44. Jo
Chapter 44
Jo
I ’m awake long before my eyes open. I pull the blanket up under my chin, willing myself to get up and out of this godforsaken bed.
Why is this bed so comfortable? Is it made of fucking clouds and rainbows?
Last night feels like a fever dream.
But I need to handle this like an adult.
Luckily, by the time I was done prepping myself with the toothbrush he set out and a mental breakdown, Isaac had already fallen asleep, leaving the side of the bed closest to the bathroom open for me.
A pillow separates us, just as so many times before. One small, insignificant piece of fluff keeping us apart.
My lashes drag against the silk pillowcase Isaac insisted I use as I begrudgingly open my eyes and glance around the quiet room. I can feel the pressure of a stress zit brewing on my chin.
Great.
The hardwood floor hits the bottom of my socked feet as I push myself up to a seated position in bed. My knees crack ever so gracefully when I stand, and I glance back to look at Isaac, still sleeping peacefully. His simple exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide has my blood boiling.
The floor creaks under my steps as I pace back and forth next to the bed, pondering my next moves. The emotion of the last few days comes bubbling to the surface, breaking open wounds that I thought were fully scabbed over. I grab my pillow, chucking it at his head in an attempt to wake the turd of a man.
“What did you promise my dad?” I ask as he sits up, leans back against the headboard, and pulls the pillow tightly to his chest. My vision is blurred, but I can see enough of him to know that his hair is mussed in an annoyingly adorable way. “Hold on,” I bark, stomping into the bathroom to put my contacts back in.
Damn the universe for making me reliant on aids to literally just see .
By the time I return, Isaac has become even more irritatingly perfect with his black-rimmed glasses perched atop his nose, and a dusting of chest hair visible just over the top of the pillow he’s hugging.
Maybe I should’ve opted to do the rest of the day blind.
“I’m ready,” Isaac announces, readjusting the pillow to accentuate the muscles of his biceps.
Frustration bubbles up in my chest, more at myself than at Isaac. Of all the things I can thank my dad for bestowing upon me, not being able to express my emotional needs is the absolute bottom of the list. Even with all the years of therapy, I still suck at it. I take in a breath, resting my knees against the edge of the mattress. “What did you promise my dad?” I ask, bringing my thumb to my mouth and taking a chunk of skin off my cuticle with my front teeth. My phone chimes on the side table, but I ignore it.
My Saturday-morning chat with Chloe can wait.
“The other day. You said you made a promise to him.” I hesitate. “What did you promise him?”
“It’s dumb,” he hesitates, pulling the covers to the side to reveal his long, muscular legs. For someone who I’ve seen go to the gym a total of three times in twelve years, his build has always made me incredibly self-conscious of my own.
What man would want to sleep with someone who looks like me? Not even Andrew could look at me until he had at least a few drinks, and even then, the comments he made were vile. Even the two hotel room encounters with Isaac were driven, at least in part, by alcohol.
I’m sure he regrets them.
Right?
I shake off the triggering thoughts and kneel down. The mattress sags under my weight and pulls Isaac’s body just a little closer to me.
“Would you consider us friends right now, Isaac?” My words are strong and staccato. “Is this friendship?”
“Well, uh, no. Maybe?” He stands from his spot on the bed and walks over to the window. Clouds dot the morning sky. It’s gloomy. “You’ve always been my friend, Jo.”
“We haven’t talked in years, Isaac!” Pushing myself off the bed, I resume my pacing. “And then you show up here and start doing all these nice things for me and I just don’t get it!”
“I fucked up, okay. I was stupid. I am stupid.” He rests his forearm against the windowpane, leaning his forehead against it.
“What did you promise him, Isaac?” I tuck my legs up underneath me in a criss cross. He deflates, like a balloon three weeks after your birthday party that you just can’t get yourself to throw away.
“It all sounds so silly now. With the circumstances.” The deep breathing he’s doing between words is evidence enough to me that he’s been holding on to this for a long time. “Do you remember the time your dad fixed my battery? The terminals?”
I remember like it was yesterday. Dad wouldn’t tell me what they talked about when they were at the auto part store. Just guy stuff, he would say if I pressed the issue. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I was barely 21, Jo. I was just a kid.” He turns to face me, the dark circles under his eyes evidence of yesterday’s tears.
I stand and round the bed towards him, but he raises his hand in the air to stop me.
“I didn’t know what he wanted from me when he made me promise him.” He clears his throat, running a hand through his bed head. “And if I’m being honest, he scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you,” I stress. Dad had a hard time articulating his feelings, but he always meant well.
I’m certain he meant well.
“What did he say to you?” I force my words to come out calmly, but my insides are twisting and turning with dread.
He turns to face the window once more, the first snow flurries of the season beginning to fall, accumulating only on the grass.
“Something along the lines of don’t fucking hurt her , if I remember correctly.” He chuckles softly. “I mostly remember wanting to poop my pants after.”
“Oh.” I back up to the edge of the bed, resting my weight against it once more. “Well, I was his oldest daughter, and you were the boy that I loved.”
He coughs, banging his forehead against the glass. He whips around so quickly that a gust of air hits me. “Excuse me?”
I shrug, leaning back with the palms of my hands on our pile of messy sheets and blankets from last night. “I mean, he knew I had a crush on you back then. I think it was pretty obvious to everyone who saw us.” His jaw hangs agape, a small opening between his lips. Those fucking lips. “Chloe had a whole list of pathetic names for me for years.”
“But your dad never said that. He never even mentioned it.” The air in the room gets impossibly colder, and I wrap my arms over my chest, tucking my fingers up under my armpits.
“I’ll turn up the heat,” he responds to my minuscule gesture, knowing exactly what I need. Even more heat escapes the room when he walks into the hall. His breathy voice carries down the narrow hall as he fumbles with the thermostat.
“C’mon you piece of shit,” he whispers. “Don’t make her fingers fall off.” I laugh quietly, thinking about everything that has happened in the last twelve hours.
How can I ignore all that history? How could I disregard the fact that he has a little piece of my dad sitting right there with him?
Fuck .
I fly out of the room without thinking twice.
“Okay…” I round the corner and approach him, only stopping when we are chest to chest. “If you want to be friends, then let’s be friends.” I poke his chest with my finger, forcefully enough that I will pay for it later. I’m being so incredibly selfish making this day about me when Isaac is grieving, but I can’t let this opportunity slip away. I stand on my tiptoes and our noses nearly touch, the ticking of the furnace in sync with my heart beat.
“Okay,” he says after a minute of us silently staring at each other. I nod, giving him the go-ahead. “Friends.”
And we’re right back where we started.