Just Jilted

by Lila James

  I could tell by Daniel and Emma’s tense gazes that they knew.

  “Adrian, maybe you should sit down. You’re a little tipsy,” Daniel said, but I waved off his suggestion.

  “No, no, no, I want to give Jackson a farewell toast, because I may never see him again after tonight,” I said, making myself smile. “To Jackson.”

  Looking uneasy, Emma and Daniel raised their glasses. Jackson remained still, keeping his gaze trained on my wine-flushed face.

  “May he have all the happiness in the world as he embarks on his future endeavors. May he leave behind New York, free and happy, regardless of those who care about him, those who he’s leaving behind. Those who care about him. Those who love him, even,” I said baldly.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Emma grimace, but I was too far gone to care. The combination of wine and heartbreak urged me on.

  “Those who may have berated him or even been cruel to him, all the while harboring great admiration for him. They deeply regret this, of course, because they never got the chance to reveal their true feelings to him. But they want him to know that they are nonetheless happy for him,” I continued in a rush, again swaying on my feet and bumping into the coffee table.

  “Adrian,” Jackson said, standing up. “Can I talk to you alone?”

  “But they know that despite their sudden love for him, the rest of the world cannot be deprived of Jackson Taylor’s presence, and they bid him a fond farewell,” I continued, ignoring Jackson’s interjection.

  “Adrian,” Jackson repeated, moving around the coffee table to approach me.

  “Let me finish!” I shouted, and Jackson halted midstride. Emma and Daniel looked back and forth between us, both intrigued and horrified, as if they were watching a car accident in slow motion.

  “I don’t know if I—” I started, but there were those damn tears again. I blinked furiously; they spilled onto my cheeks anyway.

  “We’ll leave you two alone,” Daniel said.

  “No!” I shouted. “Let me finish my toast. So. To Jackson. I love you.”

  Other than Emma’s audible gasp, there was complete silence. Jackson stared at me in astonishment.

  “I love you,” I repeated, my heart thundering. “I don’t understand it, and I don’t know how. But I love you. So. To you. Jackson Taylor.”

  Emma’s eyes shimmered with tears, Daniel blinked with astonishment, and Jackson looked sorrowful. Not the look of someone who’d just been told he was loved.

  “You don’t mean that, Adrian,” he whispered.

  His handsome face swam before me as my eyes filled with more unbidden tears. That was just a polite way of saying “I don’t love you” or “You’re crazy.” Maybe both. Now the wine did little to numb the pain I felt.

  “Cheers,” I whispered, raising my wine glass in a toast.

  And then my world went completely black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When It Rains, It Pours

  As I came to in a haze, I heard several voices. At first I couldn’t make out the words, but I recognized Daniel and Emma’s voices as their conversation gradually became clear.

  “That was the most entertaining Monopoly game we’ve ever had,” Daniel said.

  “That’s not funny, Danny. We shouldn’t have let her drink that much. She seemed really upset.”

  “She’s going to be fine,” Daniel returned. “You have to admit the whole thing was kind of funny. Kind of.”

  “We should take her to the hospital,” Jackson said, his voice sounding close to my ear. “She’s been passed out for hours.”

  “She’s sleeping. Calm down,” Daniel said. “If we took her to the hospital, they’d give her an aspirin for the nasty hangover she’s going to have for the next week. And then they’d have a good laugh.”

  “If she doesn’t come to in fifteen minutes, I’m going to—”

  “I’m OK,” I said groggily, opening my eyes.

  The living room came into focus. I was sprawled out on the couch, nestled beneath a blanket and pillows. Daniel and Emma stood opposite me; Jackson was seated next to me on the arm of the couch, his hand resting on my left shoulder. He pulled his hand back and got to his feet as I came to. I tried to sit up, but Jackson gently pushed me back down.

  “Are you all right?” Emma asked, kneeling down in front of me and taking my hand. “Luckily you fell backward on the couch, so you didn’t hit your head.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned, as the previous night’s events came rushing back to me. I’d told Jackson I loved him. I. Told. Jackson. I. Loved. Him. I told Jackson I loved him!

