24. Jack
Chapter 24
Jack
B y the time the sun went down, we’d made significant progress on the list. Or rather, I had – Morgan had spent most of the day holding a hairdryer to the various forms of vinyl she and Cara had installed in the kitchen. Between that and the August heat, it got to be almost unbearable inside, so we opened all the windows and got all three of the fans Morgan owned circulating fresh air. I taught her a bit about air circulation and how to design for it, and she suggested that might have been more helpful in the early twentieth century when the house had been built, which was fair enough.
The only helpful feature it did have was a cellar. I imagined most of the houses on the row had finished them over the years, but Morgan’s was still dingy and dirt-floored, which I discovered when carrying the boxes and boxes of books down for storage.
I’d made quick work of the door once I was back, but the back garden had taken some time, and I’d ended up making another trip out to the garden centre to get some mulch. There were too many tiny weeds, and I made the executive decision that it shouldn’t be Morgan’s problem, so I did a little cover-up job around the border. The stuff coming up between the stones was dealt with easily by my power washer. Part of me hated getting rid of the plants that had persevered enough to reclaim the space, but it was paved over anyway, so I decided to just be glad we weren’t having to touch the front garden. As I worked, I told Morgan about the treasure trove of native species she had out there, and she seemed genuinely interested, which made me feel like less of a nerd for knowing the difference between the various types of clover native to the area.
And finally, just as my stomach grumbled in protest of the fact that it was 8pm and I hadn’t eaten anything but a meal deal from the services, Morgan scraped away the last of the vinyl covering the worktop.
“That took fucking forever,” she groaned from the stool she was perched on, hunched over the worktop. “I’m sorry I’m so slow.”
I resisted the urge to rub my hand over her back, which I imagined was sore from hours of repetitive activity; to tell her that I wanted to be here. That I was hoping there was more for me to do. That as long as she needed help, I was her guy.
“Hey, better that than damage the worktop,” I said instead.
“True that,” she said, punctuating her words with a wave of the hairdryer. “In which case, I vote we order some pizza.”
“Seconded!” I said, waving my scraper in response.
We ordered from the nice local pizza place instead of the cheaper chain; Morgan insisted that it barely covered the petrol I’d expended, let alone the labour. I mentioned that, in that case, she probably owed me a beer, too, and she pulled two six-packs of my favourite IPA from the fridge. It seemed she’d been paying attention.
Morgan didn’t have a dining table, so we put the pizza box and beer on the coffee table and sat on the floor. We were both a full beer down by the time we started eating, so we got very chatty very quickly, and she asked me about what it was like growing up with Chloe and Phil. I told her about the time Chloe and I had broken into Phil’s house to try to decorate for his fourteenth birthday, only he had somehow figured out we were coming, and Ethel had pretended to be unconscious on the ground.
“We genuinely thought she was dead,” I said through laughter. Morgan was giggling, too, as if she were remembering it right along with me. “I mean, now I know that she wasn’t that old at the time. But back then, she felt ancient to us.”
“I wish I had stories like that,” she said. “I never really had friends that close growing up.”
“No one?” I asked. “Not even from school?”
She shook her head, her smile dropping slightly. “No. I mean, I had friends; I wasn’t a total loner. But I don’t think I was anyone’s best friend. Not until Cara, anyway.”
“How did you meet?”
She sighed wistfully. “A random housing ad, actually. She was a bit of a spoiled posh girl; she’d be the first to tell you that. So her parents didn’t want her slumming it in the halls. That’s why they bought this place.”
“What a life, eh?” I asked. “Must be nice to have parents who will just buy you a place if you need it.”
“Says the guy that lives on his family’s land and works for the family business?”
I barked out a laugh. “Fair enough.”
She chuckled, too. “Well, it worked out well for me, because I didn’t really fancy the halls either. And this place was cheaper.”
“Cheaper than the uni accommodation?” I asked, incredulous.
“Cara’s parents didn’t actually know she was letting out the extra bedroom,” she said. “She was just doing it so she had someone to live with. So it was dirt cheap. Mum had saved a bit for uni, but not enough for somewhere to live, and I wanted to keep my loans to a minimum.”
Morgan’s mum wasn’t exactly a loaded subject, but it also wasn’t her favourite one. But unexpectedly I sensed warmth in her voice when she mentioned her now, so I took my chance to dig a bit deeper.
“Do you miss her?”
“Mum?” Morgan asked, then, when I nodded, “Yeah, sometimes. It really sucked when she left. She gave me a whole speech about how life had passed her by, but given how close we were when I was growing up, it kind of felt like she was saying that I hadn’t been enough. Which was bullshit, considering how much trouble she went through to have me.”
Her lower lip wobbled slightly on that last part, and it was everything I could do not to catch it with my own and try to make her forget that anyone had ever made her feel like she wasn’t enough. But instead I settled for the only thing anyone could say in that situation; words that are never enough.
“I’m so sorry, Morgan.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Now I get postcards every month or so. Last year I got one from a nudist colony in the Pacific Northwest, so I get to have those nightmares every now and then. Thanks, Mum.”
