Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Ava left Mira alone in her apartment with a fresh pan of brownies and Binx curled up beside her. This conversation with Jay couldn’t wait any longer.
Clutching a six-pack of Diet Cokes for Jay, Ava scanned into his building and rode the elevator up. The keycard he’d given her unlocked both the building and his condo, so there were no more lies about inhalers.
At his door, she paused, steadying herself. She’d decided on the drive over that she wouldn’t go in angry. She’d give him a chance to talk first, to explain. No screaming. No accusations. Just a doctor’s steady hand and a girlfriend’s open heart.
Maybe there was a reason. Maybe he was trying to stop.
She knocked once, then let herself in.
“Hey, I’m here,” she called, stepping into the dim entryway.
“You’re early,” Jay responded from the kitchen.
She set the sodas on the counter. He was standing at the island with a cutting board in front of him, about to chop an onion.
He set the knife down and came around toward her, and something in the way he moved stopped her—like her being there was the first thing that had gone right all day.
He pulled her in and held on longer than a hello required.
When he kissed her and pulled back, his forehead dropped briefly to hers.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
And despite the unanswered calls, the one-word texts, and the days of distance she’d been trying not to take personally, she believed him.
That was the thing about Jay. Even when he was at his worst, she never doubted that she was his person. It was everything else she doubted.
“Hard to tell,” she said softly. “You’ve barely been talking to me.”
Guilt moved across his face. “You’re right. I’ve been a dick.”
She wanted to say yes, you have. Wanted to say a lot of things, actually.
Instead, she took a breath and really looked at him: the greasy hair, the uneven stubble, small bruises at his jaw, and dark circles carved so deep they looked like they’d been under his eyes for years.
He looked like a man held together by the idea of holding together.
Or drinking, said the quiet part of her brain. He looks like someone who’s been drinking.
“You look like shit, Jay,” she said carefully.
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”
“Have you been eating?”
“Not really.” He rubbed his face, wincing when his hand touched the bruise. “Just...been a lot. But I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“You need to eat something.”
“Yeah.” He turned back toward the counter, already reaching for the cutting board. “That’s actually what I’m working on. Figured I’d cook.”
“We can order something.”
“I know.” He glanced back at her. “I’m okay, A. Really. Come help me?”
She swallowed the dozen things sitting at the back of her throat and walked toward him.
“What are you making?”
“Potato curry and dal. With rotis.” He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bag of flour. “One of the few things my mom actually taught me to make.”
She thought of him at her parents’ stove, making rotis for all of them to try. “That sounds amazing.”
“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s...I don’t know. Comfort food, I guess.”
“I’ll help,” Ava said, moving to the sink to wash her hands. “What do you need me to do?”
“Can you chop the potatoes and onions?” He gestured to the vegetables. “Potatoes in chunks, onions diced.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes, Ava methodically cutting while Jay measured out lentils and spices. She watched him from the corner of her eye, noting the way his hands shook slightly as he poured.
“Mom would make this on Sundays,” he said suddenly. “Before…well, you know. She’d let me help with the rotis, even though I was terrible at rolling them into circles.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “They always came out looking like amoebas. Ari was always better at shaping them.”
Ava smiled despite the tension coiling in her stomach. “I’m sure they tasted just as good.”
“She said the shape didn’t matter.” He started heating oil in a pan. “And can you grab the cumin seeds from that spice rack?”
Ava found them and handed them over. Jay dropped them into the hot oil, and the kitchen immediately filled with their warm, earthy scent. He added the onions she’d chopped, stirring them slowly.
“Want a drink?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Sure. I’ll take one of those Cokes I brought with ice, please.”
He nodded and reached for a glass. He filled hers with ice and Coke, then added ice to his glass of…water.
But Ava had seen the empty Absolut bottle when she’d thrown away the vegetable scraps. And when Jay handed her the glass and raised his own for a toast, she could smell it.
“To Chef Wyler’s grand return,” she said, bringing the glass to her lips and watching him over the rim.
He chuckled, taking a gulp. “Cheers.”
Her heart sank, but she kept her face still. She needed to give him a chance to say it himself. History suggested he wouldn’t, but he’d changed. She had to believe that.
Jay turned back to the stove, adding more spices—turmeric, coriander, garam masala. The kitchen filled with the rich scent of homemade cooking. He added the potatoes and a can of tomatoes, stirring carefully.
