40. Jack
Chapter 40
Jack
M organ had been late to the game, which hadn’t surprised me; I knew she’d been to York and back today for her interview. But that hadn’t stopped me from watching the clock on my phone as I’d waited for her to arrive.
I hated feeling this way again. The last time I’d felt so anxious and insecure had been at the end of my relationship with Aria, where every single decision we made – where to live, what to do, what income we made – was based on her. Her opinions, her desires. I was just a support character in her life, too; maybe that was why Chloe had triggered me so badly when she suggested that was what I was in the group. But it had certainly been true in that relationship. And being a support character, it had been my job to pay attention to everything about her: her moods, her needs, the things she wanted, the hints she dropped… Making Aria happy and keeping her in business had literally been my full-time job for years.
So now, feeling that way about Morgan was awful. Not only had I been actually supporting her in the lead-up to the gala, but she was making decisions as if I would just fall into line no matter what she chose. Hell, I’d spent the weekend on my own paddling up and down the river like I’d wanted to last week, and I hadn’t been able to stop myself from obsessing the whole time. Even being on the water couldn’t quiet my mind like it usually did.
And I’d meant what I’d said; I did love her. But I had also promised myself that I would never let anyone else make me feel that way. I’d never allow myself to be in a life where there was no room in the frame for me.
So when Fatima surprised me by remembering to kill off Thrormir, it meant more to me than just a character change in our D my own glory, so to speak. As long as Thrormir existed, that wouldn’t have happened in-game. And as long as I let Morgan treat me like a support character in her life, it wouldn’t happen in reality, either.
“Did you know he was gonna do that?” I heard Chloe ask Morgan after the game as we were clearing up. Everyone seemed a little bit shellshocked.
“No,” Morgan said, looking over at me. “I certainly did not.”
Her disbelief made it more plausible that we weren’t up for the pub, and Fatima looked like she probably just needed to crawl into bed anyway. So Morgan and I headed out as the group dispersed post-session for the first time in months.
Once we were in the car and at the end of Fatima’s road, I put on my indicator to signal right, towards my house.
“Let’s go to mine,” Morgan said. Instantly I knew why she wanted to go to hers. If we went to mine and she wanted to leave, she’d have to let me drive her home. But if I went to hers? Easy out.
I’d been thinking a lot about what I wanted to say to her during our weekend of no contact. It was almost painful, going that long without speaking. Every stray thought I had that I normally would have texted her – or even said out loud because she would have been with me – just fizzled out instead. But I also knew this wouldn’t be a fun conversation.
I didn’t want Morgan to move to York. That wasn’t a new revelation; I would have said the same thing months ago, even at the start of our friendship. But I knew from last week that she wouldn’t like being asked to stay, no matter what motivation I had. So I was prepared to lay down an ultimatum.
Yes, I knew that an ultimatum was the quickest way to piss her off. But it was also the only way I knew of to communicate how important this was to me more than I already had. And if I wasn’t just as important to her as the other things in her life, then I wanted to know that now. I didn’t want to be like Fatima, and realise eleven years down the line that I wasn’t as much of a priority as I’d thought.
By the time we walked through her green front door and sat down on her green sofa, we hadn’t said a word to one another. Maybe it was just me, but it felt like we both knew what the other was going to say, and we were trying to postpone the inevitable as long as possible. We were soaking wet from the rain, but neither of us seemed to care enough to dry ourselves off.
I grabbed her hand as it lay between us, squeezing her tight. I really did love her, and despite what I knew in my gut was about to happen, I wanted just one last moment with her. She squeezed my hand back, like she was holding onto this last moment before the bomb went off, too.
“I got the job,” she said, and I felt the blood drain out of my body as she did. Her hand slipped out of mine as it slackened.
“Of course you did,” I said. “They would have been stupid not to hire you.”
“Jack…” She sounded so tired. I wasn’t surprised, with everything she was juggling.
But I was tired, too, and I didn’t have the stamina to beat around the bush.
“I can’t do that kind of long distance,” I said, my eyes fixed on my feet. “I’m sorry, because I know I’m the one that pushed you down this path. But I don’t feel it’s unreasonable to think that things should have changed when we got together.”
“Of course things changed,” she said, standing up and moving across the room, leaning against the bookshelf. “Don’t you know how hard this decision has been?”
“Not hard enough,” I said under my breath.
“Excuse me?” she asked, but I knew from the irritation in her voice that she’d heard me.
“Don’t you realise that I love you?” I asked, looking up at her. It was the first time either of us had said those words to each other. And yeah, part of me wanted her to melt then and there, say it back, and ride off into the sunset with me.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead, her back was straight, her arms were crossed, and her gaze was levelled at me. She was pissed .
“How dare you,” she said. “That’s such a cheap shot, trying to use those words to change my mind.”
