Chapter 25 Flowers
Flowers
Eve
Eve could only be described as “nonplussed” when she entered Jamie Gallagher’s posh digs.
She’d been leery of showing up alone at his “Liberty Pike” address in Franklin, Tennessee—like most places in the South, it sounded like somewhere she wouldn’t be welcome.
And when she pulled up to a building resembling a warehouse, she thought surely she was lost until she spotted Jamie’s Silverado parked on the street.
Now that she knew he had a private elevator entrance, all expectations were null.
Eve was nervous as she made her way onto the elevator.
She’d spent the entire three-hour drive steeling herself for whatever lived at this address, be it Jamie’s cold shoulder or Jack meeting her at the door.
But now that she was seconds from finding out, the angst that kept her from accepting Jamie’s invite in the first place was rearing its ugly-ass head.
Eve took deep breaths throughout the short ride to the fourth floor, her eyes nearly popping out of her head when the gate opened to a beautiful, lavish, colorful apartment, akin to stepping out of that old, achromatic Kansas house and into the magnificent land of Oz.
She was again uncertain she was in the right place until she heard Jamie’s footsteps—recognizable, even in this foreign setting—and soon enough, he was standing in front of her.
Her breath caught in her throat when she tried to speak, doubt and delight taking hold of her faculties in equal measure. He was wearing her favorite denim shirt of his, the one that made his eyes look like a summer day and his skin the way butter pecan ice cream tasted.
Jamie also appeared speechless as he pulled her out of the elevator and into his arms. He held her close, cradling her head, inhaling her.
Eve closed her eyes at his touch; she wrapped her arm around his waist and rested her head against him, basking in his aroma of sweet potatoes…
and the relief that he wasn’t still mad at her.
Eve smiled meekly as they separated, handing over the bouquet of roses she’d picked out at Whole Foods the day before.
She spotted the peachy orange blossoms amid the chaos of shopping for her Thanksgiving meal for one, and they made her think of Jamie.
It was in that moment she decided she was going to drive to Nashville.
To apologize? To grovel? To not be alone?
She hadn’t decided. But she missed Jamie, and the walls she had up weren’t doing either of them any favors.
“These are for me?” Jamie asked, clearly confounded by the overture. When she nodded, he smiled wide. “I don’t think I’ve ever been given flowers before.”
Eve timidly averted his eyes, hers dropping to the glossy wood floor. She hoped that meant he would remember this. “Most men haven’t,” she said.
He examined the bouquet like he’d never seen a rose before, his dark blue eyes flickering as he took in the gesture. “Thank you.” His earnestness was as potent as the aroma of the bouquet.
Jamie took Eve by the hand, and soon enough, he was leading her through a tour of his not-so-humble abode, Eve marveling at each room for different reasons.
The decor, the sheer size. His master bathroom was as big as his entire cabin back in Gatlinburg.
When she talked to him on FaceTime, she typically only saw his headboard and didn’t think much of it.
But his home—his real home—was truly splendid.
Vast and vibrant, with high ceilings and exposed pipes, gorgeous granite countertops and spotless hardwood floors with an ecru tint.
Brightly colored furniture and accented walls.
Fascinating paintings and unique fixtures.
In the wall space above the kitchen there was a striking sculpture of a full-sized bike colored in every hue of the rainbow; in the kitchen by the breakfast nook, next to a bay window, hung a small collection of ceramic plates obviously painted by Jack.
And as if Jamie’s home had read her mind, there was a painting displayed at the top of the staircase, a parody of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks featuring characters from The Wizard of Oz .
His home had character that was often absent in swanky places like this.
And it was certainly swank. She’d had her suspicions, but it was clear now that Jamie Gallagher, with his two pairs of jeans and twenty-year-old truck, was actually rich as fuck.
“My brother did most of the decorating,” he said, seeming to intuit her surprise as he guided her to the next room. “He said this was too nice a place to let me ruin, so I basically wrote him a blank check and let him have at it.”
Eve tried to seem unaffected, but inwardly, she was impressed by the flex. “He has good taste.”
“I think he gets it from our mom. He’s arrogant, but he backs it up,” Jamie said. “Though I will say, I built all these myself.” He pointed toward a room with three walls of built-in shelves.
Eve grinned as she walked in. It wasn’t a huge space—a guest room in any other home—but it was filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, all color coordinated.
Two big leather chairs the color of Christmas trees sat at the center of the room with a plush white-and-blue rug between them.
The fourth wall was a window, overlooking the city of Nashville.
Or Franklin? She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
It was a perfect room. She was only a visitor, but she was already picturing herself cozied up in that room with some Toni Morrison and a mug of purple tea on a quiet Sunday.
Her heart skipped beats just thinking about it. Being happy there.
“Your place is gorgeous,” she said.
Eve stepped farther in to explore the titles decorating the space.
She first noticed The Road , then her eyes settled on the shelf below it, full of framed pictures.
