Chapter 13
NOW
June
On Saturday afternoon, Jackson reappeared at my door with a bag of food. I opened the door and stared at him for a moment, trying to look intimidating. He burst out laughing, squeezing right past me and into the house like he owned the place.
“Why do you do that?” I asked as I crossed my arms.
“Do what?” he asked with a lazy smile as he set the food on the kitchen table. He opened a box filled with eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon, placing it in front of the chair closest to me. He sat down in the other chair, opening the other box and cutting into a pancake.
“Walk into the place like you’ve been here a hundred times. Sit at my table like this isn’t your first meal here.”
He squinted his eyes and moved his head from side to side like he was thinking. “I had a smoothie here on Monday, so technically this isn’t my first time sitting at this table.”
I let out a frustrated growl then threw myself down in the chair across from him. I couldn’t fight the smell of the breakfast; my stomach was begging me to give in. I hadn’t had anything to eat since my three bites of pizza last night.
“Why are you so hostile toward me?” Jackson asked with a curious smile.
Hmmm, maybe because you ghosted me ten years ago? Because you still flirt with me like you aren’t engaged?
And why was he always smiling!? By the time he turned eighteen, he wore a near-permanent scowl. I wasn’t used to this cheeriness he constantly seemed to have now.
“Can you stop smiling all the time? It’s seriously creeping me out,” I said as I inhaled a forkful of eggs.
“Are you cranky because you didn’t eat the cannoli last night?”
“You only brought three to the table,” I said, deadpan. “Looks like someone can’t count.”
I knew that comment would hurt him. Jackson never got good grades in school, and his siblings always teased him for failing kindergarten. From what I knew, he never bothered trying to attend college, either. I regretted it as soon as I said it.
“You’ve gotten mean,” Jackson said, with a fucking smile STILL plastered on his face. “I only brought three because I know you can’t take more than a bite without getting sick of the ricotta cheese. I thought you could share it with the kid.”
I threw my fork down. Why!? Why did he have to remember all these details about me? Why did he have to bring me breakfast? Why was he being so nice!?
“Why are you like this?” I shouted as I stood up.
His smile finally slipped, and he held his hands up in surrender.
“Like what? What am I doing?”
“Just stop! Why are you being so nice? Why are you like, obsessed with me? It’s exhausting.”
I was acting insane. I felt like I was quite literally losing my mind. I put my hands in my hair, piling it up in a bun before realizing I didn’t have a hair tie and letting it flop back down.
“Obsessed with you? Get over yourself, Addison,” Jackson said softly.
I hated that he used my full name. I loved it. Fuck!
“Why didn’t you get rid of the Polaroids?” I asked without looking at him.
“What?” Jackson asked. The question was out of left field for him, but not for me. I had been obsessing over it all night, and it was still fucking with my head.
“The pictures of us, on the bulletin board at the restaurant.” I sounded so whiney, I wanted to stab myself in the foot with the plastic knife.
“Why would I get rid of them?”
I turned to look at him, and he was watching me with his brows pinched in confusion.
“Because . . .” I let the sentence trail off, gesturing between us as if to say, Because of our ending, because of what happened between us. Because you have a fiancée! You fucking idiot!
He chewed the inside of his lip, shrugging one shoulder. “They remind me of a time when I was happy.”
I stared at him. “But you have one from graduation. That was put up after I left,” I said sharply.
He swallowed thickly, then added, “It was all I had left of you.” He said it so softly I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear him or not.
He was getting married. He’d had an engagement party just last weekend. How could he say he was happy—past tense?
“So what?” I shot back, because I was mad now.
How could he just say things like that? Make my feelings rise back up when there was nothing I could do about them?
I wanted to know what changed between then and now; why he hurt me, why he even still cared.
Instead, I said, “Where’s Sophie anyways, while you’re here bothering me? ”
“Her sister is in labor with her first baby, so she’s visiting her in Connecticut. I took her to the airport this morning. She’s staying out there for two weeks.”
I crossed my arms. “And you think helping me out is a good idea?”
Jackson let out an exasperated breath. “Sophie can’t tell me who I can and can’t be friends with.”
“Right, ‘cause she never could,” I shot back.
“Can we just stop with the bullshit?” Jackson said, almost yelling now. I dropped my arms. “Just—just stop, okay? Can we just be friends? I want to help you with the house. Peter sucked, and this house sucks, and I just want to do something for you for once. Is that too much to ask?”
My heart squeezed in my chest. I just wanted to yell at him to go fuck himself. But I also wanted him here, because no matter what had transpired between us, he was still here, and he wanted to help me.
“Fine,” I said quietly.
He nodded at me. “Now sit and eat your breakfast. Damn, you’re a brat when you’re hungry,” Jackson said in a low voice.