  “It happens to the best of us,” Emma said, seeming to read my thoughts. “We were all a bit buzzed last night.”

  “You should have seen Jackson when you passed out,” Daniel interjected with a grin. “He was laying you out on the couch, checking your vitals, on the verge of calling 911. It was like an episode of ER or something.”

  “Hey, come on. She passed out,” Jackson said, not looking at me.

  “Can we get you anything? Aspirin?” Emma asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” I replied, sitting up. I had to get the hell out of there. Stat.

  “No. You’re taking aspirin before you leave, and I’m making sure you get home all right,” Jackson said.

  “No!” I shouted, terrified at the prospect of a long and awkward cab ride with Jackson. “I mean … I feel fine. I didn’t hit my head or anything. I’m just hungover.”

  “Told ya,” Daniel said, giving Jackson and Emma a pointed look.

  “Adrian, I’m going to have to insist on this,” Jackson said, taking a seat at my side. “I’m taking you home.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “So you said some things last night you didn’t mean. It happens. I once proposed to a guy dressed like a Subway sandwich when I’d had one too many. I went to a gumball machine, got a ring, and everything. He got so freaked, he called the cops,” Jackson said, smiling down at me.

  “Yeah, I remember that,” Daniel said, laughing, but I only forced a smile.

  Not only had Jackson summarily dismissed my honest admission of love, he compared it to a drunken proposal he’d made to a human sandwich. Plus, he had to know that proposals were a sore subject with me.

  “Fine,” I reluctantly agreed.

  But I really do love you, I wanted to say. Emma was just as silent as I was, scrutinizing my expression.

  Emma and Daniel got me aspirin and they insisted that I eat a bagel before heading home. Thankfully, they kept the conversation light as I ate, opting to skip over my admission of love and instead focusing on what happened during the frantic aftermath of my passing out. The details were actually entertaining, and despite my mortification, I managed to crack a smile at what had happened.

  Jackson had immediately rushed to my side; Daniel and Emma had sat frozen in shock for a full minute before springing into action. Emma had anxiously shrieked, “Is she breathing? Is she breathing?” Emma and Daniel then proceeded to run frantically back and forth, colliding into each other and crashing to the ground, like two of the Three Stooges. This caused Daniel, who was also quite drunk, to laugh hysterically while Jackson glared at him as he checked my vitals. They had all argued over whether or not to take me to the hospital, and Daniel won by telling them I’d just had one too many and needed to sleep it off. Jackson stayed out in the living room with me and slept on the armchair.

  Jackson remained quiet throughout the whole tale, not once meeting my eyes.

  After I finished my bagel and a glass of orange juice, they sent me off. Emma embraced me, stepping back and looking as if she wanted to say something, but we had an audience—Daniel and Jackson.

  “Call me sometime,” she said. “I promise we’ll do something that in no way involves alcohol.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said with a small smile.

  Jackson led me out to a waiting cab, making sure I was inside before getting in. We waved to Emma and Daniel
as the cab pulled off.

  I had a pounding headache and a mild feeling of nausea, but Jackson’s presence consumed my senses. I couldn’t remember every single detail of what I’d said last night, but I did distinctly remember the whole confession of love part. Even though Jackson didn’t seem to take the confession seriously, I tried to think of some way to save face. While I struggled to come up with something—anything!—to say, my phone began to shrill. I glanced down at the caller ID.

  It was Janet. I frowned. Janet rarely called me, and it was strange of her to call when she was supposed to be on her honeymoon in the Hamptons with Dad.

  “Let me take this real quick,” I told Jackson, my heart pounding in nervous anticipation as I answered my phone. “Janet?”

  “I have some bad news.” Janet’s voice was wobbly, as if she were on the verge of tears.

  “What?” I asked, clutching the phone.

