Chapter 31
51 weeks after the wedding
I pull my paintbrush back, surveying the mural in front of me. Fuchsia flowers layer over cerulean water, framed by green seaweed and dancing dolphins. In the corner, a cartoonish mermaid with flowing purple hair swims toward the surface. Behind her, mischievous fish and assorted crustaceans juggle pink seashells.
It’s certainly not in my usual repertoire. A far cry from the skulls and crossbones and pinup girls I’m used to inking into skin at Sleeve It to Me 2.0, but it’s a good change of pace for me. And it feels good to hold a paintbrush again. Like putting on a well-worn coat that fits just right.
“How’s it coming in here?” comes Allison’s voice from outside the hall. I turn around just as she waddles in, one hand cradling her swollen belly.
“Pretty good. I just finished the mermaid. What do you think?” I ask, stepping aside so she can see the mural I’ve been working on since she announced she and Collin were expecting a baby four months ago.
Allison’s face stretches into a wide smile. “She’s beautiful. Like our tattoo.”
Our eyes meet and a warm burst of tenderness flickers between us.
It’s been hard finding time to work on the mural between re-opening Sleeve It to Me, moving out of my parents’ house, and working double shifts at a local coffee shop to help pay bills while I get the business up and running. But I’ve been over at Collin and Allison’s house every spare chance I get.
Mostly I’m here to paint, but Allison and I have restarted our movie night tradition, meaning that every Tuesday we cuddle up on the couch with enough red dye 40 to send us to early graves and watch rom-coms until Allison falls asleep and Collin has to carry her to bed.
Collin always says he isn’t going to watch the movie with us, but somehow, about ten minutes in, he magically appears and doesn’t leave until the credits roll.
His presence is often accompanied by lengthy commentary about how the heroine barely knows the hero and they can’t possibly be in love, to which Allison responds by throwing popcorn at his head and I remind him that he and Allison didn’t know each other much longer.
Despite his different (read: bad ) taste in movies, my feelings toward Collin have softened a lot in the past year. Not only is he a loving, supportive husband to Allison, he’s also a good friend to me.
When Collin found out I was trying to reopen Sleeve It to Me, he helped get me in touch with some family friends who specialize in small-business loans and credit rehabilitation. He also offered himself up as the first customer and now has their wedding date permanently inked into his left bicep.
As if on cue, Collin appears in the doorway behind Allison. He wraps his hands around her bump and gives her a peck on the cheek.
“Hey, looks good,” he says, craning his neck to see past Allison. “I like the way the colors pop. Reminds me of trying acid in college.”
I lift one eyebrow. “My mural reminds you of tripping on acid?”
Allison and I share a knowing look and she playfully smacks her husband’s hand. “Babe, you can’t say that. She’s a sensitive artist .”
“Yeah, but I meant it in a good way,” he says quickly. “Houghton and I only did acid once, but it was wild. Everything was so vivid. I could taste color.”
I try to keep my expression neutral, but the skin on the back of my neck prickles. Even though Collin and Allison bring Jack up in passing every now and then— I was on the phone with Houghton last night , or Houghton was telling me about so-and-so— I still can’t control the bodily response I have to the mere mention of his name.
For the first few weeks after the wedding, I thought about texting him. But every time I tried to compose a message, I’d realize I had no idea what to say. Eventually, enough time elapsed that it would definitely be weird if I texted him, so I didn’t. Now it’s been a whole year and neither one of us has reached out.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him—I do—it just feels like a lot of pressure. Like, what if it’s awkward? What if we have nothing to talk about? What if whatever Jack and I were was just a blip on the horizon, there one second, gone the next?
I know we’ll see each other eventually—Allison and Collin are asking him to be their baby’s godfather—but for now I’m settling for vague, secondhand updates. And pretending like his name doesn’t still spark goose bumps on the back of my neck.
I clear my throat, pretending to be absorbed in a nonexistent smudge on the wall. “Have you seen Jack recently?”
“Not in a while,” Allison says. “He’s been working nonstop since he took on that big oil company lawsuit. The last time we saw him must have been…?” She scrunches up her face, giving her husband a questioning look.
“Thanksgiving, I think,” Collin says. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
True to his word, Jack had indeed come to our family’s Thanksgiving, but I’d been in Paris last fall and hadn’t been there, though Allison had told me later he’d asked about me.
I wonder how he’d responded when she’d told him that I’d finally gone to Paris. Or that I’d reopened the tattoo shop and moved out of my parents’ place.
I wonder if he ever thinks about me the way I think about him.
“How’s he doing?” I ask in what I hope is a diplomatic, casual, I only just thought to ask voice. I don’t want Allison and Collin to think I still have a thing for him. Even if I do.
“He’s doing a lot better,” Collin says. “He’s training for the Portland Marathon. Says it helps him deal with stress. And…” Collin pauses, catching Allison’s eye. “He’s in therapy.”
“It’s been good for him,” Allison adds, giving me a meaningful look.
Something in me shifts into place. “That’s great,” I say. “I’m happy for him.”
And I really mean it. Even though our paths only crossed for a few days, I never stopped caring about him. Or wanting him to be happy. Even if that’s not with me.
“He sent us flowers the other day,” Allison says. “Did you see the big bunch of roses in the kitchen?”
“He did?” I ask, thinking back to the mammoth bouquet I’d assumed were from Collin, who is always buying Allison flowers, just because . “What for?”
“For our anniversary,” Allison says, giving me a look as though she’s hoping I didn’t dare forget. “It’s not until next week. But it was so sweet of him.”
Allison and Collin launch into reminiscing about some wedding memory, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy thinking about how next week is Allison and Collin’s first anniversary. Which means it will be one year since Jack and I made our pact.
