12. Mackenzie
Mackenzie
I drive home, feeling deflated and defeated. The rain suits my mood perfectly and I’m glad there won’t be anyone awake to talk when I walk into the house. Both Opa and Mrs. O’Neill retire early.
Instead of being satisfied, I want more. And I know that I want more than Jake can give. I might want more than even I can contribute to a relationship, but now, I want to find out.
The problem is that I’m not convinced that Jake is as much of an asshole as he wants everyone to believe. He’s so prickly that it seems like a defense mechanism, a way to keep people at a distance so he isn’t tempted to be a nice guy.
The bigger problem is that I like him.
Instead of pushing me away – or making me want to run away and forget him completely – his bitter confessions tug at my heart. They sure didn’t come easily, and that makes them feel like the truth.
I replay them as I sit in the driveway, hearing the hurt behind the anger. Of course, he felt betrayed by his father’s choices. What child wouldn’t? Of course, he carried the scar of that experience throughout his life, and used it to shape his own choices.
But what if he could let it go?
Maybe that’s wishful thinking. Maybe I’m looking for the handsome prince in the guy who’s only interested in what he wants. Maybe he really is his father’s son and I’m making excuses for him.
I don’t think so.
I get out of the car and lock it, thinking that I sound like I’m ready to trust Mr. Wickham – and we all know what a bad choice that would be.
I’m stern with myself as I walk to the house.
Jake was fun. Jake is gone. Maybe the point of meeting Jake again was that he made me evaluate my own choices.
Maybe there is a ‘right guy’ for me, one who understands my ambitions and would support them.
Maybe I’m not finding Mr. Forever because I’ve been content to settle for Mr. Right Now.
Maybe Jake is helping me define a new plan for life, happiness and everything. Some people are catalysts. It doesn’t mean they need a starring role in my personal drama forever.
In my room, I try to save me from myself. I delete his information from my phone. That way I can’t even be tempted to call him if and when I’m in Toronto again.
My contact list looks empty, just because one name is gone. It’s like I never knew him. It’s like I’ve turned back the calendar to the day before I went to that black-tie reception.
Except it’s not. I’ve changed.
I can only hope that proves to be for the better.