“Maybe they should change your mind!” I said, standing too. I paced over to the window seat and back again. “If you loved me, and knew I loved you, wouldn’t you want to stay?”
“Not if it meant giving up what I finally know I want,” she said. “Not if it meant handing over my agency to someone who can’t even admit to himself what he wants for his own life.”
My mouth fell open. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“You know what it means,” she said, unmoving. Unblinking. But I could see the heat simmering beneath the surface. “You can’t even figure out your own bullshit, let alone mine. If you had it your way, nothing would ever change.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, holding out my arms as if to show her everything that had changed. “There’s been nothing but change lately. You and me, Amy moving home, Fatima and Jared breaking up?—”
“There it is,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I knew that had spooked you. I’m not Jared, Jack. I don’t want to break up with you and move to a different continent. And if I could pick up that job and move it here, I would. But I can’t do that.”
“But you do have a perfectly good job here,” I said, but I could tell from looking at her that I’d lost her. She’d made up her mind. She looked … resigned.
“I want so much for myself, Jack. And you of all people should be proud that I feel bold enough to go after it. To boldly commit to new experiences.”
I felt myself starting to clam up – to turn to stone like I had so many times before, with Morgan and otherwise – but I fought against it. This was too important. I didn’t want to push her away any more than I apparently already had. So I forced myself to breathe, and to stay in the room, and to not freeze over.
“Of course I’m proud,” I said, stepping towards her, and as I reached for her hands, I half expected her to move them out of reach. But she didn’t, letting me grasp them between us.
“I wasn’t being manipulative when I said I loved you. And it wasn’t sarcasm when I said of course they gave you the job. You’re brilliant, and you’re so talented. I want you to have everything you want.
“But I want you to want me, too. Like I want you. Like you want all those other things for yourself.”
“You want me so bad?” she asked, fire in her eyes. “Ring your dad right now. Tell him you don’t want to be a contractor. Apply to that course. Apply to literally anything. Anything but the stupid family business that you hate.”
“How is that fair?” I asked, dropping her hands. “I told you, you’re what I want. I don’t need the rest of that.”
“But you do,” she said. “You may not realise it, but— Actually, no, I think you do realise it. But you’re too scared to admit it.”
“Not everyone wants to go on some epic quest of self-discovery,” I said. “Some of us are happy with the little, everyday adventures. Maybe if you’d bothered to embrace that, you wouldn’t feel the need to move to the other side of the country to prove a point.”
Her scowl deepened, and I saw her fists ball up at her sides. “This isn’t about proving a point, and you know it,” she said. “We’ve both been living our lives on other people’s terms, whether you’ll admit it or not. You’re so desperate to keep yourself safe, you ended up shoving yourself out of the frame in the process. But I won’t let that happen to me. At least I’m willing to do something for myself.”
“Do literally anything else!” I cried, throwing my arms out to the side. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice disconcertingly calm. “Because you’re afraid of what your life will be like without me?”
“Yes,” I said, stepping back towards her. “Exactly.”
But before I could reach her, she stepped away.
“Exactly,” she echoed. “You’re so scared. Your entire life is a shrine to your fear of getting hurt. But I won’t be a part of it. And I’m tired of having to play therapist to try and get you to realise it. Level up on your own.”
Her words sounded so final, and something in me realised that there was nothing I could say or do to change her mind. She was so hell bent on the fact that this was her only choice, and there was nothing that would convince her otherwise. Not my logic. Not my love. Nothing.
But I couldn’t do nothing .
I closed the distance between us faster than she could step away, gathering her to me, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. Her hair clouded my face, and I took a deep breath in, smelling her familiar scent whilst I still could.
“Please,” I said, fresh tears wetting my cheeks. “If you want to be bold, stay. I know I have a lot to figure out. But please, Morgan. Stay anyway.”
“Jack…” she muttered into my shoulder, her arms limp at her sides.
“Hey, bold commitment, right?” I said, pleading. “Boldly commit to me, Morgan, please. I love you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.”
I begged her in my thoughts to give in; desperately hoped and imagined that I would feel her arms around me, too, and she’d relent. But she didn’t, and I had to drop away. It hurt too much to hold on when she wouldn’t even lift an arm to me.
As I took a step back, I saw that she, too, was crying. But they didn’t look like desperate tears, like I was sure mine did. They were tears of grief.
“How can I boldly commit to someone,” she said, “who won’t even boldly commit to himself?”
Then she pushed past me and out of the room. I listened to her footsteps on the stairs and the click of her bedroom door, then the squeaks of her mattress springs as she sat down on the bed.
I stood there for a long time, listening for other sounds – her crying, ringing someone, anything – but the house was silent. It felt empty, like she’d already left and taken all the soul with it.
So I pulled my keys out of my trousers and removed the one to the front door, placed it on the mantle, and left through the front door, into the miserable night.