CHAPTER 3 Jake
Jake
She’s your brother’s ex-girlfriend, I repeat silently as I try to ignore how amazing Amelia feels in my arms.
Your brother’s ex-girlfriend!
“You saw her first,” a pesky little voice argues back, and I shut it down. Thoughts like these do nothing to help the reality of the situation: that she’s not mine and she never will be.
“You can put me down now.” Amelia’s husky voice pulls me out of my head and I see that I’m in front of my car and have seemingly just been standing still. Holding her.
“Sorry.” I let go of her legs and keep my arms around her shoulders to hold her steady.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, her voice soft, her gaze on the ground between us.
What made me think picking her up and carrying her like a caveman was a good idea?
“Let’s get you home.” I hear the defeat in my voice and I try to rally. Amelia showing up on my doorstep in the dead of night has shaken me to my core, but she doesn’t need to know that. She needs to remain oblivious, as always.
I walk away from her, stopping myself from helping her into the passenger seat and buckling her in like I so desperately want to. Instead, I make my way to safety, all the way over to the other side of the car.
“Ready?” I ask after we’re both settled into our seats.
“Yup.” She gives me an uncertain look, like she’s trying to figure me out.
Good luck. I can’t figure myself out when she’s around.
“Are you still at the same address? In Richmond?”
She throws me a shocked glance. “How do you know where I live?”
Act cool. “Robby must have told me. I have a pretty good memory.” I tap my head for good measure and start the engine. Time to wrap up this brief reunion.
“Oh, that makes sense. You’re also pretty observant.”
“You need to be, in my job,” I tell her, lying because I’m actually not usually an observant type. She’s just easy to pay attention to. Like right now, in the dim light of the passing streetlights, I can see how tired she is, how drawn her features are, how upset Robby’s note has left her. And how beautiful she looks. How beautiful she always looks.
“For all your non-courtroom negotiations?”
She’s teasing me, but I could see the disappointment on her face when she’d learnt just how boring my job actually is. Most people think lawyers lead a fast-paced, main-character-in-a John-Grisham-story kind of existence, when in reality, I spend my days reading and writing dreary documents. Compared to the men she dates, I’m old, dull and lifeless.
“And don’t forget the writing of contracts. That can get pretty tense.”
She laughs and my stomach clenches. Amelia’s laugh has a smoky quality to it, a sexy sound that I’ve been trying to forget for almost twelve months now.
“It can’t be more exciting than cutting and colouring hair for a living. That’s really living on the edge.”
Having seen some of the hairstyles and colours that Amelia has created, I want to argue, but that would once again reveal just how much I know about her. Not a rabbit hole I want to go down.
“Tell me about Bella’s wedding.” I’d heard a bit about her best friend over the handful of times we’d talked, and I know Amelia loves her like a sister.
“It was a beautiful day.”
Her words are sincere, but her tone is sad. What happened here?
“Did it all go smoothly?” I frame the question like a lawyer, not asking her directly what I want to know, which is why the wedding of her best friend has made her look so defeated.
“It did. It was perfect.”
We’re stopped at a traffic light, and my gaze is drawn back to her. She’s wearing my sweatshirt and I will my thoughts away from the body that was shown in such a perfect way by the daisy-yellow dress underneath. There had been too many curves on display for my peace of mind.
“The light’s green.”
I press my foot on the pedal and we lurch forward. Apparently, in Amelia’s presence, I don’t know how to drive. Wonderful.
“So, the day was perfect…” I prod.
“It was…” she trails off, her voice wistful. “Bella looked beautiful. Her vision of a yellow-themed fairyland came to life perfectly. It’s just that…”
She stops again, and I bite my tongue, hard, to stop from asking more questions. If she wants to share, she will. It’s not my place to probe any deeper.
“It’s just…now that Bella’s married, things will be different.”
“Different how?” I slow my speed down, just a touch so Amelia won’t notice, trying to prolong our time together.
I’m pathetic.
“I don’t know.” She sounds frustrated. With herself? With me for asking too many questions? “We used to do everything together, and now she’s someone’s wife. And I’m alone…”
Ahhh. So that’s it? She’s lonely?
