10. FIDELITY
10
FIDELITY
REGINA SPEKTOR
DINAH
I need luck. So, so, so much luck.
The next time I see Jackson, it’s as he’s rushing from Petals dressed in a button down and slacks that say he means business—and business is so very, very good. They're tailored perfectly to him, and he's brimming with that dynamic energy I'm beginning to recognize as uniquely Jackson. It’s a far cry from the week before when I all but ran away from Jack, sick and droopy on his couch.
He hollers a greeting at Mr. and Mrs. Cotten across the street, though he doesn’t seem eager to speak with them further. If the conversation they just had with me for the past hour about their plans for a cozy weekend in, binge watching Veronica Mars DVDs while hand feeding one another my Chocolate Dipped Pretzel Bites—information I did not need or want—then I get it. The Cottens are sweet but classic oversharers, though Veronica Mars and my pretzel bites do sound like a perfectly delicious combo. They really can’t be blamed.
Jackson whisks past me, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, his phone pressed against his ear, and hair just slightly askew. The flustered rush he’s in is an unusual look on the put together version of J. Jones. I think he’s missed me completely, but then he pauses on the street, hangs up on whoever he was speaking to, and turns on his heel.
“Hello, Dinah Belle.” His feet stay rooted to the spot, but I feel that same magnetism between us I always do, beckoning me to come closer. Who am I to say no? I take a single step.
“Hello, J. Jones.”
Jackson arches an eyebrow, and a smirk ticks the left side of his face as he takes a step towards me just off the curb. “That’s new. I don’t hate it.”
I shrug and meander a bit closer, holding my hands together. “Just tryin’ it out. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Well, J. Jones is a whole lot better than Kooky Ken .” He takes another step.
I gasp. “I didn’t—”
Jackson’s hand finds my elbow, drawing us toe to toe. “I know. Griff called me a few days ago. Said he had an awfully interestin’ conversation with a beautiful woman that I’m dating?”
“That was Chloe.” I have to fight to hold back my smile. He looks entirely too smug. “I said we’re starting to get to know each other.”
“Meh,” he clicks his tongue twice. “I like Chloe’s version better. Let’s stick to that. Let me take you out again, Dinah Belle. This time, I swear there won’t be any crazy revelations or family members or batting cages.”
“I like your family.” Both Winnie and Owen make a point to come into the shop regularly. I get the feeling they spend a lot of time next door at Petals, but they’ve also gone out of their way to befriend me. Winnie is hysterical and probably the only tattoo artist I’ve ever met who doesn't have a single tattoo. And Owen is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and professional athlete swagger. Both make great wingmen for their older brother, always quick to tell me how funny, thoughtful, hardworking—and various other amiable qualities—J. Jones is.
Jackson tilts his head. “And the batting cages? What did you think of those, Dinah Belle?”
“Oh, I hated ‘em. They were plain awful. Sweaty death traps. However, I will admit, watching you swing that bat was not a hardship.”
“And the… revelations? The… well… Jack? Have you had time to think about everything?” Some of Jackson’s usual confidence seems to diminish as his eyes search mine, looking for clarity.
Biting my lip, I try to think about how best to have this conversation. On the street. In public. With what I’m pretty sure is an audience. In my peripheral, I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Cotten lazily teasing a pretzel bite against her husband’s lips, while both their eyes are trained on us. An uncomfortable shiver races down my spine. I think I need a shower.
I tilt my head in her direction and see the moment Jackson notices the couple. He covers his laugh with his hand, and it's exactly what I need to break the tension.
The truth is, I’m still feeling all this out. Jackson and Jack. Charmer and curmudgeon. And the confusing realization that I find myself oddly interested in them both… Or him. It’s complex.
“Who are the flowers for?” I blurt out, clearly evading.
“Mama. I had to run to a few properties this mornin’, but now I’m meetin’ her for lunch. We try to get together once a week. If I’m… me. You could come along with me. I know my family would love to see you.”
“Oh, no. Thank you. I don’t wanna impose and”—I thumb behind me at the shop—“I have a new business to run and everything. I usually prep dough and recipes on Mondays, but I’m actually workin’ up some new ideas for the Badger Bite thing.” I bite my lip and don’t tell him that our first date inspired some of the flavors I’m experimenting with: peanut butter and Cracker Jacks. I haven’t figured out what it will be, just yet, but I’m getting closer.
“Oh really? Any old time you need a taste tester, Dinah Belle, you just let me know.”
“Noted.”
“Maybe you can come along to lunch with me next time.” He holds the bouquet up, admiring it. “Mama loves white roses.”