  “It’s your dad. We were on our way to the Hamptons, and he—he had a heart attack, Adrian,” she said, her voice catching on a sob. “He’s been rushed to New York Presbyterian Hospital. He’s having an emergency bypass operation as we speak.”

  My heart plummeted; everything around me seemed to vanish. I no longer felt the throbbing pain in my head, my vague nausea, and I even forgot that Jackson sat next to me.

  “Adrian?” Janet asked in a strained voice. “Adrian, are you there?”

  “I’m on my way,” I whispered. “I’m in Queens, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Jackson touched my arm, and I turned to him. In a daze, I told him what happened. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said something to the cab driver, who immediately changed direction.

  As we headed back into Manhattan, everything was a blur. I tried not to think about what Dad was going through at that moment. Jackson’s arm remained around my shoulders, and he moved his lips to my ear, whispering words of comfort.

  “Everything’s going to be all right. I’m coming with you. OK?”

  I nodded, allowing myself to lean into his shoulder. Drunken confessions of love aside, I was glad he was with me.

  Fifteen minutes later we pulled up to the hospital, and Jackson was the one who called Janet on my cell phone to find out exactly where she was. We headed to the emergency room, where Janet rushed forward and embraced me. I managed to hold back my tears as Janet shakily gave us more details.

  “Apparently there was some sort of clot in one of his arteries that caused the heart attack. They’re not expecting any problems with the surgery to remove the clot, but they emphasized there’s always a risk with surgery,” Janet said, taking a breath to keep from breaking down. “He’s still in there. It’s been an hour or so. The surgery should only last a few hours.”

  I nodded, still feeling numb. I reached out for Janet’s hand, turning to face Jackson.

  “Thank you for bringing me here, Jackson. I appreciate it.”

  “I’m going to stay,” Jackson said. “I mean, I’d like to. If that’s all right with the two of you.”

  “Of course,” Janet said, touched. I nodded in silent agreement, but I was taken aback that Jackson wanted to stay.

  “He’ll be fine. My sister-in-law’s father had a heart attack a couple of years ago, and it freaked us out. But he pulled through. I’m sure your husband is going to pull through just fine.”

  “Thank you,” Janet replied, her eyes swimming with tears.

  “Can I get you two anything? Coffee? A snack?”

  “No thanks,” Janet replied. “Adrian?”

  I shook my head. Janet and I took our seats in the waiting room while Jackson went to get coffee. He came back and sat next to me a few minutes later. I stared straight ahead, in a daze. I felt Jackson’s hand reach out and grasp mine, squeezing it. I turned to give him a grateful look. His presence was comforting.

  We simply sat there for what seemed like days. I did manage to call Mom and tell her what was going on. She whispered that she would drive into the city immediately. I called Liz, who insisted on coming to the hospital, but I told her to wait until I knew more.

  When I was done with the phone calls, it was back to the waiting. I tried to remain calm, but that was becoming increasingly difficult. All I could think about was Murphy’s Law: whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. I thought that after being jilted at the altar by my fiancé and then falling in unrequited love with Jackson, things couldn’t possibly get worse. But they could. Exponentially worse. When it rains, it pours.

  A doctor came out at some point and we got to our feet. She introduced herself as Doctor Howard, the surgeon who performed the operation on Dad. To my immense relief, she was smiling.

  “The operation went smoother than we thought. We completely removed the clot, and we’ve restored all blood flow to the heart. He’s going to be fine. We do have him in a postop recovery unit, and I want to keep him here for a couple of days to keep an eye on him. But we’re expecting him to make a full recovery,” she said.

  “When can we see him?” I asked.

  “He’s still resting, and he’ll be sedated for the rest of the night. But you can see him in a few hours, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” I said as Doctor Howard turned and headed away.

  I took a deep breath, an immense surge of emotion filling my heart. Relief, happiness, joy, trepidation, love, and more relief. It was almost too much. I needed a breather. I needed air.

  “Excuse me,” I whispered to Janet and Jackson, turning away to walk on shaky legs toward the exit. I stepped out into the small atrium, finally allowing the tears to come.

