27. Twenty-Seven
Ifeel like I’ve been living under a huge chandelier hanging by a fraying rope that barely holds it in place. I’m not only spotlighted by my trauma, but it hangs over me, threatening to crash, keeping my shoulders scrunched and my head low. Strangely, sharing it with Jack edges me out from under it. I breathe easier, knowing that should it fall, I have a better chance of being pulled to safety because now he’s there with me.
As an educator who studies analogies, I get that’s a weird one.
Mom arrives at the little house Thursday before school starts, days before originally planned. She insisted on coming early after I unloaded everything that happened with Jack. She told me that I’d done the right thing, asking Jack for time, and that she was proud of me for being so vulnerable with him. “You can’t let things go without letting anyone in, Rowan. I love that you’re opening up to someone.”
Mira and I greet her in the driveway, and something is different about her. She’s tanner—yes, probably from spending her summer touring. Toner, perhaps, though she’s always been fit. But her laugh lines and crow’s feet no longer look hard-earned but friendlier. She wears lip gloss and a light summer dress, highlighting her shoulders and showing more skin than usual. Her softer look makes her seem gentler, too, like her rough edges have been filed away.
Her thin-lipped smile grows as she embraces us.
“How are my sweet girls?” Her pixie head rests between us.
“Good,” we say in unison, and Mira adds, “How are you, Christine? You look… really good.”
“She’s right, Mom. Are you doing something different?”
A mild chuckle escapes as she turns to Sara, standing awkwardly nearby. Mom grabs onto her as if they’ve already known each other for ages. Sara, amazingly, accepts the affection.
Rose and Vernon gently interrupt our sweet reunion, approaching cautiously from the street.
“We had to meet your mum in person, Rowan.”
“Thank you for your service.” Vernon shakes her hand and then salutes. “My father, God rest his soul, served for—”
“Vernon, no.” Rose takes Mom’s hand, holding it between hers. “We love Rowan. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope you’re staying awhile.”
“A few weeks. Then, California before going overseas again for a consultancy. I’ll return for Thanksgiving and, hopefully, Christmas, as always.”
As they chat, Tom and Marcy peek out their front door like skittish meerkats, taking in the unusual activity. A moment later, they join our growing circle, introducing themselves, telling her how much they love me, and asking about her plans—as if they’re operating from the same script.
“Your neighbors are weird.” Mira grins at my side. “But I kinda love it.”
“Yeah, me, too. Mom seems different, right?”
“She looks… happy,” Mira says.
“Oh, you must meet Jack.” Sara bolts across his yard before I can stop her.
“Dean returns tomorrow?” Mom asks.
“That’s the plan,” I say with a noncommittal shrug.
She gives me a knowing look—I can’t make promises regarding Dean. I’ve reached out every day, but most texts go unanswered. He calls randomly, and it’s always the same—a quick report about him.
Sometimes, I wonder if he’s afraid to let me talk. The more I try, the quicker he is to end it.
“Won’t that be wonderful?” Marcy says. “Together at last.”
“Romance is in the air,” Rose coos.
“I’ll say,” Mom says, her blue eyes honing in on Jack as Sara drags him across the yard. He’s wearing khaki shorts, a black t-shirt that hugs him just the right way, no shoes, a pencil tucked in his ear, and more scruff on his face than usual. But his smile is warm and expansive as he beelines in her direction. They don’t shake hands but embrace like old friends. My chest tightens.
“Oh, my!” Rose giggles. “You really are a fan.”
Mom pulls away—a beaming grin still planted as she takes him in. “I am. I love his books, too.”
Rose looks as confused as everyone else, but Jack laughs. “I’m a fan, too.”
Their instant connection hits me strongly—with what, I’m unsure. Love and sadness, like one of his books.
The quiet girls’ night I planned disintegrates when Jack announces, “Dinner and drinks at my place?”
Everyone cheers—Mom the loudest.
I cringe. Not because I don’t want to spend time with him—I really do. The entire week’s been an exercise in self-control—me staying away from Jack so I can deal with this the right way because I sure as hell haven’t so far. My guilt compounds the longer it goes unresolved. I’m the worst fiancée ever. Not only have I betrayed Dean by entertaining thoughts about Jack, but I never really let Dean know me in the first place.