Jamie with his son. Jamie with his son beside a wiry white woman sporting long dark hair, whom she could only assume was Lucy.
His son with another white guy, the spitting image of Jamie, with short, wavy, sable hair and blue eyes—she had to look closer to make sure it wasn’t just him at a younger age. “Your brother?” she guessed.
“Casey.”
She skimmed the entire row of snapshots, most of them of his son, until one particular photo at the end caught her eye.
The picture had been taken in Jamie’s kitchen, it appeared; his brother, seated across from an attractive Black man with glowing light brown skin, sporting a salt-and-pepper ’fro and an immaculate smile.
She recognized him as a professor and author she’d seen often on MSNBC, but she couldn’t piece together why he’d be sitting in Jamie’s house.
“How do you know Jelani King?” she asked.
“Brother-in-law,” he said, a crooked smile on his lips.
“Shit.”
She didn’t really know much about Jamie’s life.
She’d insulated herself so much, she never even tried to imagine what it looked like outside of her.
While being so desperate to avoid his son, she’d avoided him—his home, his family, his friends.
And that said nothing of how detached she’d been from her own lot.
She hadn’t talked to her parents since July.
She’d been living in her little fantasy for the past five months, blocking out the real world as best she could—ignoring that this kind of existence was untenable.
Jamie came to join her, guiding her through the names and faces of all the people in the other photos, and she listened, dutifully memorizing them in case she happened to cross paths with any at some point.
Back in the hallway, the room just across the landing stole Eve’s attention.
Even in the darkness, she could see the small figure covered by a cobalt-blue bedspread.
Jack. Her stomach dropped, but she was physically drawn to the room like a moth to a flame.
She went and stood in the threshold, and just the sound of him drawing soft breaths made her want to crumble.
She imagined her lost son’s room looking something like this when he was Jack’s age. Maybe even now. Featuring an iMac and a telescope, action figures and video game consoles. Eve’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to push it all out of her mind, but it refused to leave.
“You can meet him in the morning,” Jamie said from behind her.
Eve took a deep breath as tears burned her eyes. She attempted to collect her emotions before turning back to him, but they fell anyway, and she wiped them discreetly, pretending to scratch her face. “Okay.”
“It’ll be fine,” he promised, nodding for her to follow him. “You’re gonna love him.”
—
“So who cooked all this food?” Eve asked.
She stuffed a piece of cold turkey into her mouth before placing the remainder of it in the refrigerator.
She and Jamie had used the past hour to clean up, and from what she could tell, there’d been quite a few people in attendance.
It was probably for the best that she’d missed it.
“Everyone did,” he said, also sneaking a few bites of leftovers for himself. “It was a potluck kinda thing.”
“What did Jelani bring?” she asked, still tickled that he was part of Jamie’s family. She couldn’t wait to tell Maya.
“He made the collards. I think those are all gone, but he did the cabbage, too, if you’re interested.”
“I am,” Eve said. Her Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a Big Mac and fries on her drive to Nashville, both of which were too salty. She looked forward to having turkey and dressing and everything else for breakfast.
“Come have some pie with me,” Jamie said.
“Let me just get this washed,” Eve replied, taking the turkey pan to the sink.
He held up a dish of some apple confection like his own siren song. “Better hurry up before I eat it all.”
She rolled her eyes but appreciated that he knew precisely how to tempt her. She joined him in the breakfast nook, happily accepting the fork to carve out a sample of the pie. She promptly moaned as the combination of apple and cinnamon and dough hit her tongue.
“You’re supposed to save that sound for me,” he whispered, gazing at the side of her face.
“You don’t taste like this,” she said, smiling.
Jamie briefly left their setup at the breakfast table and turned on some music to accompany their cleanup.
And in the end, Jamie was the one to wash the dishes, while Eve enjoyed various desserts as she strategically packed the refrigerator shelves with Tupperware.
His fridge was huge, but she liked making a puzzle out of the containers, deciding which foods would be accessed most. She tried to imagine what Jack would like and put those in reachable places.
When she was done, she watched Jamie as he worked, silently scrubbing and scraping at the dirty plates and pans. So introspective. Eve loved that about him.
She was pretty sure she loved him.
Without words, Eve set down her fork and pie and joined him at the sink, wrapping her arms around his slender waist to hug him from behind. She closed her eyes as she breathed him in for the second time that night, pressing her cheek against the soft denim of his shirt.
“You’re not just a fantasy,” she whispered.
Jamie turned to face her. He placed a gentle, sweet kiss over the top of her thick hair, then rested his forehead against hers.
He inhaled as she exhaled, and for a moment, for several moments, they breathed as one.
And when he began to sway to the music, Ella Fitzgerald’s rich, sultry voice filling the kitchen, they moved as one, too.
During the last two weeks, Eve had a lot of time to think about this—what it meant for him to let her in, for her to want to be let in.
This still wasn’t in her plans, but she was trying not to be rigid.
Jamie deserved someone who would step out of their comfort zone. Or at least, to try. So she was trying.