53. Isaac
Chapter 53
Isaac
A s it turns out, the shower isn’t the most ideal spot to show Jo what I can offer her. We take turns washing each other gently, breaking every now and again to share a kiss. By the time we’re both sufficiently clean, my fingers have turned to raisins, and Jo’s skin is red from the warmth of the water and steam.
Waiting for her to exit the shower and wrap herself in a towel feels like a breach of privacy even though we just spent the last twelve hours pressed up against each other. Instead, I head back into the bedroom and open the curtains, hoping for a bright stream of sunlight, but Mother Nature has other plans for the day.
Clouds dot the early-morning Saturday sky, and small droplets of rain pelt the bedroom window. Everything about this weather screams staying in bed all day wrapped around the girl of my dreams. Who knows if she even wants that.
I round the bed, reaching into the top drawer of my nightstand and pulling out my book to pass the time until Jo situates herself. I already know I won’t be able to read any of the words on these pages, but at least it won’t look like I’m just sitting here waiting for her.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I shout towards the bathroom.
Jo responds by joining me in the bedroom, and I watch as she performs some sort of witchcraft with a towel to wrap her hair to dry.
“What?” she asks in response to my look of confusion.
“I really want to ask how the hell you did that with a towel the size of Texas, but I’m afraid I will become too powerful with that knowledge.”
“Maybe one day you’ll earn the right to know.”
“Thank you,” I blurt, completely disregarding the current conversation. My heart beats wildly against my chest.
She pauses, hairbrush halted in the air on the way to her head. “For what?”
“For letting me see you like this. For last night. For letting me into this part of you after everything.”
“Just wait 'til my tummy starts acting up.” She looks at me deadpan before breaking into a fit of laughter, attempting to break the tension in the room. “But really, I hope you have almond milk for my coffee.” She drags the brush through her wet hair, wincing when she hits a knot.
“No wait, let me get this off my chest.” I suck in a deep breath before letting the air fall out of me slowly. “You’ve always been my best friend, and losing you nearly destroyed me.”
Jo stares wordlessly at me as I stand from the bed and take steps towards her.
“But if all that’s true, then why did you leave?” she continues.
I look up, meeting her gaze and cocking my head to the side. “Why did I leave where?
“The wedding. Why did you leave me?”
Both relief and panic flood my blood stream. Kyle and Kelsey’s wedding. The hotel.
“Jo, I went to get us breakfast.” I say with as much calm as I can muster. “I should’ve left a note, I know that now.” I scoot to the edge of the bed. “By the time I got back, you were gone. I was so distraught that Liam had to come carry me out of the bar later that day.”
“And then you proposed to Victoria.” She starts slowly pacing, swinging the hairbrush back and forth as she walks.
“Yes, I did. For all the wrong reasons. And she realized it too.” I gently grab Jo’s arm to halt her pacing.
“One giant miscommunication trope,” she mutters hastily.
“What?” I ask, but she waves me off. “I called you, but you didn’t answer.” She nods slowly, and I can see her brain processing.
“I was embarrassed.”
Rain turns to hail pellets pinging off the windowpane as Jo continues wearing a path into the carpeting.
“You’re my best friend, Jo.” My voice comes out weak and timid. I try to channel all the strong and incredibly loving men in my life. “Well, I’d like you to be my best friend again.”
Dad.
Sam.
Leo .
I clear my throat and start again. “You’re my best friend and you have been for years. Even when we didn’t talk. Even when you couldn’t look at me. You’ve been my best friend in my head the whole time. No pauses, no breaks.”
The pacing starts again, slower this time, more contemplative. I sit on the edge of the bed as she uses the hairbrush as an imaginary pickleball paddle, aggressively swatting her negative emotions out of the air.
“I talked to Victoria in Sacramento.” She turns and begins pacing the opposite direction. “She told me everything.”
My head falls forward, my chin colliding with my chest.
“Okay. Oooookay. Okay?” A full minute of Jo repeating the word ‘okay’ lapses, and it finally loses all meaning.
“Jo.”
She sinks to the floor, tucking her bare legs up underneath the towel that is no longer serving any purpose other than hiding skin from view. “Okay.”
“If you say the word ‘okay’ one more time, I will switch your almond milk with 2%.”
“You would never ,” she growls, re-adjusting the towel around her chest.
“You’re right.” Some of the tension in the room breaks into smaller, more manageable pieces. The cherry-redness of her post-shower skin has faded into a beautiful shade of peach, just at the apples of her cheeks. “I wouldn’t want to deal with the aftermath.”
She shifts her weight, extending her legs out in front of her on the carpet. Her toenails are bare, a crime that was worthy of ridicule while we were in school.
“Talk to me, Jo,” I say.
“I need clothes and coffee,” she adds. I nod, standing from my spot on the edge of the bed while Jo pushes herself off the ground and heads back into the bathroom. By the time I reach the kitchen, she’s behind me, wearing the same outfit from last night.
That damn skirt.
“I feel like I should probably go. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
I swing around, pinning her with a glare so intense that I shock even myself. “You and I both damn well know you’re not going anywhere, Jo.” She hesitates before pushing back at me.
“How am I supposed to believe that this is happening?”
“Yeah, well, let me make you some fucking coffee and then you can tell me exactly how I need to prove to you that I’m in this for real this time.”
She huffs, taking a few steps back into the living room and plopping down on the couch, sending a cloud of dust particles into the air. When was the last time I actually cleaned in here?
The almond milk creamer swirls into the cold brew coffee as I stir. She’s looking out the sliding glass window onto the rain-splattered balcony when I turn away from the counter, running her fingers through her half-dry hair.
Logically and logistically, she has already decided that she still hates me, and the events of last night will go into the pile with the rest of our clandestine encounters, but there’s a part of me that’s ready to fight.
More than part of me.
The longer I stand here watching her sit in silence in my living room, the more I realize it’s every single part of me.
A droplet of condensation falls from the coffee glass onto my sock, snapping me out of my internal self-motivation speech.
“Coffee for the princess,” I joke playfully, setting the cup down on a coaster on the end table next to her. She grabs the glass, wrapping three fingers around the straw I included and stirring again, more out of habit than necessity. Satisfied with the sugar and caffeine solution in her hand, she takes a sip.
Before I’m even sure she’s swallowed, she speaks. “Okay, I’m ready now.”