So, my guilt grows, and every time I relive Jack’s words, his touch, and that kiss, I feel even worse.
This isn’t me—I’m no cheater.
Also, not me—letting guilt about ruining Dean’s proposal and everything since then take over my confidence. I’ve spent the week red-penning my relationship and brainstorming how to fix it—if I should fix it, that is. I don’t know what to do.
So, a Jack party isn’t what I need right now.
Still, he goes out of his way to make everyone feel at home. He engages with Mom and Mira nonstop, as if it’s his only chance. We congregate in his kitchen and living room first, where he makes everyone drinks and raids his fridge for fruits and cheeses. Sara helps him make pizzas. Then, he moves the party outside.
Laughter and conversation flow easily—I’m the only quiet one. It’s the kind of evening I once wished for Dean to win over my loved ones. Only he didn’t. His attempts to woo my family dissipated after Grandpa Ro’s funeral when Mom was too sad to notice, and Mira didn’t care for him at all. He gave up after—I don’t blame him. But it’s another thing adding to my guilt.
“Do you have spontaneous neighborhood parties often, Jack?” Mom asks as we lounge around his outdoor dining area, nibbling on pizzas.
“Yep.” He slides the next pizza into the hot brick oven. “Growing up, Mom always freaked out about guests, like they might give her house a white-glove inspection. It was even worse when Devin, my older brother, got sick. Germs and a weak immune system prevented her from letting too many people in—she was right not to. But Devin made me promise not to be like that… after. He didn’t want us to close people out.”
“Jack has an open-door policy,” Vernon says. “We’re welcome anytime, as long as he isn’t writing.”
“Sometimes, even then, if he wants the noise,” Rose giggles.
“Are you writing?” Mom asks. “Rowan mentioned writer’s block.”
Jack shrugs, turning the pizza with the peel. “Writer’s block isn’t a problem anymore. I’m writing better than I have in years. I’m days away from sending the final pages to my editor.”
“Good. What’s this one about? Or am I allowed to ask?” Mom says, sitting up curiously.
“Ask me anything, Christine.” Jack pulls out the pizza. “It’s about two home-insecure teenagers, outcasts for different reasons, who fall in love after spending one night together in a hospital emergency room. They’re separated the next day, so the story is about how they survive and get back to each other. It’s two people at their most vulnerable and also at their strongest. I’m calling it Bare.”
My hand covers my mouth, hiding a gasp. Tears threaten, too. Something about you strips me bare. With his eyes on me, a soft heat rises, joining the tightness in my chest.
“Wow, that sounds harsh and beautiful,” Mom says, “and I like the title. Bare.”
Jack leans over the table to refill Mom’s wine. “Join my team of beta readers. I’d love your opinion.”
“I’d be honored! So would Rowan—she’s totally fallen for you.”
“Mom!”
“I mean, as a writer, of course.” Mom’s devious blue eyes twinkle as she flashes her wry grin. “Wouldn’t you like to beta read for Jack?”
“Rowan stopped reading Jack’s books,” Sara reveals, earning a stern, pinched look from me. Her eyebrow creeps up daringly as the rest of the table stares in my direction, astounded.
With a light shrug, I say, “I’m taking a break. That’s all.”
“But what about preparing for your classes?” Mom asks, her smile bent. “Aren’t Jack’s books the inspiration behind your project?”
“I have enough notes on The Other Us to last all semester. I need to try out other writers.” I lean back, twiddling the paper towel in my lap. The neighbors are aghast, as if I’ve just announced my intention to become a sister wife. With all eyes on me, I feel hot and uneasy.
Jack smirks at their forlorn faces. “Don’t worry, guys. She’ll come back to me in the end.”
The rest of the table relaxes. His playful expression meets my worried one.
“How are your non-plans coming along, by the way?” He slices the new pizza. “Ready for school to start?”
“I’m nervous but ready. I think. But, of course, I plan to go wherever they lead me, so who’s to say? I have to be prepared for anything. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“Don’t look at it that way. You’re not teaching. You’re talking books. It’s fun. If you get lost, all you have to do is talk about what turned you into a reader and the books you’ve loved.” He smirks, catching my eyes in his. “Just don’t try to say it was your English classes. They’ll see right through you.”
I smile. “No, I wouldn’t dare.”
