by Mia Ford
I shake the thoughts out of my head and reply.
“Yeah.”
The response arrives immediately:
“Great!”
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. But I’m saved from replying when another message comes through, this one longer.
“What are you going to do now?”
It’s a question I don’t know the answer to. We were both tipsy last night, which resulted in a lack of inhibitions and us tumbling into bed together yet again. With Grant still asleep, we haven’t had a chance to talk about where we go from here.
But I know the answer, anyway. This is the third time that Grant and I have inevitably come together. It wasn’t just a fluke. I can’t control myself around him at all. Even either he or I trying to distance ourselves didn’t work; one of us would eventually drag the other back.
So…maybe it’s about time I talk to him. And tell him everything.
“I’ll have to talk to him,” I type simply back to Allison.
“Good luck,” she replies.
I snort. I’m going to need all the luck in the world to get through the next few hours.
Wide awake now, I yawn and slip out of bed. I find a large robe on the ground, suddenly remembering that my clothes are likely still in the dryer, and make my way out of the room. Now that I’m away from Grant, the urge to simply grab my clothes and run is far stronger.
No. I can do this. It’s taking everything I have to keep myself here, to not run before Grant gets up and notices me, but enough is enough. I can’t be a coward forever. I’ve tried to teach my son how to be brave and strong and independent. It’s about time that I start setting an example for him.
Wait… Owen!
Cursing myself, I grab my phone again and text Allison once more.
“Can you pick up Owen for me?”
I can almost hear her laughing at me when she replies.
“Yep!”
At least Owen is taken care of. I would never hear the end of it if I forgot my own son because I was too busy mooning over Grant. I set about making a cup of coffee and then carry it over to the couch, sinking into the soft pillows with a grateful sigh. I can hear the dim sounds of the traffic below, I sit quietly and listen to it as the minutes slip by, centering myself and trying to remind myself why not running is so important right now.
Eventually, I begin to hear movement in Grant’s bedroom. I feel my shoulders tensing without my permission, and I lock my body tight. This is the last chance I have to run before he notices I’m still here.
I’m not going to take it. Not this time.
It’s the look in his eyes that I notice first as he emerges from his bedroom. He looks tired and he scrubs a hand through his hair, which is falling around his face now that it’s out of its ponytail, messing it up even further. I open my mouth to say something, but my courage has finally failed me, and I only watch as he reaches the kettle.
He freezes, however, before he can switch it on. He’s probably noticed that the kettle is far warmer than it should be. He whips his head around, finally seeing me on the couch.
“Morning,” I say, trying to smile.
Grant stares at me incredulously and rubs his eyes, almost as though he thinks I’m sort of illusion. His reaction is sad. He expected me to be gone. Is that why he looked so sad as he entered the room? Had he seen his empty bed and assumed the worst? I hadn’t even considered how he would feel when he woke up.
“Jessica,” he says blankly.
For once, he doesn’t sound angry or upset with me. He’s blinking wildly, unsure what to do with the fact that I’m still here.
“I boiled the kettle a little while ago, but you might need to boil it again,” I say, purposely ignoring his shock.
“Right…” Grant says slowly. His eyes narrow. “You’re still here.”
“Is that a problem?” I ask calmly, sipping my coffee.
Will he kick me out? I suppose I can’t blame him if he does. He has every right to ask me to leave. But is it better or worse that he gets the chance to do that?
“I…” Grant falters. He’s still confused. He reaches out and turns the kettle on. “No. Maybe?” He shakes his head. “I expected you to be gone.”
My heart aches. He’s making an effort to be indifferent, but I can hear the catch in his voice. I remember his confession from the night before, about bringing me flowers to attempt to salvage our relationship, only to find that I had disappeared with everything that belonged to me.
“Is it okay that I’m still here?” I ask quietly.
He has the right to make the decision on whether I can stay or whether I should leave. It might be worse for me if he decides to kick me out, but maybe he needs that. Before, I made all the decisions about when I left. Now it’s his turn to decide.
For a moment, I think he might actually go through with it. His eyes narrow and he opens his mouth. As quick as the almost vindictive expression crosses his face, however, it disappears and he sighs.
“It’s fine,” he tells me.
Part of him wanted me gone, I know. It’s that same part of him that wants me to finally leave him alone, before I hurt him any further. But, for whatever reason, he isn’t kicking me out, and I’m going to take some advantage of that.
He makes his coffee and then hesitates before joining me on the couch. He turns the television on. There’s a news program on, and the volume is still soft after we turned it down last night. Grant makes no move to turn it back up; he just wants the background noise.
Now is the perfect opportunity to say something to him. I open my mouth, but the words catch in my throat.
“Don’t you have work?” I ask instead, kicking myself for my cowardice.
“Called in sick,” Grant grunts.
He called in before he realized that I was still here. That revelation just makes me feel worse. He was going to take the day off to nurse the wounds I had no doubt left on him yet again.
Instead, however, I’m still here. I wonder if my presence is soothing him at least a little, if me staying is finally starting to fill in the deep hole I ripped in him three years ago.
