13. Jack
Chapter 13
Jack
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea here,” I said, setting my jaw in an attempt to make my voice come out strong and clear. My breathing was fast and shallow, but I tried my best to disguise it. I needed to seem calm. Unbothered. Unflustered. Despite the fact that I felt the exact opposite. The weight that had formed in my stomach felt like it would pull me to the ground, and it was everything I could do not to let it.
Morgan’s face fell, and I nearly lost my nerve. I wanted to reverse the step I’d taken away from her; to rub my finger over the crease that had formed between her eyebrows. She was so confused, and I didn’t blame her. It was my fault. I’d been gravitating closer to her – physically and otherwise – since we’d got out of the car. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her poof of a ponytail and her sun-kissed shoulders. And I’d been the one to grab her hand just a moment ago.
But it was a bad idea. And if I’d been thinking about anything other than her, I would have known that, and I could have prevented this. But instead I’d let it come to this awkward crescendo, and now she was embarrassed. I mean, I was definitely embarrassed, too. But I could live with that.
I should have drawn the line hours ago. Or maybe even weeks ago, the first time we’d ever touched. And the fact that my resolve was softening so quickly after drawing the line was proof of how badly it was needed. I was doing the right thing.
“Sorry,” she said at first, looking at the ground. But I wanted her to look up at me and take it back; it wasn’t her fault, and I hoped she knew that.
“It’s fine,” I said, my voice cold. “I just … I told you I don’t date.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, looking out over the cliffside and slipping her sunglasses back on. “It’s whatever. Let’s just go.”
She turned to start walking back down the way we’d come, but I put out a hand to stop her, careful not to actually touch her. She looked at me pointedly, and I knew she was glaring, even if I couldn’t see her eyes anymore.
“The route goes this way,” I said. “Through the valley. We can get some shade.” I also knew that the spot I’d picked out for our picnic was in that direction, though a picnic dinner now seemed possibly ill advised.
“Fine,” she said. “After you, then.”
I nodded and turned back in the direction we’d been headed, angling for a switchback that I knew descended the other side of the summit. I could hear Morgan following after me, but I forced myself to keep my eyes on the path ahead, not only because it was actually quite steep.
Once we got to the bottom of the switchback, the path met up with a small creek, which was bubbling away from the recent rain. Willow trees and purple loosestrife clustered around the water source, offering us a bit of respite from the midsummer sun, which was more than welcome, since it was still extremely warm.
I kept wanting to ask how Morgan was doing – offer her some water, maybe a refresh of her suncream – but she walked single file behind me, even when the path was big enough to accommodate us side by side. And I didn’t blame her.
I spent most of the walk mentally chastising myself for letting it get that far. I wasn’t stupid; I’d known there had been a flirty energy between us on the weekend away. Hell, I’d been admiring her on some level since the first time I’d seen her. And it felt nice, being attracted to someone again. Being interested.
I’d wanted it; participated willingly. Enthusiastically, even. But the moment she’d stepped in to let me kiss her – and there was no getting around it, that’s what had been happening – something in me had closed up shop. Out of business. Caution: do not enter. I hadn’t done it on purpose. But I also should have been able to see it coming.
I also, it turned out, really didn’t like her being mad at me. I could practically feel a hole being burned into the back of my head as we hiked, and I couldn’t bear the thought of enduring the drive home with her so hurt. So furious. And that would pale in comparison to the wrath I’d incur from Chloe if I didn’t manage to patch things over before the next time we were all together.
So just before I knew the trail would meet up with the road back to the car park, I veered off the path to find the spot I’d picked for our picnic.
“What are we doing?” she asked, pushing her sunglasses back onto her head. “Shouldn’t we get back? I don’t need a break. Plus, it’s almost eight, and I’m starving.”
There was an edge to her voice, like she was trying to one-up me. To prove that she could hang. But I ignored her, finding a fallen tree that spanned the creek; it seemed dry and sturdy enough, so I covered it with the picnic blanket I had in my bag.