I laughed, probably a bit too loud, but I was officially three drinks in and feeling very merry.
“That’s amazing,” I said. “How long did it take Cara’s parents to figure out that you were living here?”
“More than a year,” she whispered, almost conspiratorially. “They retired to the French Riviera when they were like forty-five. They’re pretty rich.”
I was becoming very aware of how close Morgan was sat to me, our shoulders just an inch or two from one another. We had slouched down so that our heads were leaning back against the seat of the sofa, the cushions pulled down and stuffed under our backs, the coffee table pushed out with our feet. We were almost lying down.
She seemed to be a bit tipsy, too, and an image flashed into my mind of her on the bank holiday trip, drunk enough to come in for a hug after learning about Aria. I felt my breathing go shallow again, but I reminded myself, Just one step at a time . I’d been repeating it to myself every time I got a bit flustered – like when it got too hot in the kitchen and Morgan stripped out of her t-shirt into just her sports bra, which is how she was still dressed next to me – and so far I’d been able to keep the anxiety at bay. I pulled in a deep breath and held it, willing myself to calm the fuck down. It was harder this time than it had been before, but I managed it.
“It’s incredible,” she said, “how much of my life was defined by that friendship.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I didn’t try very hard to make other friends because I’d finally found my best friend. I didn’t try for design jobs after uni because it would have meant moving away, and I didn’t think I would find another friend like her. And when Cara joked that I was the square one, the cautious one, I sort of took on that persona, even though I don’t think it was particularly true when we first met. I just liked finally fitting together with someone.”
“I get that,” I said. “It’s nice to feel like you understand your place in the world.” I adjusted the cushions beneath my back, and inadvertently ended up a smidge closer to Morgan, which I didn’t mind. I braced myself for the anxiety to kick in, but it didn’t.
“Yeah, I knew you’d get it,” she said, which made me smile. I liked being the person who “got” her. She turned her head to face me, and I did the same. “I just sometimes wish I’d made different decisions. Like, I love the design work I’ve been doing so much. And now I’m even getting to do some at work. Did I tell you that already?”
I shook my head. “No, what for?”
“For this big gala. All the design budget was blown, but I came up with an idea to do illustrations of all the animals on the signs and stationery and stuff.”
“That’s brilliant,” I said, grinning wide. “Can I see?”
She sat up to reach for her tablet, which was in a bag at the end of the sofa. I mourned the sudden lack of proximity, but when she sat back down cross-legged, was I making things up, or did she end up a couple of inches closer to me?
She tapped a few times on the tablet and handed it to me, and I sat up to take it. My suspicion that she’d closed some of the distance between us was confirmed when my knee knocked against hers, and I had to turn slightly towards her to sit up.
I looked at what she’d pulled up on the screen: a large file with dozens of drawings of dogs and cats and – wait, were those otters? Did her rescue do otters? I’d have to find out later. These drawings were incredible. They were cute, but they were also beautifully done. She’d used a layered watercolour effect that made them look like they might jump straight off the page.
“I love these,” I said, my voice low. “Where are they being used?”
“All over the place,” she said. “It’s kind of driving the concept now.”
“That’s amazing,” I said, scrolling to see more. Instead of more animals though, I found the logo she’d been working on for the gaming shop. It was an anvil, just like she’d said last weekend, and I knew I was biased since I knew about the project, but I was sure I would have known immediately what kind of business it was for. “Are these final?”
“I think so,” she said, taking the tablet back and looking down at the logo. I hoped she could see how great it was. How talented she was.
“Do you know how talented you are?” I asked, surprised that the thought had made it through my mental filter. Morgan looked at me like I’d just suggested she had Martian lineage.
“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “It’s literally the first logo I’ve ever made.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And it’s amazing. Better than most logos for small businesses that I see. You’re really, really good. The fact that this isn’t your job is fucking wild to me.”
She looked at me sceptically for a moment, her eyes locked on mine, and I could tell she was internally debating whether to accept the compliment or laugh it off.
“You really think it’s good?” she asked, and I could tell she was hanging a lot on my answer. Luckily it was the answer she was hoping for, and it was the truth.
“Yes,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, and I could tell it meant a lot to her. But she looked away and turned off the tablet, chucking it back across to the end of the sofa.
It took her a moment longer than it should have to turn back around, and when she did, she fixed me with an intense gaze. She was facing me fully now, her legs crossed like mine were, her knees resting on mine, her feet grazing mine.
“Hey, Jack?” she asked, and I could tell her question was going to be a big one. I felt the weight start to form a bit, but I managed to suppress it, or at least to stop it from growing, by reminding myself to take it one step at a time. A question was just one step.
“Yeah?” I asked, as light-hearted as I could, but I felt my voice wobble as I said her name.
“Why didn’t the stag do carry on until tomorrow?”
I blinked hard – I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting her to ask, but it wasn’t that. I also had no idea how I wanted to answer her. My mouth went dry as if in protest; it was shutting up shop so that I could save face. But I had to answer her, so I took the last swig of my third beer, partially for courage and partially to make it so I physically could answer.