“What do we do now?” Grant finally asks.
I stare at him. I hadn’t expected him to open the conversation about this, especially with how insistent he was that he never talk about it again the other day. Maybe me staying has done some good after all?
“I don’t know,” I confess. I wrinkle my nose. “I feel like a horny teenager that can’t keep her hands to herself.”
Grant snorts. I remember how pleased I had felt last night when I made him laugh. Part of me aches to do it again.
“We’re too old to be horny teenagers,” he sighs.
“Apparently not too old to jump each other every time we’re alone,” I say to him.
A shadow of a smile slips onto his lips.
“At least we can control ourselves when others are in the room,” he says. “Maybe we should ask Allison or Kyle or that Hazel you were telling me about, to chaperone.”
“Oh good,” I groan. “That just brings back memories of my father. Remember when he insisted on going on dates with us when we first started seeing each other? It took mom following him one night and literally dragging him back by his ear before he would leave us alone.”
Grant rolls his eyes. “I never really got why he hated me.”
“Because you were a bartender?” I guessed. “You can look a bit rough, too.”
“I think it’s more likely about the motorbike,” Grant counters, rolling his eyes. “The old man was never too good with things that were different. Then when I joined the Roughshod Rollers…”
I wince at the memory. Grant joined the Roughshod Rollers while we were still together. My father had almost had an aneurism when he found out. It was his sincerest effort to break us up to date. But our bond was too strong for him to get between us, and he eventually subsided into a grumble and came to accept it.
My lips twist
bitterly. My father wasn’t enough to break us up. It was my paranoia and cowardice that did, in the end.
“Anyway, in all seriousness, something needs to be done,” Grant says, breaking into my self-recriminations as his face goes solemn once more. “We’re not together anymore, Jessica. This can’t keep happening. Don’t you agree?”
I don’t want to. But…
“Yeah,” I sigh. It just ends up making this more difficult for both of us, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Grant says, and I hear some relief that I agreed with him. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”
“I don’t either,” I say, shaking my head. “All I know is that neither of us can really be trusted around each other unless someone else is present. It’s like I lose all sense of rationality when I’m around you. I just want you so badly.”
Grant grimaces at my words, but nods.
“I thought, at first, that it was just lingering attachments,” he says with a shrug. “You know, since everything ended so quickly three years ago. But it’s happened twice more, all in the span of a week. We can’t just explain this away anymore.”
“No,” I say softly. I look down at my hands. My mug is empty, now, and I wish I hadn’t drunk it so quickly. “But is it impossible to believe that maybe we still want each other?”
The question sucks all the air out of the room. Grant isn’t looking at me. But he also isn’t automatically denying the possibility, either. Finally, he sighs heavily.
“What does it matter?” he asks, and there’s a tired droop to his eyes that makes me feel ashamed for pushing this while we’re both still vulnerable. “My points from last night still stand, Jessica. I don’t want a relationship with you right now. I’m still adjusting to the fact that you’re back in my life. Anything else will just be a needless complication.” He runs a rough hand through his hand. “Though it’s already fucked up enough, isn’t it?”
I smile wryly. “Just a little.”
“Look,” Grant sighs. “Thing is, I do actually want you. You’re still just as beautiful and responsive as I remember. I can’t stop looking at you and remembering everything you make me feel.” He pauses. “But not all of those feelings are good. There’s an awful lot of resentment and bitterness and hurt. You really fucked me over, Jessica. I can’t get over that so quickly.”
“I know,” I say, wincing. “And I’m not going to ask you to. You’re right, Grant. I shouldn’t have even asked. I’m content with being at least friends, or even acquaintances, for Owen’s sake.”
Now would be a really good time to tell him that I want to finally voice the truth of what happened three years ago. Even if he doesn’t want to be with me, he deserves to hear it. I promised Allison that I was going to tell him.
But no words leave my mouth and, eventually, I look away in frustration. Grant doesn’t even notice my inner turmoil. He’s too busy looking at the television, avoiding my eyes.
How could I fix this? Then I realize that I shouldn’t be trying to fix anything. I should be trying to make things easier for us both.
“You said you had the day off?” I ask.
“Yeah?” Grant asks warily.
I give him a small smile. “Want me to ask Allison to bring Owen here when she picks him up for me? We can make some popcorn and watch some movies. They’ll be children’s movies, of course, but still…”
Grant stares at me. And then, slowly, he smiles. It isn’t a large smile, but it’s warm and genuine, and my heart soars at the fact that I could put that expression on his face, even after everything that’s happened.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says. He pauses. “Uh… I don’t have any movies.” He scratches the back of his head and gives me a sidelong glance. “We can go buy some? I should have some here, anyway now…”
I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. I beam at him.
“Sounds great,” I agree.
It isn’t perfect. But maybe it’s a start. Now all I have to do is dispel the shadow of secrecy still hovering over us. And then, just maybe, we’ll get somewhere.
