24 The Cold-Shoulder Approach #2
I was worried he’d laugh at me, tell me no, and send me on my way, but he just observed me in uncomfortable silence for what felt like an eternity. Behind his glasses, his eyes glistened and he asked, “Does my son know you’re here?”
“No.”
“You do know he’ll be very angry when he finds out?”
“He won’t find out unless I leave here with good news. And if that happens, it’s my problem, not yours.”
He laughed. I had never seen him laugh before, and it felt strange.
“I like you, Jenna,” he said.
“Uh…thanks.”
“I like you a lot. I’ll do as you say. I’ll apologize when I see him.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I was surprised by how quick and easy that conversation had been. I wasn’t used to things going well for me. And I was happy to see that Jack’s stubbornness didn’t seem to run in the family.
“Thanks, Mr. Ross,” I said, standing.
“Leaving so soon?”
“I’ve got class,” I said, standing up and throwing my purse over my shoulder. I had a sudden, strong urge to leave that I didn’t really understand. As my hand touched the doorknob, he pronounced my name, stopping me, and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Has Jack been acting strangely these days?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Of course he’d been acting strangely…but did I need to share that with his father? Apparently it didn’t matter. My expression must have been answer enough.
“I’ll tell you why,” he said. “A few weeks ago, he was accepted to a very important film program in France.”
Those words hung there in the air as he tried to gauge my reaction.
I remembered Mary saying something about that, and about how this had been Jack’s dream since he was little.
But it had faded from my mind, and since it never came up again, I assumed it wasn’t so important.
Mr. Ross went on, “Classes start over there in February, and as you can guess, that means he’ll need to move overseas. ”
“How…how long does the program last?”
“It’s a year and a half.”
He seemed to be enjoying my perplexity. He had a malicious grin on his face.
But at that moment, I hardly cared. I wanted to know why Jack hadn’t told me, why he’d chosen acting weird and jealous, hot and cold, to just opening up to me.
I felt terrible. I hated having to find out things like this from other people. Why in the hell couldn’t he trust me?
Mr. Ross interrupted me, “You needn’t worry about that, though, apparently. Because he doesn’t want to go. We haven’t told the school yet, but Jack is insistent about it. I’m sure you can imagine why.”
I nodded, and he nodded, too, and his once-warm smile vanished instantly.
In the silence that followed, he grinned again, but with bitterness or calculating malice or something else—I couldn’t really tell.
Then he pointed at the door, telling me, “If you’ll forgive me, I have a bit more practice to get through before my day is over. ”
I found Mary looking nervous as she sat on the sofa. When I stepped out, she stood, looking terrified, as though she’d seen a ghost. She asked me what had happened, and if I was all right.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “But I should go. I’m worried I’ll be late.”
I didn’t know if I could tell even her what I’d just heard. Did she know? I wasn’t sure. I needed to talk to Jack. Immediately.
She nodded and told me, “I’ll drive you to school.”
I won’t lie, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d heard all day.
And it didn’t get better when I went downstairs from class and the first thing I saw as I opened the door was Jack’s car.
There he was, leaning against it with his hands in his pockets, waiting to pick me up.
I guess he wanted us to get along again.
I was tempted to smile, but I tried to keep a cool head.
“Hey,” he said nervously.
“Jack, you didn’t have to come here.”
I could tell he sensed something strange in my tone of voice, and that put him on alert. It was unbelievable how well he could read me.
“I wanted to,” he said.
We got into his car, and he turned up the heat, but he didn’t touch the radio dial the way he usually did. There was a tense silence as he drove me home, and when he parked in the lot, we froze, looking straight ahead and not knowing what to say.
“There’s something…” he began. “Something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for a few weeks. I, um, I got accepted…”
“I know, Jack.”
“How?” He turned to me.
“You’re talking about France, right? Your father told me this morning.”
His face, briefly perplexed, now turned dead serious. “How?”
“I went to talk to him.”
“You were alone with him?”
“He agreed to apologize to you, Jack.”
That seemed to throw him off, but his anger faded away slightly. He looked out the window, frustrated. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head before he turned back to me, asking, “And he didn’t want anything from me in return?”
“He said he wanted you to get along.”
That wasn’t a total fabrication. Was it? I mean…Mr. Ross must have been thinking that, even if it’s not exactly what he said. Jack’s surprise probably helped me get away with this white lie.
“When were you going to tell me about France?” I asked.
“Just now.”
“Why not before?”
“Because I don’t know if I want to go. Everyone else thinks it’s such a big deal, but I…”
“Your mother told me you’ve been dreaming about it since you were little.”
“Sure. Since I was little. I’m not little anymore. And I don’t think I want to give up everything I have here to go to some program on the other side of the globe when I don’t even know whether or not I’ll like it there.”
“But it’s an opportunity…”
“Do you get now why I didn’t want to say anything?” he interrupted me. “I knew you’d do this. I knew you’d try to get me to go. Just like everyone else. But it’s my decision, OK?”
I nodded. “Of course it is. And I won’t bring it up again. As long as you agree to accept your father’s apology.”
“I feel like you’re twisting my arm, but fine, we have a deal. It better be a damn good apology, though.”
As I felt all my muscles relax—one less problem, I thought—he asked me, “So, are you still mad at me?”
I shrugged. “A little.”
“What if I told you there’s a barbecue pizza waiting for you upstairs—even though I hate it and it’s the worst flavor known to man—just because I know it’s your favorite?”
“You’re slowly crawling out of the doghouse,” I said.
“I’ll take that. Let’s go upstairs. I’m dying of hunger.”
I got out, and when I saw the cheerful look on his face, I felt bad about being angry at him all day.
But maybe it was worth it to clear the air between us.
In the elevator, he stared at me, and I could tell he was asking himself if he could approach me or no.
I didn’t bother waiting. I stepped forward, clutched the back of his neck, and pulled him in.
He didn’t resist, instead grabbing my waist and squeezing me tight.