“They’re beautiful.” They remind me of the pale pink ones I just forced myself to throw out yesterday. Is there a single one currently hanging in the closet for safe keeping?
Checking his watch quickly, he sighs and blows out a breath. “I’m actually pretty late. I’m sorry.” His eyes flick from his truck on the street to his feet, like he’s not quite ready to leave. “I should really get goin’.”
“Give me your phone. Please,” I add and stretch out my hand. “I’ll give you my number, and we can work out a time for our next… hang.”
“Hang? Is that what the kids are callin’ it?”
“Do you want my number or not, J?” I don’t want to call it a date. Not when dating one version of J. Jones feels like I can’t get to know the other in the same light.
He quickly enters his password and smiles wide as he hands me the device. The homescreen has a photograph of a bright orange cat dressed in a baseball uniform. Above the photo it says “Joe Di Meow ggio.” I raise my eyebrow in question, but don’t say a word as I type in my number and hit save next to Dinah Belle.
“I’m tryin’ to convince Jack to get a cat.”
“A cat?” I giggle and look at the photo again. “And you think this is gonna do it?”
He shrugs and slides the phone back into his pocket. “We like baseball. Figured it couldn’t hurt. But, I mean, you’ve met him. He’s not easy to convince of anything, really. And it’s not like I can ask him face to face.”
“And Jack doesn’t want a cat?”
“Jack wants to be alone. To push everyone away. I don’t.”
My breath hitches, and by the look on his face, Jackson did not necessarily mean to disclose so much.
But could that be true? Jack’s certainly gruff and surly at first—and second—glance, but does he want to be left alone? If it is the case, it makes me sad to think Jack has resigned himself to a life of loneliness. He comes across as grumbly, but I wonder if there’s more to the story. My thoughts unwittingly return to the way he grasped my wrist in his hand the other morning, holding me in place. Letting his thumb skate across my skin. Contact he initiated, not me.
Jackson rubs a hand across his jaw and waves flippantly again at the Cottens, smiling in his easy, charismatic way. “I better get goin’.”
“Okay.” I lean back on my heels. I have an idea that might lead to more harm than good, but I think it’s compelling enough to take the leap. “Why don’t you call or text me later, and we can make a plan for that—”
“Hang?” he interrupts and looks like an excited puppy who’s been given a bone.
“Yes. A hang. I have an idea about what we could do.”
“And it’s better than watching you sweat in batting cages?” Jackson whistles and steps backwards off the sidewalk, making his way to the pristine, black truck waiting along the curb. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“So much better.”
“You were right. I know nothing about plannin’ hangs. This is so much better than batting cages.”
Jackson’s giddiness has not abated since we walked into the animal shelter two hours ago. If I thought he couldn’t be more attractive, I was dead wrong. Because Jackson Jones wrangling a pile of kittens in his arms is next level. The sight of these babies nuzzling into his neck and biceps has me feeling all the flutterings.
“Right?” I snuggle a snowy white baby against my chest and close my eyes, listening to the sound of her quiet, contented purrs. “I wish we could take all of them. You have room, right?”
“If Jack doesn’t want one cat, I doubt I can convince him to take a litter.”
“What about Owen and Winnie? Or your folks?” I rub behind the ears of another, who’s completely gray and has more energy than the rest. He hasn’t stopped playing since we arrived.
“Owen doesn’t have time. And Winnie barely takes care of herself. What about Emory?”
My eyes light up. “Oh, yes! I think I should bring a kitty or two to Molly. Emory will positively hate me for it, but I’ll be a hero to Molly! I love that idea.”
“Wait.” Jackson looks uncomfortable for a moment. “Will she really be upset? Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Oh, no, not really. Emory will talk a big talk, but ultimately, she’s a caretaker. She owns the alpaca and lavender farm just outside of town, Purple Pastures and Alpaca. She takes care of everyone. Me. Molly. The girls. It’s who she is.”
“The girls?” Jackson asks, and his sweet smile has me forgetting we’ve been sitting in the middle of a dirty tiled floor in the designated petting area for hours, just like this, swooning over kittens as we get to know each other better.
“Meredith. Pam. Karen. Kelly. The girls. The alpacas.”
I watch as Jackson runs the names back through his head and then chuckles. “Your sister named her alpacas after characters from The Office ?”
“Course. Dwight’s our favorite, but he can’t hang with the ladies all the time. They fight over him.”
“You two are close, huh? You and Emory?”
I smile. “Definitely. We always were, ya know? She’s four years older but always included me in everything she did with her friends growin’ up. Then when our parents passed, she and James looked after me. Made sure I finished school. Got an apprenticeship.” I shrug. “She’s my best friend.”
