Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
SHELBY
June 2013
That was unexpected.
I’d asked for a sexy bedtime story and instead got this epic romantic fairy tale. Jake didn’t specify which parts were in the original story versus what he had made up—apart from the sexy bits—and I found myself preferring to assume everything else, Iliza, Balthazar, all of it, had been taken from his grandmother’s sweet tale.
Never mind that so many things sounded more than a little familiar and had me holding my breath as he’d told me the story.
I’d told Jake I wanted to pay for my airfare to San Francisco and that I would make my own way to his house from the airport. While I’d accepted his thoughtful gifts throughout those weeks, I wanted to draw a few lines and maintain some control. I was grateful he hadn’t argued at all.
Because I’d been concerned about saving myself some money, the cheaper option meant I was in for a full and exhausting day of travel. By the time I was in the cab on my way to Jake’s house, I was practically falling asleep. I did want to enjoy the scenery though, since it was the first time I’d ever been to a city where the drive from the airport was immediately interesting. The sloped streets looked even more strange and Seussian than I’d imagined. I guessed that women here were very particular when and where they choose to wear heels. I’d best be careful, I thought, or I’d end up on my ass, or worse, twisting an ankle into a pretzel.
We drove through a neighborhood the cab driver called The Mission. He’d been giving me a guided tour the whole way for which I was grateful, because it kept me engaged and awake. He pulled over and stopped the car. “That’s it. On the right.”
It was a fairly large but narrow, white, three-story house with a wrought iron fence and gate in the front. There were at least ten steep steps to the front door, and a half turret off to one side. Very “Full House” classic San Francisco.
Jake had asked me to text when I arrived and not ten seconds later, he emerged from the house, coming down the stairs and jogging through the front gate. A giant smile lighting up his whole face. I paid the driver as Jake pulled my carry on out of the trunk.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said as he pulled me in for a kiss. My curiosity at seeing inside of this beautiful house was thankfully overriding my nervousness.
“Is this all yours?” I asked as we walked up the steps.
“I own the place but it’s a duplex. I rent the upper two floors to Kyle and Gina, Lunchbox’s parents.”
“Oh, Lunchbox! Will I get to meet him?’
“No, unfortunately, they all went camping. I guess you’ll just have to come back another time.”
I nodded but plans like that seemed a little too overwhelming to consider.
As I walked in, I instantly fell in love. The house was not unlike the old duplexes on the East Side of Milwaukee with their high ceilings, crown moldings, and built in cabinetry, but even more grand. Yet, at the same time, not at all stuffy. The ceilings had to be at least fourteen feet high, with tall windows to match. Old wood floors that creaked in all the places you’d expect. Where we’d entered in the living room a huge fireplace was lit and welcoming, surrounded by what looked to be the original mantle-piece and more of the classic molding.
The lighting was all perfect. Nothing overhead or harsh, all lamps and ambient light. I inhaled the soft smell of leather from the couch as soon as I got near it. It wasn’t black leather with cup holders and reclining sections like I had been used to, but a soft, light brown. Worn, but not shabby, with soft curves and a line of tufting buttons along the top and in front of the arms, it looked like it would be very at home in a library.
“You like the couch?”
“Huh?” I looked down to see my hand running across the buttery leather. “I do. It’s lovely.”
Jake gently twisted a stray strand of my hair around his finger. “You seem exhausted. Would you like to lie down for a little while?”
“Oh, no I’m okay,” I lied. I wanted nothing more than to collapse on this beautiful couch in front of the fire and pass out.
“No really, I’m just prepping dinner and it’s going to be awhile. I’ve got no major plans for us tonight.” He grinned and added, “At least none that involve leaving the house.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, I just got here.”
“Honestly, nothing would make me happier right now than to have you all cozy on my couch. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”
I was so grateful I nearly cried. I sat on the couch, practically sighing at the generous give it had. Jake knelt on the floor and began unlacing my Chucks, gently taking one off, then the other. He pulled a white cable knit blanket off a nearby chair and repositioned a throw pillow for my head to land on.
He continued kneeling next to me, stroking my hair and within seconds, I was asleep.
An undeterminable time later something lovely invaded my senses and told me it was time to wake up. The most captivating smell that I couldn’t quite place was coming from somewhere else in the house. Dinner. I looked around for my phone to see what time it was and noticed it was dark outside. How long had I been asleep?