  I didn’t realize just how important my father was to me until I was on the verge of losing him. I recalled how Dad taught me how to ride a bike for the first time without training wheels, how terrified I felt as he ran along with me on my brand-new ten-speed bike. Dad had taken his hands off, and I was forced to pedal on my own. My certainty in pedaling solo was solidified by the fact that he was there to catch me in case the bike wobbled and I fell over. I guess I’d been living my whole life that way, and the thought of not having the steady ground my father had come to represent was absolutely terrifying. I’d taken it for granted.

  “Adrian.”

  Jackson came up behind me, and I felt his hand on my shoulder, turning me around to face him.

  I tried my hardest to avoid his gaze. I was certainly not the prettiest crier in the world. My face scrunches up, my eyes disappear, and my lips tremble violently. Not an attractive sight.

  But Jackson cupped my face with his hands, tilting it up so that he could stare into my eyes.

  “It’s OK to cry,” he murmured. “Cry. Let it out.”

  So I cried. And Jackson just held me.

  *

  Jackson stayed at the hospital for another couple of hours until a nurse told us that family members could go back and see Dad. I turned to Jackson.

  “You really don’t have to stay,” I insisted. “You’ve done more than enough. You haven’t even eaten.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Janet’s here and Mom’s on her way,” I said, moved by his concern. But I wouldn’t let myself hope that his concern was motivated by anything else other than him being a good guy.

  “I’ll go get something to eat and get showered,” Jackson said. “Then I’ll come back.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know. But I want to,” Jackson said sincerely, reaching out to take my hand. He gave me one last look before heading out.

  Janet and I were led back to the postop unit by a nurse. The nurse glanced back at Jackson’s retreating form.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” she asked with great interest.

  “No. Just a coworker,” I said hastily.

  “I wish my husband showed half the concern for me that your ‘coworker’ is showing for you.”

  I smiled. But he doesn’t love me, I wanted to tell her. I told him I loved him, but he compared my confess
ion to his drunken love for a man dressed as a Subway sandwich.

  We reached Dad’s room, and I forgot all about Jackson and the Subway sandwich man. My father, whom I had never seen with so much as the sniffles, was hooked up to what looked like a trillion machines. His eyes were closed and he was sleeping, but he looked eerily still. Janet and I exchanged a nervous glance.

  “Don’t worry. I know how it looks. He’s breathing on his own and everything. All we’re doing is monitoring his vitals. We can take all this stuff off tomorrow morning. He’ll be sitting up and talking. But he probably won’t be too crazy about the maroon outfit we have him in,” the nurse said, giving us a comforting smile.

  “Whew,” Janet said, dashing away a stray tear.

  The nurse left us alone, and Janet and I both went to Dad’s bedside, gazing down at him for a moment. I wiped away more tears, squeezing his hand and raising it to my lips, hoping he could somehow sense that I was there. I looked up at Janet, who gazed at him with so much love, I felt as if I were peeking in on an intimate moment between them. I’d decided that I would leave her alone with him when I heard a soft voice at the doorway.

  “Robert.”

  Janet and I looked up, and I inwardly cringed. Mom stood there, looking at Dad with the same panicked expression Janet and I had both worn earlier. She kept her eyes pinned on Dad’s face as she stepped in.

  I waited for her to say something rude to Janet, but she only seemed to be aware of Dad. She moved to the side of the bed opposite Janet and took his hand. I stood there, nervous, as Dad’s first and second wives held silent court over his bedside for a moment.

  “How is he?” Mom asked evenly.

  Janet gave her Dad’s prognosis. Mom listened, nodded, and thanked Janet. She gave Dad’s hand one last squeeze and then respectfully left Janet alone with him. I was impressed with her restraint.

  Mom looked noticeably shaken as we headed back out to the waiting room, so I reached out and put my arm around her. She seemed grateful for my act of support, resting her head briefly on my shoulder.