“Bella sounds like a wonderful friend. I’m sure things won’t change between you.”
I feel her gaze on the side of my head, and I keep mine facing forward. Now is not the time to get lost in her big brown eyes.
“You think?” Her voice is both hopeful and doubtful.
“People get married all the time and don’t lose their friends. You’ll be fine.”
When she doesn’t reply, I hazard a quick look in her direction, seeing she’s nodding while staring out her window.
“Seriously,” I continue, wanting to make sure she’s feeling better before I drop her at her front door. And say goodbye. “My best friend got married a few months back and now I can’t get rid of him. He’s at my place all the time…I think he’s trying to get away from his wife, nagging him to pick up his socks.”
This pulls a laugh from her and I feel ten feet tall. Cheering her up, making her smile. It’s a minor victory for me, but one I’m happy to claim.
“Steven? Your best friend got married?”
I start. She remembers my best friend? Maybe I wasn’t the only one paying attention.
“Yeah, he and Jasmine got married in June. A winter wedding. They wanted a winter wonderland theme, and they got it. The day was freezing cold, so cold that the bride could have been her own ‘something blue’.”
She laughs again—victory!—and asks me to tell her more. I oblige, telling stories of lost rings and drunken speeches gone wrong.
“But through it all, Steven and Jasmine were oblivious. They were just thrilled to be husband and wife.”
“That’s how it should be.” Her voice is wistful again. “The wedding is just one day. It’s the relationship that comes after it that counts the most. My parents didn’t have the best relationship…”
She trails off again and I leave her words to sit between us. Silently willing her to open up to me.
“My dad left when I was sixteen.” Her words drop like a heavy stone. “For most of my life, he travelled for work and was away more than he was at home. My mum raised me pretty much on her own anyway.”
I say nothing, my stomach clenching at the bitterness in her tone.
“I could never understand why my dad loved his job more than me, why he chose his career over his family.” She stumbles on the word career and a few things fall into place. Namely, her attraction to men like Robby, who wouldn’t know a career if it bit him in the face.
“So, what happened?” I prompt into the silence.
“Well, one day, he didn’t come back from his trip. And pretty soon after that, he started another family with another woman, had a couple more kids and I became an afterthought.”
My heart hurts at the pain I hear in her voice and I’m inextricably angry at this man—her father—for ever making her feel this way.
“Anyway, that’s it. My sad story. It’s not even that unique really, just another tale of a man who can’t keep himself from straying …”
I want to argue, to tell her there are men out there who would cherish her and protect her heart. Men—a man like me, who’d do anything for a chance with a woman like her. But I don’t. Because I’m not the man she wanted, the one she chose to be with all those months ago.
“I’m sorry that happened to you. And your mum.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her wipe away tears, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to pull over and take her into my arms. To offer her comfort. But I’m merely a stranger to her. That’s not what she’d want from me. Right?
“It was a long time ago,” she shrugs, pulling herself upright and back together. “I’m over it. I should be over it…”
We are silent for the remaining three-minute drive home. A mere handful of seconds that fly by all too quickly.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” she says again as I park the car in front of her apartment building. “And for yelling at you. And dragging you out in the dead of night.”
I shake my head at her. She has nothing to apologise for.
“It’s me who’s sorry. For having such a knuckle-head for a brother.”
Her smile in response is sweet, her plump lower lip tipping up and making that single dimple in her left cheek appear and then just as swiftly disappear. How had I forgotten that dimple?
“It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not, but when he gets back from his ‘tour’”—we both laugh at the over-exaggerated inverted commas I gesture as I say the word—“when he’s back, I’ll be having a word with him about how to treat people with respect.”
“I wish you’d had that conversation with him a year ago. Save us all this trouble.”
I nod my agreement while quietly disagreeing. Even with all the angst their relationship had caused, it still meant that I got to know her. And I can’t ever regret that.
“Well, you’ve moved past him. Onto someone better, I hope?” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer. The sense I’ve had from her over the past hour has been one of loneliness, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my behalf.
She laughs, a small, bitter sound. “There’s no one. After Robby, I swore to take a break from men. And the break seems to have become a full-on break-up. Me and relationships do not go together. Just ask my dad.”