I looked to my right and there on the end table was my phone. On a charger. Had I done that? I was so tired when I’d arrived, I couldn’t remember.
I stumbled through the house to find Jake. And a bathroom.
I passed by a butler’s pantry with gorgeous lit shelving. I turned and saw open set of double pocket doors and there he was working away in the kitchen. He was facing away from me and had yet to notice I was there. He was wearing an apron over his soft grey Henley and faded jeans. Barefoot. It was all I could do to keep myself from swooning.
“Hi,” I said.
He turned in a flash. “Oh, hi! You’re up!”
“Mmhmm,” I rubbed my face. “Can I use your…”
“Oh, of course.”
Jake led me around the corner to a small powder room and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I was having a hard time getting my bearings. I don’t know what I had expected to find coming here, but none of it was this. This house, Jake’s house, was so comfortable. Welcoming. I was so sensitive to spaces, and there I felt completely settled. Which, in turn, unsettled me completely.
I wandered back toward the dining room. He had set a beautiful table with an eclectic grouping of well used candles on a tray, sisal placemats, and mismatching yet complimentary dishes and flatware. I smiled thinking of Marion having a fit at the sight of it. I, however, was completely charmed.
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Would you like a tour?”
“I’d love that.”
“How about a glass of wine?” Jake asked.
“Yes, please.’
He handed me a glass of red. “It’s a nice zin. Californian, of course,” he winked.
I took a sip and smiled. It was the most delicious wine I’d ever tasted.
I could never tell him, but while Ari had a fantastic palate for food, I never appreciated his taste in wine. He’d proclaim the wine to be excellent based on the name, the price, the exclusivity, all over actual taste. I, on the other hand, preferred wines that spoke to me no matter the pedigree. This one whispered sweet nothings in my ear.
“Damn.” I whispered.
“Sexy, right?”
I’d never heard a wine described as sexy before, but it sure was.
The house was a bit of a maze, and it was going to take me awhile to figure out the configuration. I liked that about it, though. Unpredictable. Like the architect had a sense of humor and whimsy. Jake took me back up though the living room to the large bedroom in the front of the house. Another set of double pocket doors. A king bed with fluffy yet crisp white bedding. Tasteful Oriental rugs, minimal furniture, lovely art decorating the walls. A few healthy plants on the wide windowsills that curved within the turret, and stacks and stacks of books. I smiled, reminded of my own mini garden libraries at home. Off the bedroom was a larger bathroom with walk in shower, a clawfoot tub and what looked to be a newer, larger vanity than what had been there originally.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“Ten years. I was grateful it was pretty turn-key, I didn’t have a lot of time to spend on renovations.”
“It’s wonderful. It feels so comfortable.”
“I love it. Coming home here is one of the best feelings in the world,” Jake said wistfully.
He led me back through the dining room and showed me another full bath and the second bedroom he had made into an office. Beyond that was a room that seemed to have been converted from a porch. On one side there was a bicycle, a few toolboxes, a cooler, and other things one might find in a garage. On the other, a futon.
“Kind of a catch all and guest room at this point,” he explained.
We went out the door from there to the backyard. On the large deck was a six-person hot tub. The lid was off, and he’d turned some outdoor lighting on.
“I thought maybe we could hang out here later.”
My first thought was panic that I hadn’t brought a swimsuit. But as I glanced around at the tall wooden fencing and large greenery surrounding the yard protecting it from neighboring eyes, I knew it might not be necessary to have one. I smiled. “Hmm. That would be nice.”
“One more room.” He led me back into the house and I couldn’t help thinking that if I wandered around in the middle of the night, I would most likely get lost.
“Ohhhhh,”I said as my eyes widened.
“Yeah, that’s the reaction this room usually gets.”
The library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves along one whole wall. With a goddamn library ladder. I’d never actually seen one in someone’s home.
And there, in the center of the room, a beautiful antique baby grand piano. Original wood. Not cold white. Not gaudy black lacquer.
“It’s a 1927 Steinway. I know, it’s gorgeous. But…it’s not mine.”
I looked at him, curious.
“It belongs to my friend Doug. They sold the house after the divorce, and he had to move to a smaller place. He couldn’t bear putting it in storage, so I offered to hang on to it for him. He’s keeping it for his son, Wyatt.”
“Does it get used at all?” Honestly, I would love to have this in my house just to have. It was so beautiful. Although an instrument like that—it would be a shame if it didn’t get played.