Chapter Nineteen
Grant
To say that Owen was excited to visit my place is an understatement. He almost vibrated with joy when Allison showed up to drop him off. When I took him inside, I saw Allison speaking softly with Jessica, but I didn’t really care what words they were exchanging. Owen, who just got more excited when he saw the popcorn and milkshakes we were making, was all I wanted to concentrate on.
Somehow, an entire day slipped away before I realized it. We watched movie after movie, and I was half surprised that Owen stayed awake through each one, his eyes glued to the screen. Jessica confessed, in a low voice, that he normally doesn’t sit still for such a long time, but she thought the combination of seeing me, who he liked, again, and being somewhere completely new, had prevented him from getting up to run around.
At one point, our stomachs began rumbling, so we ordered pizza. It wasn’t the most healthy dinner, but we had been snacking all day on junk food, so we decided we might as well give up the day for lost and order something quick to eat.
Eventually, Owen fell asleep in the middle of a movie. That’s when Jessica and I both glance at the clock, stunned to see that it’s already eight-thirty at night.
“Shit,” Jessica says, shocked. “When the hell did it get so late?”
“I have no idea,” I confess. “Those movies were surprisingly enjoyable. I haven’t watched cartoons since I was a teenager.”
“You’d be surprised at how good some children’s movies can be,” Jessica says with a laugh. “Owen and I watch movies together all the time, and he isn’t the only one with a few favorites.”
I laugh softly and stretch, pausing the movie. I don’t want to admit to some relief, because this particular movie was sad, and Jessica’s sniffling beside me hasn’t helped. If we watched any longer, I was going to cry over a fucking kid’s movie, and I didn’t want to do that.
“I’ll have to make some room for these,” I say, glancing at the stack of movies we had picked him from the shops. “Do you think we went overboard?”
“I’m more impressed that we managed to find so many movies that Owen and I didn’t already have,” Jessica says, eyeing the stack as well. “I must have been seriously behind in my collection.” She gives me a small smile. “Now he has some movies at both places, and I’m sure we can swap them if we need them.”
“Yes,” I say, trying for casual. “Maybe next time he comes over, he can bring that Disney movie he didn’t finish watching the other day?”
Jessica giggles, seeing right through me, and I flush, clearing my throat. I will never, in a million years, admit that I’m the one that wants to see the end of that particular movie. It was really annoying to have to pause in the middle because Owen needed to go to bed, and I wasn’t about to stay any longer than I needed to once Owen was asleep.
“I’ll make sure to send it around,” she says, amused.
We both look down at Owen. He’s curled up between us, his head against Jessica’s thigh and his feet sprawled across my lap.
“I don’t want to wake him,” Jessica sighs. “He’ll be an absolute nightmare tomorrow if I do, because I’ll never get him back to sleep.”
“Does he wake when you move him?” I ask.
“Not if he’s in a deep sleep,” she says with a shrug. “But he’s only just fallen asleep; if I move him now, he’ll definitely wake up.”
“Leave him for a little while then,” I say, yawning myself. All this talk about sleep is making me long for my own bed. “We can wait until he’s in a deeper sleep, and then we can get him home. I’ll call a taxi for the two of you.”
“No bike?” she asks teasingly.
I glance at her. Her voice was light, but there was a disappointed edge in it. She and I used to ride around on my motorbike all the time. At first, I think she started doing it because her father hated it. But she loved our rides; she once told me that she lo
ved that free feeling she got with the wind whipping through her hair as the world speeds by, almost like she’s flying. I wonder if she misses it.
“That would definitely wake him up,” I tell her.
She sighs and smiles.
“True,” she says.
I glance at her. The day has done some good, it seems. I couldn’t spend the entire day tense, especially with Owen right beside me, so I did eventually relax. I feel content and happy right now, despite the fact that Jessica is the only one here for me to talk to. I’m also not worried about us doing anything stupid, not with Owen asleep between us.
It’s been a good day.
“Thanks for allowing this,” Jessica says after a moment. “I think we all needed it.” She gives me a wry smile. “It shows us that we can spend time together without it ending up as wild sex on the nearest surface.”
I choke on a laugh.
“Technically, Owen was our chaperone,” I point out.
“Well, I can deal with that,” Jessica says musingly after a moment of thought. “He’s a lot cuter than my father.”
“I hear you,” I snort.
She grins at me. I can’t help but smile slightly back. This really is nice. Maybe Jessica is right. Maybe we can make this friend thing work for the sake of our son.
It’s at that moment, of course, that the smile drops off Jessica’s face. I watch her take in a deep, steadying breath.
Don’t ruin it, I find myself thinking. Not now.
“There’s…something we need to talk about,” she says, and I freeze, not expecting that. “Something I should have told you…three years ago.”
I stare at her, lost for words. I can hear what she’s saying, but I don’t comprehend it. Is she really thinking about saying what I think she is?
“Is this about…” My voice falters, and I try again. “Are you going to tell me why…why you left?”
Her hands clench on her knees and she looks away. But she gives me the barest nod in response.