“James?”
“Emory’s husband. They were college sweethearts. Got married right after graduation, invested in the farm, but then James died before Molly was born. Had a heart issue he never knew about. It was impossibly difficult, but Emory’s the strongest person I know.”
“Wow. She sounds it. But I’m sorry she’s been through so much. You both have.” He readjusts and pulls one knee upright, making it a jungle gym of sorts for the crazy cat who can’t seem to calm down.
“Thank you. I wish Molly had known James. He was a sweet husband to Emory and a really great big brother to me. He would’ve been an awesome dad.”
“That’s so much grief for all of you. Do you…” He pauses. “Do you see anyone to, ya know, talk about it?”
“Yeah, Emory started seeing someone after James. She lost so much, ya know? Her whole future just disappeared.”
“And what about you? You did too.”
I smile, pushing down the impulse to say, “I’m fine. It’s nothing,” because I know those things aren’t true. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never feel whole again. Like that grief swallowed me up and spit out a completely different person. But other days feel normal. Time passes, and I keep breathing. Keep moving forward.
“I stayed busy at first. Went to college then traveled. I spent the last year doing an internship in a small town in Vermont. But, I don’t know, I… I was a part of a small group through my church after my parents’ accident. Those girls helped me process so much, and then I poured everything I could into helping Emory through.”
“I’ve seen a therapist since my injury, and sometimes it feels kooky with calming words and breathing exercises, but the other ninety percent of the time it’s been helpful to talk to someone about everything.”
I nod but stay quiet.
“Emory and Molly are lucky to have you, Dinah Belle, and I’m glad you have them.” He sets his hand next to mine and links our pinkies for a minute. “But I want you to know that if you do ever wanna talk through anything, you have me too.”
“Thank you, Jackson. That means a lot.” And it really does. This man has been through so much, yet he’s offering himself up as a confidante and a friend. It means more than I can say.
I cross my legs and let a few of the cats make their cozy little nests in my lap. “What about you and your siblings? Are you all close?”
“Oh, yeah. Owen and I always had baseball, ya know? And Winnie, well, she was a tag along until she seemed to grow up overnight. They’ve got their lives and friends, but we try to have a weekly lunch. When Owen’s in town, that is. And they’ve… Well, they’ve helped me a lot since the accident.“
“With the migraines?”
His eyes shoot up. “How’d you—”
“Owen. He came by the shop when you—or Jack—had an episode.”
“Yeah. So that’s one of the stranger pieces of the whole thing,” Jackson says with a nonchalance that feels almost forced. “Jack is the only one of us with the migraines.”
“Really? You never… ?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Aside from the blip in memory, when I’m me, I feel normal. Just like I did before the accident. But Jack… He wasn’t me, ya know? He’s… It’s almost like he’s an entirely new person. And a person with debilitating migraines. He can’t really function when they get bad, so my siblings have really stepped up to help out on those days.”
“I actually saw him… last week. I brought you—or Jack—pretzels when he was sick.”
“Oh. That’s really nice, Dinah.” Jackson nods his head and grows quiet.
I’m not sure what to do with the change in conversation or whether speaking about Jack makes him uncomfortable, so I steer us to safer areas. Like the furballs somersaulting over our legs and hands. “So, which one of these babies are you taking home, and what will you name her?”
“Who says I’m taking one of the girls?” He arches an eyebrow and scoops up the wild, gray Maine Coon, who looks as if his collar of fluff could be a lion’s mane. “I think this guy belongs with me.”
“Him? You really think you don’t wanna ease Jack into the idea with a more docile option? Like this girl,” I scratch behind the ears of the little lady still in my hands. “She’s so sweet and quiet and snuggly.”
“Nah,” he holds the male up again and gives his head a playful rub, earning the cat’s excited mewls as he paws at Jackson’s hands and shirt like a little kitty boxer. His claws catch on the sleeve of Jackson’s henley, but he only smiles and disentangles the mischief maker. “I say, go big or go home. Jack’ll be annoyed either way. But this guy is the one.”
“He is awfully cute.”
The cat’s pointed ears, puff-ball gray hairs, and mossy green eyes definitely make him stand out from the rest. He’s adorable and… he’s clawing Jackson’s arms into shreds.
“Thanks, Dinah Belle. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, but I don’t think I would have gone through with it if not for you.”
I smile nervously but nod all the same, and send up a prayer that I didn’t make a huge mistake by encouraging Jackson to go against Jack’s wishes.