“Wyatt is at Berkeley, so when I’m not home, he does come and play. He’s so talented, I’m glad he gets a chance to use this.” Jake moved around to sit at the piano.
“He told me once that playing piano for a girl is the ultimate ‘panty dropper.’” He looked up at me. “What do you think about that?”
“I’d like to think I’m at the age I could spot some ploy at ‘panty dropping’ from a million miles away,” I told him. “But I could see someone young being affected, sure.”
Jake looked down at the keys in front of him, then lifted his eyes to mine. “You know, I think someone sharing their art with the masses or even with a group of people is wonderful and brave, and we as humans are all the better for it. It’s what makes the world magical and interesting. But sharing your art with one person, for one person…it’s different. It’s almost sacred. Painting or drawing someone’s portrait, playing or singing for one person, even making someone a special meal, it all comes with a certain responsibility and shouldn’t be done recklessly.”
I nodded. I was feeling fuzzy and overwhelmed and I wasn’t even halfway into my glass of wine.
Jake put his hands on the keys and began to play. “I’ve been fooling around a little and taught myself a few things by ear. It’s kind of fun.”
He began a rhythm with his right hand for a few bars, then started the melody with his left. It was impressive for a beginner. I recognized the song, but for the life of me I couldn’t place it.
“What song is that?”
“It’s… it’s nothing. Come on. Dinner’s ready.”
Jake had refused my offer to help with getting dinner on the table. I sat down and waited until he walked in and placed my plate in front of me.
“Oh, this looks amazing.” And it did.
“It’s just a John Dory with a lemon cream sauce, wild mushroom and asparagus risotto, and a frisée and fennel salad.” Jake waved it off so casually. As if he’d plopped a frozen pizza in front of me and called it a day.
“Just? I think you may be forgetting that I know what went into making this.” I sat and stared at the plate as he went to sit down. I thought about what he had said about sharing your art with one person, how powerfully intimate that was. A cloying sensation poked at me.
Ari made food for me all the time when we were first together, but it was in that reckless way that Jake pointed out. It was part of Ari’s love bombing. I’d venture a guess that it may have been successful at “panty dropping” as well, if my panties hadn’t already been incinerated the very first time he kissed me.
In later years when he made me food, it was because he was trying a new recipe which was an always a risky game. I had to be careful to say I liked it, but not gush. Point out something specific that I noticed, otherwise he’d think I was just placating him. But I could never, ever tell him it wasn’t good or suggest ways to change it in any way. It was exhausting.
Once again, Jake was proving himself to be someone else entirely from what I’d been used to. I warmed at the thought of him planning a menu and taking the time to shop for the ingredients. Even going to a specialty fish market, or even the wharf itself, because John Dory would not likely be at your corner grocery store.
And not only dinner but caring for me with the simplest gestures. Taking off my shoes and settling me down for a nap. Putting my phone on a charger. No one had ever tended to me in that way. I was in uncharted territory, and I didn’t have a single clue as to how to process any of it.
I gingerly took a bite of my food, my stomach cautioning me to take it slow. I never had much of an appetite on long days of travel, but I suspected something else altogether was stirring in my gut.
“Oh my God. It’s delicious, Jake. Thank you.”
He smiled. “Oh!” He held up a finger. “One more thing.” Setting his napkin on the table as he got up, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked over to a speaker set up on the credenza.
Music.
And not just any music. Otis Redding. Sam Cooke. Chris Isaak. Lyle Lovett. Haunting troubadours and tender soul singers. Songs laced with love and longing. Had I told him that I liked this? As we ate, I found myself unreasonably irritated that he would remember. And if I hadn’t told him, I was unreasonably irritated that we would have this too in common.
I managed to make my way through most of my dinner, taking it slow and sipping water along the way. I felt so claggy still, like I was wading through molasses.
Jake pushed his plate forward and got up. I was vaguely aware of the start of a different song, and his movements seemed to be choreographed to it. He walked over to me and held out his hand.
“Dance with me.”
I sat dumbfounded. Frozen. It’d been forever since I’d danced with anyone anywhere but at someone’s wedding. Had it been since my own?
I took his hand and stood up. It took a second for my legs to steady. He led me to the open space to the side of the table, weaving an arm around my waist and holding my hand in his.
