Chapter 15 #2
I watched him go, blinking away hazy memories and unwelcome thoughts. These moments were getting fewer and farther between, thankfully. Times when I made note of the differences between Danny and Jack. My life before and my life now. The stark contrast, black and white, night and day.
Danny had been all too happy to let me wait on him hand and foot.
It shouldn’t have been notable for someone to get their own red pepper flakes from the kitchen.
But part of me still thought of Jack as a guest, and ignoring those habits and tendencies was hard.
I wanted to fret over him and make sure he was comfortable, keep him content in ways big and small.
Attempting to banish the uninvited thoughts, I made myself reach for my pizza.
I didn’t want to think about the past. I didn’t want to think about Danny, especially since he’d been relentless lately with the calls and texts.
I’d visited his mother earlier in the week, so I knew his efforts weren’t due to an emergency or anything.
I’d been content to ignore my ex-husband.
There wasn’t anything I needed to say to him.
“What’s this?” Jack called, drawing me out of my distracted fog.
I spun around to see over the back of the couch and realized he’d noticed the items in the bottom of the pantry. “Oh, those are my teacups.”
“Do you collect them?”
I finished chewing, then replied, “Yeah. Well, sort of. They were my great-grandmother Geraldine’s.
She collected them. Had a big curio cabinet in the formal living room up at the homestead.
She passed away before I was born, but I used to love looking at them as a little girl.
My great-grandfather remembered that and gave them to me so I could start my own collection. ”
Jack was still over by the pantry, watching me, an expression on his face I couldn’t quite place. “So why are they in here?”
Shame had me glancing away and clearing my throat. “Well, um, Danny hated them. Said they made me seem like an old woman. I didn’t even drink tea. So I just stored them. It was easier that way.”
I didn’t want to see the look on Jack’s face now, knowing it could range anywhere from pity to disappointment to disgust. I turned back around and faced the television and hit play on the remote.
Jack stayed quiet. Finally, after a moment, he took his seat, bottle of red pepper flakes in hand. Without a word, he placed an extra garlic knot on my plate. Those were my favorite.
I looked over and smiled, determined not to do something stupid like cry over a piece of bread or a shelf full of underappreciated porcelain. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said, his hazel gaze steady.
After a few minutes of companionable silence while the movie played and we ate, Jack said, “You should put your teacups out somewhere. Maybe a shelf or a display cabinet. You could unpack them, if you wanted.”
My throat was suddenly so tight, I wasn’t sure if I could swallow. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“And,” he added quietly, “you don’t have to hide all your stuff in the other bedroom, Bonnie.”
I winced. “You saw?”
“Yeah, when I went to change into these gray sweatpants you’re so obsessed with.” His elbow nudged mine, and I snorted a laugh. “You said the bathroom was the door on the left.”
With a resigned groan, I closed my eyes briefly. “Yeah, and there are two doors on the left.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, lips twitching.
“That’s the primary bedroom,” I confessed. “I can’t—I don’t sleep in there anymore. I prefer the guest room. But it works out great for Oreo. And I just didn’t have the time today to straighten up the way I wanted to, before you came over. I know it looks like I’m a total slob.”
A warm palm settled on my thigh and squeezed once more.
“No, it doesn’t. It looks like you panicked before I got here and gathered up all the evidence that you actually live in this house and tried to hide it.
You’re not guilty of anything, Bonnie. I’m not here to judge you or your laundry baskets.
I’m actually pretty relieved that you’re like the rest of us.
Most people are a little messy. A little imperfect.
I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself with me, okay? ”
I nodded as Jack’s words chased away some of my embarrassment. Hope rose in its place, pushing through my middle like tender shoots through soil, roots delicate and fragile.
“I’ll do my best,” I agreed.
He smiled softly. “Okay, then.”
His words were so easy and agreeable. Like my best might actually, truly, be enough.
I could feel myself relaxing. All my muscles unclenched as my body was drawn toward Jack, like a flower toward the sun. I wanted more of this. More comfort. More honesty. More of Jack.
He hadn’t run away yet, I thought.