“When in doubt, read them one of Jack’s sex scenes,” Rose advises. “That’ll keep them interested.”
“Those are my favorites,” Marcy admits.
“Ah, me, too. They’re always fraught with emotion, so full and rich and unyielding,” Mom chimes in, making me blush, wide-eyed with shock. “How do you do it?”
Jack blushes, too. “Um, I don’t know—it’s love as I imagine it… and it’s not such a great mystery anymore.”
His eyes land on mine. I half-wonder if he says things to get a reaction—a type of click-bait with words. The chair screeches against the deck boards as I rise from it.
I find the downstairs bathroom, a charming half-bath with an R2-D2 soap dispenser and a framed cross-stitch that says, “You should’ve brought a book.” I run cold water over my wrists and take deep breaths. Guilt about Dean compounds. I miss Jack.
He waits for me outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not being creepy.”
“Feels a little creepy.” I shrug.
“I just wanted to see if you’re okay. It’s been hard not talking to you.”
“Hard for me, too.” With a deep breath, I lean against the wall across from him. “But I’m okay.”
His head droops, sending his dark hair over his creased brow. He offers a weak smile. “Your mom’s everything I thought she’d be. Funny, formidable, warm. I’m glad she’s here.”
A small smile edges my lips. “Me, too.”
“Sorry we crashed her homecoming, though.”
A chuckle escapes. “I should’ve expected it in this neighborhood. We’ll have time to catch up, and I need to—something’s different about her.”
“She’s in love.”
“What? No. Really? Why do you think that?”
“She said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ a half-dozen times, and… there’s an unexpected lightness about her. She’s sharing her world with someone.”
“Just not sharing it with me.” Tears pop into my eyes like strangers crashing my I-have-it-all-together party. “Why wouldn’t she say?”
When he hesitates, I step closer, my hand resting on his black t-shirt like I can’t help but touch him. With a gentle tug of the soft fabric, I say, “Just tell me. Please.”
“She blames herself for what happened to you. That’s why she didn’t date afterward. Now that she’s found someone, she feels guilty for being happy when you’re…”
“When she thinks I’m not…” My eyes close, as if I can block out this new information and push away the sadness I suddenly feel. More guilt heaps on my shoulders. “I’ve always encouraged her to date, always assured her that she’s not to blame.”
“None of this is your fault,” he says sternly. “You know how it is, Rowan. We all take on burdens that we were never meant to carry. They weigh us down and make us believe things we shouldn’t.”
And once again, Jack Graham edges me out from under the chandelier. “What should I do?”
“Nothing. Be happy for her,” a playful smile perks on his lips. “She’ll come clean about her sexy, fun times with her new boy toy when she’s ready.”
“Ah, gross. Sexy fun times? Now, I’ll think boy toy when I meet him,” I laugh.
“And blush just like you are now.” His thumb sweeps my cheek. “You’re welcome.”
His hand lingers until I take it in mine and hold it between us, unable to let go just yet.
“I hope you know how much you mean to me, Jack.”
“I do.” He grows serious. “I miss you.”
With emotions rising again, I release his hand and nod.
“How are you about Dean coming home?” he asks hesitantly. “Have your break-up speech ready? People say I’m a decent writer… I could help if you want.”
My soft chuckle veers into a worried sigh. “I don’t have a speech. It’s hard for me to even think about… I don’t want to hurt him. Or lose him… though it feels like I have already.” Jack’s gaze falters at my admission, making me regret it. “Or hurt or lose you. I’ll know how I feel when I see him. We were really good together once, and I haven’t been fair to him. Please understand, I want to be sure.”
“I get it.”
The concerned stitch between his eyes makes me wonder.
His hand drifts to the small of my back as we rejoin the group, the soft press of his fingertips sending Jack-tingle-shocks through me. I should mind, but I only want more. Talking to him, touching him—I haven’t felt this relaxed since Airlie.
We find them laughing hysterically over Rose’s admission that she only goes to church to hear Jack’s impressive cursing on the way there and spends her church time asking for forgiveness for enjoying it so much.
I’m about to share a discussion I had with my students last year when they called curse words “sentence enhancers,” equal to adjectives and adverbs when a voice cuts through our laughter.
“Hello? Rowan?” Between our houses, Dean appears.