It was then that I recognized the song. I knew it was Van Morrison, but I’d only heard “Tupelo Honey” a handful of times.
We swayed back and forth to the music. That was about as much as I was able to manage. I rested my head against his chest to feel his breath combining with the melody and the beautiful, poignant lyrics I couldn’t ignore. I could feel myself beginning to tremble.
Just then, Jake pulled away from me slightly and gently put his hand under my chin to lift my face to his. His eyes spoke volumes of sonnets to mine as he held my hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat’s message as well.
He tilted his face toward mine and placed the sweetest, most tender kiss on my lips.
The whole evening had been leading up to this moment, and somehow, the simplest gesture of affection hit me like a blitz attack.
Jake was throwing down the gauntlet and daring me not to fall in love.
The room began to spin and collapse into me from all sides. Van Morrison’s voice slipped farther and farther away as the ringing in my ears got louder and louder. I could feel the darkness coming and I consoled myself with the knowledge that Jake would without a doubt catch me as I fell.
I slowly became aware of my surroundings and found myself once again on the magic leather couch. Jake was sitting beside me holding a cold washcloth to my forehead.
“Hi,” he said.
“What happened?” It was all a blur.
“You fainted.”
I was starting to remember the sense of overwhelm I had been feeling. Jake’s house. The wine. The dinner. The dance.
The kiss.
I might have blamed my passing out on a long day of travel and a significant time change, but a pull toward something else entirely was becoming undeniable.
I was starting to have real feelings for Jake.And it scared the shit out of me.
It was just supposed to have been fun. A distraction and an escape. But being enveloped within these walls, feeling such warm, loving care from the minute I walked through the door made it crystal clear that some part of me longed for more.
I’d only been in love once before, but it was all fused with and tangled up in my trauma bond. I had no clue when and where the love ended and the addiction to the drug that was Aristotle Ristow began.
He’d taken my love and twisted it into something unrecognizable. And since he’d been incapable of loving me the way I’d wanted him to, I’d just given up. Something in me had withered.
He’d taken my desire, performed the Devil’s alchemy, and threw it back in my face as shame.
And cruelest of all, he’d taken my trust and hid it away in his dragon’s hoard, never to be seen again.It wasn’t that Jake hadn’t earned it, because of course he had. But I couldn’t bring myself to trust him because I couldn’t remember how.
Therapy was helping, but I was still wading through the mire and the muck trying to get to the other side.
Jake helped me undress and get into his bed. He undressed and climbed in next to me and the way he just held me without words, without any expectation, reminded me of our first night together. He was just there. Solid. Strong. Dependable. Holding space for me in a way that no one ever had. Even without knowing all my secrets. No question.
I took deep measured breaths as I tried desperately not to cry.
“Hey, good morning” Jake said as he woke. “Wait, what are you doing?” Jake asked.
I was gathering my things from the bedroom and pulling on my pants. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get to the airport. Brody texted me in the middle of the night and I didn’t see it until this morning. He was in a car accident.”
Jake leapt out of bed. “Oh my God. Is he okay?”
“I just got off the phone with him. He’s okay, but I just need to get home. I need to be with him.”
“Of course! Here, let me call Brenda and have her check the flights.” He grabbed his phone. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“No, no you don’t have to…I already have a car coming,” I said.
“Oh. Are you sure? I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He looked so helpless. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. I’ll be fine. I’ve got to get home.”
Jake stood in front of me and tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Please stop that, I silently begged.
“ Let me get you some coffee and something to take with you to eat. I worry about you after last night.”
Last night.
I felt that familiar twinge in my stomach. You know the one. The one that physiologically and painfully reminds of something you forgot. Making it difficult when you want to forget. So, instead, you ball it up as tightly as you can and tuck it away.
My ride arrived and Jake walked me out through the front gate. He gave me one last hug, one more hit of his pure and solid essence before opening the car door for me.
“Please call me when you get home. I want to know you’re home safe and that Brody’s okay.”
“I will.” Again, that unreasonable irritation was scratching at me.
Later that afternoon, once I was home, my phone pinged. Like I knew it would.
Everything okay? How’s Brody?
Everything is fine. I made it home safe, and Brody is okay. A little sore but okay.
Scratchy feelings again. Jake being so concerned about my son. The line between my ‘here’ and my ‘there’ was officially blurred. He was invading, bleeding in.
And I had yet to discover how much that was true.