“I’ve got food,” I said, extracting a baguette and holding it out to her. “It’s chicken and blue cheese with mustard and honey.”
She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Someone was paying attention the other week.”
I shrugged. “Do you want it or not?”
She didn’t move for a long moment, her lips pursed in thought. But she finally stepped towards me and took the sandwich from my hand, sitting next to me on the tree. I noticed she sat as far away as possible whilst still being on the blanket. She set the sandwich down between us and reached down to take off her trainers and socks, letting her feet dangle in the water instead of resting them on the rocks like I was doing. Then she picked up her baguette, unwrapped it from the paper, and took a massive bite.
“Look, Morgan,” I said, determined to clear the air, but she put up her hand between us.
“Don’t,” she said, her mouth full. She put down all but one finger, gesturing for me to wait, chewing a few times before swallowing hard. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen. I’m mortified enough without rehashing it, okay?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t convinced. I didn’t love that she seemed to think this was her responsibility to fix. Still, I couldn’t refuse the olive branch she was extending.
“If you say so,” I said.
“It can be water under the tree,” she said, gesturing at the stream below us, smiling even as she chewed. I couldn’t help but laugh, half in relief. I leaned over to untie my shoes so I could splash alongside her.
“Water under the tree then.”
* * *
It wasn’t all water under the tree for me, though. It sure seemed to be for Morgan; from the moment we agreed to put it behind us, she was mostly back to her bubbly self. There were fewer daring glances and definitely less touching, accidental or otherwise, but anyone else would struggle to believe that an hour earlier I’d effectively dumped cold water all over our friendship.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I surprised myself at how adamant I felt about taking her on more adventures and holding up my end of our bargain. She’d seemed to enjoy the hike, so maybe she’d like camping, too? Kayaking? Quad biking? Fishing? I hadn’t been fishing since I was a kid, but I was sure I could brush up if I needed to.
And at night, as I stared out at my pond or up at my ceiling, my mind would make up alternate universes in which I hadn’t stopped her. In which I’d taken her face in my hand and kissed her the way I wanted to. In which maybe she’d be next to me now, not on the other side of town thinking I wanted nothing to do with her.
But it was better for her to think that than for me to let it go any further. Because I knew what I was like in relationships, and what they brought to my life. And I wanted nothing to do that, for Morgan or for me.
Dad was not thrilled with my distraction levels, that much was clear. I was replaying that mountaintop moment yet again when I was supposed to be helping him with a site visit and quote for a conversion: turning one old house into two smaller semi-detached units. It was obvious I wasn’t on top form when I asked what colour of grout they wanted for the tiles, after they’d already said they wanted tile-effect vinyl. Dad gave me a look that probably didn’t even register to the client, but clearly communicated to me that he wanted to throttle me for my stupidity.
“You’re meant to be the future of this business,” he yelled on the drive home, “and you can’t even pay attention when quoting for work? How am I meant to trust you?”
“I’m so sorry it’s not my passion in life to keep flooring types straight,” I said with a sigh. Arguing with Dad always made me revert to my stroppy teenage self.
“Well it should be!” he bellowed, his voice far too big for the van, like it was trying to break out. I rolled the window down to get a bit of air. “Or at least it should look that way to your clients. My clients. If you can’t even bother to pay attention in a meeting, no one will ever hire you again.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t be the one doing this,” I muttered, my arm and head half hanging out the window.
“What was that, son?” Dad asked, in a tone that told me he’d heard me, but he was giving me a chance to revise what I’d said.
I sighed before I answered, speaking louder this time. “I said, I’ll do better next time.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better,” he said, sounding pacified for now. He switched on the stereo, and Behemoth came blasting through the speakers, which I took as permission to put on my noise-cancelling headphones. But instead of pressing play on my audiobook, I took advantage of the lack of Polish death metal and parental lecture to think instead about when I would next get to see Morgan.
* * *
As I climbed out of the van at home and started the walk up the drive towards my house, my phone buzzed with a text from Amy. It was another horoscope, this one laughably accurate:
Be a hot mess if you need to be a hot mess!