A laugh escaped me, and Jackson started laughing, too. This felt ridiculous.
“Truce?” he asked as he reached his hand across the table for me to shake.
I shook my head. “Julie’s first rule: no touching.”
I swear to god Jackson blushed as he cackled. He pulled his arm back. “That never stopped us before, did it?”
“You’re an asshole,” I whispered. I turned back to eat my breakfast, avoiding his gaze to prevent my stomach from flipping.
***
We decided to tackle the rest of Peter’s room after breakfast. There wasn’t much left to go through, and I was actually thankful Jackson was here, because I didn’t want to have to go through the drawers myself.
Who knew what I would find in there? I hated Peter, but he was still my brother.
I didn’t want to find something like a sex toy that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Jackson handed his phone to me so we could make another playlist. I was choosing my songs for the task with angst. Even though we had called a truce, we didn’t shake on it, so was it actually sound?
And then he had to make that comment about how Julie could never stop us from touching; I was still in disbelief he was ballsy enough to say something like that.
I had just chosen “Silver Springs” by Fleetwood Mac because, well, fuck him, and was tapping “Red” by Taylor Swift when a text from Sophie popped up on his phone.
Just got to Amanda’s. We’ll talk again when I get back.
Oh shit. That sounded like a We won’t talk again until I get back. Were they fighting?
I finished picking songs with shaky fingers and pretended to ignore the text until Jackson lifted his watch to read a notification. I knew it had to be the text message appearing on his watch, and his eyes lifted to meet mine. We both knew I saw the text. It was pointless to lie.
“So, you guys in a fight or something?” I said as I handed his phone back to him.
“Or something,” Jackson said, letting out an irritated huff.
“What’d you do to piss her off?” I added as I crossed my arms.
He met my eyes again. “Take a wild guess.”
My heart started to flutter. They were fighting over me; I was sure of it. It was like high school all over again. “You’re an idiot,” I mumbled before turning around.
The first song started playing; Jackson had chosen “moody” by Royel Otis. I couldn’t tell if it was about me or Sophie.
Jackson started clearing out the bottom dresser drawer, and I held out a trash bag as he pulled out random knickknacks. I either nodded yes for keep, or shook my head no for throw away. So far, everything had been thrown away.
“So,” I started lightly, trying to play nice. “How long have you and Sophie been engaged?”
“Three years,” he said as he held up a package of Post-It notes. Half the notes were filled with random scribbles.
“Toss,” I said. “That’s a long engagement. Why make the poor girl wait so long?”
Jackson held up a pile of birthday cards and I motioned for him to throw them in the bag. I doubted there would be any leftover cash.
“Busy. Never had the time,” Jackson said without looking at me.
God, he was being cagey. “When’s the wedding?”
“Don’t have a date yet.”
Jackson held up a stack of pictures next.
“Ugh, just fucking toss,” I said without looking at the photos. “How did you have an engagement party without an official date set?”
“Well, aren’t you just full of questions?” Jackson said as he tied the garbage bag. It was already full.
“I’m playing nice!” I said with a hand on my hip. “This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
Jackson smiled at me, nodding. “Sophie wanted new stuff for the house, so we had the party.”
I grabbed a new bag and we started another dresser drawer. When the playlist ended, we just let it repeat until we’d finished the basement. We were on a roll, and we both figured we should get it done while we had the energy.
Time slipped past, and when I lifted my arms to crack my back, I realized how sore my muscles were. A glance at my phone showed that it was already well past midnight.
“We should call it a night,” I said as I plopped down on the floor.
Jackson was staring at me from where he was standing by the staircase, leaning his back against the wall. And guess what—he had that dumb smile on his face again!
“What?” I asked as I leaned back to balance on my palms.
“You’re acting like yourself again,” Jackson said.
After the third time the playlist had played I had let my guard down, and Jackson and I had slipped into that feeling of routine we’d had while closing at the restaurant.
We’d both been singing along to the songs while we cleaned the basement, and it had almost felt like we’d slipped back in time.
It was the closest I’d felt so far to how things were before.
I shrugged at him. “Thank you for helping me.”
He nodded before pushing himself off the wall. “That’s what friends do,” he said sincerely. They protect each other.
I pushed myself off the floor. “I’ll walk you out.”
I followed him up the stairs, and Jackson grabbed the trash bags to put on the curb. I didn’t even try to fight him on it.
“I’ll text you,” Jackson said before stepping out onto the porch.
I wanted to make a smart-ass comment. To pretend like I didn’t want him to come back, or to keep helping me. But I knew it was pointless.
“I’ll answer,” I promised. He smiled one last time before walking down the driveway. This time I waited until he got in his car before I locked the dead bolt.