glancing up at the street name closest to us. “All right. Let’s get you your pizza.”
Taking my hand, he leads us down the sidewalk. I love the feeling of his hand in mine. I’ve missed the rough feel of his fingers, callused from playing. There’s always been a familiarity with Jackson. I’ve always been able to be myself with him more than anyone—even if that wasn’t always a good thing. I’ve never had to filter the things I say, or water down my emotions. I’ve always just been able to lean into whatever I’m feeling, good or bad.
There’s an ease to being around him, but I don’t think I’ve ever been able to pinpoint the feeling until now. Because as I walk these busy New York streets with him, I’m struck with the sudden realization that Jackson feels like home.
It’s one thing to feel at home with a person when your literal bed is in the next room and you’re surrounded by your friends. But I feel at home with him now. More than I do at my apartment in Tampa, and a lot more than I do at my parents’ house in Indiana.
My thumb runs along the back of his hand as we walk, and I get the sudden urge to stop him and kiss him. The alarming rush of emotion that comes over me feels like it needs an outlet. It feels like it’s about to burst out of me. I don’t know how I got to this point of needing him the way I do, but it’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. It makes me feel desperate and totally at ease. Secure and completely out of control.
Unable to resist, I lightly squeeze his hand, and Jackson looks at me with a slight lift to his lips. His eyes search mine the way they always do, but he won’t find anything worth hiding. Lifting our clasped hands to his lips, he kisses the back of mine.
It’s a small gesture—probably something he’s done a million times before, but my heart swells like it’s the first, and I hope that this overwhelming, borderline uncomfortable, wonderful feeling lasts.