I never told anyone about the pact. Mostly because it seemed too silly, too far-fetched. Too much like something Nora Ephron would write into a movie. Certainly not real life.
Still, I watched the date on the calendar move steadily closer, wondering what, if anything, might happen. If one of us would call. If, by some twist of fate, we’d actually meet in Italy.
But at this point it seems most likely that we’ll let the day pass. Jack’s probably already forgotten. Or will be too embarrassed to acknowledge we made the promise in the first place. And yet, knowing that Jack not only remembered their anniversary, but sent a thoughtful gift a week in advance, makes my insides feel like they’ve been set to a low-grade simmer. Does that mean something? A sign? Or am I merely overthinking this?
I decide to probe just a bit.
“Is Jack…uh…” I avert my eyes, pretending to be inspecting the mural. “Seeing anyone?”
Allison and Collin exchange looks. “Nope. He’s single,” Allison says. “Right, babe?”
Collin nods. “Yes, he’s single. Very single.”
Jack is single.
What if…?
No, no, no. I stop myself. I’m being ridiculous. We haven’t spoken in a year. He’s probably moved on. Or forgotten entirely. Either way, Jack is an attractive, single guy who I’m sure has better things to do than fly to Italy to make good on a corny nineties rom-com-esque promise.
Besides, I’m at a good place in my life right now. Sleeve It to Me is doing better than ever. I’ll be able to pay off my debts soon. I’ve even got my own place with an IKEA dining set I assembled all by myself.
I’m finally in a place where I feel good in my own skin. Where I feel perfectly whole and complete on my own. Which is exactly why I don’t need to get worked up about this. About him .
“You know,” Allison says, cutting through my thoughts, “Jack finalized his divorce.”
I hate the way hope burns against my chest when I squeak out an unsteady, “Really?”
Collin and Allison swap not-so-subtle looks.
“They officially signed the papers a few months ago,” Collin says. “Like I said, he’s single.”
“ Very ,” Allison adds.
I cross my arms. “You two aren’t exactly subtle, you know that, right?”
“I’m just saying. You’re single. He’s single. You’re both doing well. Maybe now is a good time to”—Allison pauses to wiggle her eyebrows—“ rekindle things.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I want to see him eventually,” I admit. “I just don’t know if now is the right time.”
“But what are you waiting for? You’re kicking ass right now! Your business is booming. You finally moved out of Mom and Bill’s. And you’re happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.” Allison turns to Collin. “Babe, don’t you think Ada and Jack should see each other?”
I can’t help but search Collin’s face, hungry for some kind of clue. If Jack still had feelings for me, would he have told Collin? Do guys even talk about stuff like that?
“I think Ada should see him if she wants to,” he says diplomatically.
Allison rolls her eyes. “Not helping.” She turns back to me. “You still like him, don’t you?”
I pause, unsure how to answer her.
In a way, it feels silly to confess to still having feelings for him. He wasn’t my boyfriend. We only knew each other a few days. We slept together once (twice?). For all I know, we merely got caught up in the gravitational pull of sheer proximity and heightened emotions.
But it’s hard to pretend the thought of him doesn’t still send heat to my cheeks. That his name alone isn’t enough to inspire a visceral response. That every time I’m scrolling through photos on my phone and I see the selfie we took on Arthur’s Seat my heart doesn’t do a little flip-flop. Or that every time I hear a Donna Summer song, my mind doesn’t wander back to that smoky nightclub in Belfast.
“Yes, I still care about him,” I admit. “But it’s not that simple. I mean, what if he isn’t interested in me anymore?”
Allison’s gaze hovers over mine, searching. “But you won’t know until you see him, right?”
“Yes, but…” I let the rest of the sentence dangle, unsure how to finish the thought.
The safe choice is to wait for Jack to reach out to me. To hold out hope that one day our paths will cross in the right place at the right time. But maybe this is the right place and time, not because of timing or circumstances, but because I’m deciding it is.
I think about Allison and Collin. My mom and Bill. How they each had layers of baggage and heartbreak and disappointment between them. How there was no right time. But they chose each other, even when it was hard. Even when they were afraid.
And maybe that’s what I need to do too.
I know it wasn’t love between Jack and me. We only knew each other five days. But it wasn’t nothing either. I wish there was a word for it. The space between longing for someone but not quite loving them. But also knowing that in another time, another place, under different circumstances, with more time, it could be love. Maybe it’s potential. The potential of something great.
I’m not ready to give up on that potential. And maybe neither is he.
I look back at Allison and Collin. “I think I’m gonna head out,” I tell them, reaching for the lid to the paint can.
Allison’s expression deflates. “But I thought you were staying for dinner? I ordered pizza. With pineapple,” she adds hopefully.
“I know, I’m sorry…there’s just something I have to take care of. Rain check?” I shoot them both apologetic smiles, then toss my painting supplies into my canvas tote and rush toward the door. “I’ll see you guys later,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Ada…?” Allison calls.
But I don’t stop rushing until I’m home, in front of my computer, fingers poised over the mouse, staring at a screen telling me I have three minutes and forty-seven seconds left to make my purchase.
What if this is a terrible idea? What if he doesn’t show? What if I waste a bunch of money only to end up embarrassed?
And yet, if I’ve learned anything this past year, it’s that it’s okay to be embarrassed, to fail, to take risks, even ones that don’t work out.
I don’t know if this will end in a passionate kiss or stinging disappointment, but I think I want to find out. I want to give this a chance.
At the very least, I think Jack and I deserve that.
I shut my eyes and click.
I’m going to Italy.