“The stag do is carrying on until tomorrow.” There we go. That was an answer.
“And why aren’t you carrying on with it?” she asked. Well, shit.
“Because I decided I’d rather be here than there,” I said before I could filter out the truth, and then I leaned back a bit, astonished at my own honesty. And maybe a bit on the other side of buzzed.
“Gotcha,” she said, not dropping my gaze, squinting at me as if I were a puzzle she was trying to solve. It was almost disconcerting how long she spent looking at me, not only because it forced me to stare directly into her eyes in return. Otherwise my own eyes might have wandered to her shoulders, or the delicate jut of her collarbone, or the lower lip she was biting the corner of. Otherwise I might accidentally start to lean in, like a magnet had been turned on inside her and I couldn’t help but gravitate forward.
Oh wait, I was actually doing all of those things.
By the time I realised that and looked back into her eyes, her expression had changed. Her brow was pinched together, and the corners of her lips were turned down. I’d seen this before, on the mountaintop. She was angry. But had I given her something to be angry about?
“I think you should go,” she said, all the friendliness gone from her voice.
That snapped me back into reality instantly. “Wait, what? Sorry, did I say something?”
“No, you’re fine,” she said, but she was standing up, clearing the pizza box and empty beer cans. I noticed that we’d finished off both six-packs between us.
“Morgan, hang on,” I said, standing up, too, but I was a bit wobbly, and I had to sit back down on the couch for a moment as an interim step.
Finally I was on my feet, and I walked over to the kitchen where she stood rinsing out the recycling. I put a hand on her forearm, and she turned in place to face me, her lower body pinned in place by mine. But none of the softness and warmth from before was there. Instead it was just pure heat. Intense, mind-numbing, angry heat.
“What do you want?” she asked, looking up at me.
“I just want to know what’s wro?—”
“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “What do you want from being here?”
I frowned. “I wanted to help you.”
Her eyes went wide, and she raised a single eyebrow. I wished I could do that; she looked so admonishing. “Really? You wanted to help me?”
“Yes,” I said, and I knew that was the truth. “I did. And…”
She nodded, as if she’d known there would be more. “And what?” she asked, impatient.
“And I wanted to see you,” I said quietly.
She narrowed her eyes again – that wasn’t quite what she’d been looking for. And I understood what she was getting at. I just wasn’t sure I could offer her more of an explanation when I hadn’t managed to articulate it to myself.
She crossed her arms, her elbows jutting into my abs, but I didn’t move.
“Morgan, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not the one that’s uncomfortable, Jack!” Her voice was raised now, and I could feel myself getting emotional for some reason. She looked like she was, too, her face going blotchy and her voice shaking. “You’re the one that can’t stand to get close to me.”
She pushed past me to the centre of the kitchen, and I spun around, desperate to have her back. To prove a point, I followed her, holding her by the elbows and pulling her back into my space.
“Do I look uncomfortable, Morgan?” I asked, and she looked back and forth disbelievingly from my hands to my eyes. I dropped my hands away, but she didn’t move again.
“No,” she said quietly. “No, I guess you don’t.”
I took the step back this time, leaning against the now-stripped worktop. “I get it,” I said, matching her quieter tone. “A lot has happened. But it’s all water under the tree, right?”
“Right,” she said tentatively, crossing her arms tighter across her. “Water under the tree.” I got the sense she meant it differently than I did, but I didn’t have the faculties at present to analyse it too closely.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the upper cabinets, taking a deep breath. This had escalated so quickly. Maybe I should have let that weight pool when it had wanted to. It had been protecting me from exactly this situation. I’d taken things one step at a time, and they’d landed me right here. With Morgan angry with me, and with me too tipsy to make heads or tails of whatever the hell I was feeling.
“Okay,” I said, “can we put a pin in this?” I opened my eyes and saw her leaning against the back door on the opposite side of the kitchen.
“A pin in what?” she asked.
“The conversation,” I said. “Because I do think we should have it.”
“And what conversation is that?” she asked, but I gave her a slight scowl, and she backed off. “Okay, okay, I get it. To define the conversation is to have the conversation. I can live with that.”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed.
“I’ll pick you up,” I said. “I’ll have to come back for my car.”
“Oh god,” she said, standing straight up suddenly, her voice worried. “How are you going to get home? I didn’t even think about it with the beers. I’m so used to walking everywhere.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, closing the gap between us and putting my hands on her arms again, this time in what I hoped was a calming gesture. “Phil will almost certainly be orchestrating the end of an awkward Hinge date right about now.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You can stay on the sofa if you need to.” I sighed and levelled my gaze at her until I saw the realisation click. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Maybe not.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “Put the second coat of paint on the door in the morning, and I’ll see you at, say, four?”
“Okay,” she said, nodding.
I took a single step towards the door and then paused. A little voice inside my head was yelling Keep going, Jack! but my body didn’t listen. I turned around, pressed a kiss to Morgan’s cheek, and then strode away as quickly as possible, catching her shocked expression in the reflection in the window as I left.