I wince, taking in her expression, filled with determination, and don’t argue. If she wants to stay away from men, that suits me fine. I know this makes me a selfish jerk, but I can live with that.
“Well, goodnight, Jake.” She opens her door and I can’t think of a way to stop her from leaving. “Thanks for the ride.”
“It was nice seeing you again, Amelia.”
She pauses with one leg out of the door, turning back to me, her small front teeth biting her lower lip and I hold my breath in anticipation of what she might say.
“Good to see you, too.”
My lungs deflate and I sit silently as she steps out of the car, taking her coconut-filled fragrance with her. I watch her walk slowly—damn those bare feet—to her lobby and up a flight of stairs. I continue to sit and watch the space long after she’s out of my sight, wondering what to do with all the emotions seeing Amelia tonight have woken inside of me. And how I’m going to find the strength to push them all down again. One more time.
The drive home flies by in a blur of deafening silence and self-recriminations. It’s been months since I’d thought of that woman, the one whom my brother was lucky enough to call his own, and I’d been doing so well to put her behind me when they’d broken up. And then one stupid note and a knock on the door had her barrelling back into my life. In bright colours, just like she had that first night. When she’d just been a stranger in a bar.
“Don’t go there,” I mutter out loud to stem the flood of memories threatening to surface. “Just get home, go to sleep and lose yourself at work. It’s how you got through it last time. Just do it again.”
I agree with myself as I park in my driveway, a feeling of utter exhaustion washing over me. My tired legs drag as I open the front door and trudge to my bedroom, taking my glasses off and rubbing the grit from my eyes. Once my legs hit the edge of my pillow-top mattress, I allow gravity to do its thing, falling backwards and landing with a little bounce, willing myself to sleep.
But sleep won’t come. I toss and turn, trying to shut out the memories of the woman who had unknowingly just upended my carefully curated life.
“Screw it.”
I give up on attempting to sleep and pick up my phone. Feeling guilty, I open my Google Play store and re-install the Instagram app. It has been a few months since I deleted it, thinking it best to get rid of the temptation, and now here I am. Giving in. They really should make it more difficult to access this site, for people like me who know that no good can come from it.
I type in my username and password, and a few notifications go off as I open my profile page. Which is empty. I don’t use my account to show the world how amazing my life is. I use it for even more depressing reasons.
My stomach churns as I search her name. Not difficult, given she is one of three people I follow on here, and I can’t help the smile that grows on my face as I take in her latest posts. For someone who seemingly had mixed emotions about her friend’s wedding, Amelia sure has a lot of happy photos to document the day.
There on her grid are at least a dozen photos of Bella and her new husband, both looking radiant and glowing with happiness. There are also several shots of the bridesmaids and their respective husbands, and then there’s one I was hoping to see. One photo of Amelia. By herself. She’s smiling at someone just off to the side of the camera and she’s so achingly beautiful, my heart hurts just looking at her.
She’s wearing the yellow dress, the one she’d still been in when she’d flopped on my couch only an hour ago. The pale yellow colour brings out the warmth in her brown eyes and somehow makes the smattering of freckles across her nose pop. I silently thank whoever did her make-up for not covering those adorable spots, even though I know Amelia hates them. Her hair, which had been a bright, fire-engine red when I last saw her, is now a golden, honey colour, worn in some sort of elaborate bun, sitting low in the nape of her neck, a few tendrils out around the front, framing her face. I don’t know how anyone at that wedding had looked at the bride with Amelia standing next to her; in that yellow dress, she looks like a goddess.
“This isn’t helping.” I close the app and put my phone face down on my bed. No good can come from having Amelia back in my life (or on my screen, as the case may be), and I need to remember that. I harrumph out loud and pick the phone back up again, deleting the Instagram app and the temptation to spend the few night hours I have left scrolling through her feed. Once done, I close my eyes and let the events of the night play on repeat through my mind. After not seeing Amelia for over half a year, I’d thought maybe I had put her in my rearview mirror.
Turns out, just like the warning on the stickers they put on car windows, objects are closer than they appear. And Amelia is back to being front and centre in my mind. Just like she’s always been.