“This needs to simmer for a bit,” he said, adjusting the heat. “And the dal needs to cook. Why don’t you sit? This part’s mostly waiting.”
Ava settled on a bar stool at the island, watching him move around the kitchen. He started the dal in another pot, then began making the dough for the rotis, his movements practiced even though there was still some unsteadiness in his hands.
“You really remember all this?” she asked.
“Most of it. I had to look up the spice ratios online, but the motions...yeah. Those stuck.” He kneaded the dough, his hands working it automatically. “Muscle memory, I guess.”
“It’s nice that you have this from her,” Ava said softly. “A good memory.”
His hands stilled for a moment. “Yeah. There aren’t many, so I hold onto the ones I have.”
He covered the dough to let it rest and turned back to check the curry. Ava watched him take another drink from his glass, leaning against the counter like he needed the support.
“Jay,” she started carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?” He didn’t turn around, just moved to stir the curry.
“You seem…off. Stressed.”
“I am stressed.” He finally looked at her, and his eyes were defensive. “The meeting didn’t go great, Mira’s not talking to me, Ari’s still in a coma. I’m allowed to be stressed.”
“I know. I’m not saying you’re not.” Ava kept her voice gentle. “I’m...worried about you.”
“I’m fine, A.” But his voice had an edge to it now. “Can we have a nice dinner? Please?”
She wanted to push.
Maybe once he’d eaten.
“Sure,” she relented.
The timer went off for the dal, and Jay moved to check it. Ava watched him test the lentils, add a final sprinkle of spices, then turn off the heat. He grabbed the dough and started rolling out rotis, his movements smooth despite his state.
“You want to help me cook these?” he asked, gesturing to the pan he’d heated.
“Show me how.”
They worked side by side, Jay rolling out slightly uneven circles and Ava placing them on the pan, flipping them when they bubbled, watching them puff up. It was domestic, intimate.
But then Jay reached for his glass again, and reality crashed back.
“How long are you going to pretend that’s water?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Jay froze, the glass halfway to his lips. Slowly, he set it down and turned to face her.
“What?”
“The vodka, Jay.” Ava’s voice was steadier than she felt. “How long are you going to pretend you’re not drinking?”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not—”
“I can smell it.” She took a breath, trying to keep her tone non-accusatory. “I’m not trying to attack you. I need you to be honest with me.”
Jay stared at her. His shoulders sagged.
“It’s not—” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not like before, okay? I’m managing it.”
“Managing it?” Ava’s carefully maintained calm started to crack. “Jay, you haven’t showered in days. You haven’t eaten. You’re drinking vodka and calling it water.”
“A little booze isn’t gonna fucking kill me.”
“A little booze is too much for you!” The words came out angry. “You’re a recovering alcoholic. There is no ‘a little booze.’”
“Can you please not fucking look at me like that?!”
“Like what?” Her voice shook.
“Like I’m a letdown—like I’m fucking pathetic. I don’t need that from you.”
He turned to storm out of the kitchen, but Ava grabbed his arm. “Stop running away from hard things.”
He yanked free but stayed rooted. She swiped at the tears she hadn’t noticed until they stung her cheeks.
“When did you start again?”
“Does it matter? You’re overreacting.”
“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting when you’re the one who took it too far last time.” Memories of past binges flooded back—the slurred calls at three in the morning, finding him passed out, days of silence that turned out to be binges, the lies. “You were hiding it from me again.”
Jay’s firm expression crumbled under the weight of her words. The silence only fueled her frustration.
“You can’t shut me out when things get hard,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s how you ruined us before.”
He physically flinched, his hands coming up like he wanted to block the words. “What do you want me to say, Ava? Was I supposed to text you, ‘Hey, hon. I just got you back, but I’m drinking again. Don’t worry though. Xoxo?’”
“You don’t need to be a smartass.”
“I’m not. I’m saying there’s no good way to tell you because I’ll disappoint you. And you’re the last person on this planet I want to fucking disappoint!”
He exhaled slowly and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. Ava wanted to reach out, but for once, she didn’t know what Jay needed. She could feel him retreating into himself, and she had no idea how to pull him back.
“I’m not disappointed,” she finally said. “It feels like you don’t trust me to handle this with you.”