I smiled down at my phone as I tapped out a reply:
This better mean you’re on your way home for a visit?
But almost as soon as I’d pressed send, I crested the hill and looked down at my little house to find my sister Amy sitting on my front steps. She looked up from her phone and stood as my phone buzzed with her reply:
Nope.
“Good to see you,” she said, stepping towards me. She looked well; her golden hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but it looked longer than when I’d last seen her. Her denim cutoffs and cropped tee looked clean. She was wearing a bit of make-up. She certainly didn’t look like a depressed, heartbroken shell of a person like Mum had implied.
“Get over here,” I said, opening my arms as I closed the distance between us. She fell into them as I wrapped them around her.
Amy and I had always been close growing up, but then I’d moved away. I’d made a concerted effort to spend time with her when I’d come home, only for her to move to Manchester two years later. Now I hadn’t seen her in … three, four months maybe?
“How long are you here for?” I asked as she stepped back.
She shrugged. “Maybe a week?”
“You don’t have to work?” I asked, frowning. She shook her head.
“I’m between jobs.”
Now that was a bit worrying. I’d helped move Amy into her place, and I knew it wasn’t cheap. I knew her first restaurant job hadn’t worked out, but I’d thought she’d been at a shop since then.
“Well, I’m glad to have you home,” I said, climbing the steps and unlocking the door. “You crashing with me or with Mum and Dad?”
She pulled a face. “Your sofa is horrible. I’ll stay in the guest room where I’m treated like the princess I am, thank you very much.”
“It is not! I spent good money on that sofa. It’s made of one hundred percent recycled materials.”
“Ooh, so comfy,” she said sarcastically as I dropped my bag down in the entryway.
“Whatever. But you’ll be wishing for that tencel fabric when Mum starts getting under your skin.”
“I’ll just come here then,” she said.
“Not if I lock the doors.” I filled the kettle up and flipped it on. No chamomile for me; if Amy was home, it would be a late one.
“Fine then. I’ll just hang with Dad,” she said, sitting down at my little two-seater dining table.
“Great, get him off my back.”
“Prodigal son having issues with Dad? No way.” She scoffed. “The two of you are hilarious. Just tell him you don’t want to be a contractor!”
“Yes, because he’d be so thrilled to have that conversation,” I said.
“Just tell him you’re going back to uni. He was so furious when you dropped out.”
“Deferred,” I corrected, though it had officially been a decade since my supposed deferment, so I supposed that qualifier wasn’t valid anymore.
“What about this?” she asked, and I turned around from dropping teabags into our mugs to see her holding up my RIBA Journal. It was open to the same page I’d been staring at for weeks since it had arrived.
“What about it?” I asked. “I just like the stuff they write about sustainability.”
“Which is why the magazine lays completely flat to the page about certification programmes?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. So I’ve looked at the programmes. But there’s no way I’d be able to do it. Dad would never forgive me. The deal we made when I moved back was that I would take over when he retires. If I go back on that, he’s screwed. I’m the only one he’s been training.”
“He’s not exactly about to keel over,” Amy said. “He can find someone else.”
I thought about Dad’s “what was that, son?” when I’d even flippantly suggested not wanting to do his job. If I told him I was going back on my promise? He’d be furious. He might even kick me out.
No, I’d worked too hard to rebuild my life after Aria. Was it my dream to take over the family business? No. But it was a sacrifice I was willing to make if it meant I got to live and work with my family and be near my friends.
“It’s a non-starter,” I said, placing an Earl Grey down in front of her. “Plus, I’m not the one who’s in between jobs. Why don’t you just move home?”
“Because,” she said, and if I’d thought I’d reverted back to my teenage self earlier, the defiance in that single word put me to shame. “How embarrassing would it be to move home at twenty-four?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to figure out if she was being a dick or just forgetful. She cracked a smile, and my suspicions that she was just being a dick were confirmed. Man, was it good to have her back, even if just for a few days.