For now, these moments were enough.
I’d always been someone who’d held on a little too tight, clutching people and things with both fists for fear I’d lose them.
I knew that whatever was happening with Jack was casual.
I wasn’t under any delusions about that.
But seeing him here, in my space, offering acceptance and comfort, being exactly what I needed .
. . I couldn’t help but think I might never want to let go.
Jack
I wasn’t sure what woke me, but I could tell from the moonlight filtering in through Bonnie’s bedroom window that morning was still a ways off.
Intent on getting right back to sleep, I rolled over. But when I reached out to wrap an arm around Bonnie, I found cold sheets instead.
I blinked into the darkness before sitting up.
The clock on the bedside table said it was just after three.
I didn’t hear water running in the bathroom or any sounds at all coming from the house.
So I slid out of bed to look for her.
I didn’t have to go far. She was lying down on the sofa in the living room, her head propped on a throw pillow, blanket draped across her legs, and the light from her phone screen illuminating her face.
As I entered the room, my foot pressed down on a creaky floorboard, and Bonnie glanced up.
She immediately turned off her screen and sat up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” I replied slowly, confused by her abrupt reaction. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I couldn’t see her very well in the dimness, but I could tell something was up.
I’d never gotten to this point before—with a woman or anyone, really. The place where you knew someone well enough to draw conclusions or make assumptions about their behavior. To be able to call them on their bullshit or ferret out the white lies they told everyone, including themselves.
Maybe Bonnie thought she was fine, but there was a reason she was out here on the couch instead of in bed with me, where she belonged.
And I knew it. Maybe it was the tone of her voice or the quick way she’d apologized, like it was expected or she’d had plenty of experience doing it.
She’d gotten pretty good at not saying she was sorry, especially since the muffin thing, but this apology had felt like a compulsion, completely out of her control.
Later, I’d think about what it meant to be in someone else’s head. To have more than just surface knowledge to work from. But right now I wanted to figure out what was going on and how I could fix it.
So I said, “Scootch,” and lay down on the couch next to her.
There wasn’t a lot of room. Bonnie lay on her side, partially draped across my chest, her smooth, bare legs tangled with mine. She was wearing one of my shirts, but it smelled more like her than me at this point, and I liked that in a way I couldn’t explain, even to myself.
After we finally got settled and no one was getting crushed or was in danger of rolling off the cushions, Bonnie huffed a quiet laugh. “You can go back to bed, you know. You don’t have to be uncomfortable out here with me.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I lied. My neck was at a weird angle, and my legs did not fit, but I wasn’t leaving her out here alone. “What made you get up? Was I snoring?”
“No, nothing like that.” Her fingers drew lazy circles on my bare chest as she spoke. “I was having trouble sleeping. I thought I’d read on my phone until I could fall back to sleep, but I didn’t want to wake you by moving around or with the light from my screen.”
“I’m not a light sleeper,” I reminded her, curious why she was so worried about waking me up.
I felt her nod, her soft hair brushing my cheek. “I know, but I’m used to—”
She cut herself off, and the resulting silence was suddenly very loud.
I considered her swift apology, the way she’d acted like I’d caught her doing something wrong.
Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened in her marriage.
If that asshole had hurt her, physically or otherwise.
If he’d been selfish with more than just his love.
I already knew he’d been critical of his wife.
I worried that was why Bonnie constantly felt the need to be perfect all the time.
After six slow breaths that steadied my surging anger, I asked softly, “Did that use to bother your ex? When you had trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah,” she finally replied, voice small.
“I guess I just got used to leaving the bedroom and coming out here. It was easier to avoid the fight.” My pulse thundered at her choice of words, a storm gathering.
Then she added hastily, “Not fight. That’s too strong for what it was.
Mostly passive-aggressive stuff. But Danny didn’t understand why I couldn’t just sleep, you know.
I’d get an exasperated sigh or an annoyed huff before he’d roll over.
Sometimes he’d stomp out and go watch TV.
It was better to just slip away to the couch and avoid that.
I’d usually fall back to sleep at some point. ”