Undone

by Kelly Rimmer

  “That’s literally the first time I’ve ever heard you admit you actually have parents,” I say, somewhat stunned. I lean forward now, resting my elbows on my knees, fascinated. She gives me an irritated glance.

  “Of course I have parents. Everyone has parents.”

  “I assumed you just willed yourself into existence somehow.”

  “Ha, ha, Jake.”

  “So, can I ask about them?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “You literally just interrogated me about every single sexual partner I’ve had in my entire life and not once did I refuse to answer you. You know pretty much everything about me. You know my mother and father were both academics. You know Mom died when I was finishing high school. You know it was cancer, you know that’s why I chose my career. You’re in business with my brother. You know where I went to college and where I did my residency and which brand of toothpaste I use. Until last weekend when you told me about your son, I knew nothing about your life before I met you when you were twenty-two.”

  “That’s not true. You always knew I grew up in Georgia.”

  “Okay, so now I know two things about your life before you were twenty-two, and one of them I figured out just because of your accent.”

  “You know I went to college here.”

  “Jess.”

  “Jake.”

  “Are they still alive?” I ask her gently. Her nostrils flare.

  “I have no idea.”

  “You don’t speak to them?”

  “Never.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since a few weeks after Tristan died.”

  “What happened?”

  She’s visibly uncomfortable. Jess adjusts her posture a few times and crosses then uncrosses her legs. Finally, she stares out over the courtyard, looking stubbornly away from me.

  “His autopsy results came in. I was a mess, still trying to figure out how I was ever going to live with myself if I couldn’t know why I lost him. I overheard my mother and father discussing him while I was out of the room. They were convinced that Tristan died because of my ‘loose morals’ . . . that the death of my son was a punishment I brought upon myself. Like his death was just a trial sent to make me turn my life around.”

  I feel physically ill. Jess glances at me, surveys my expression, then suddenly sits up and shoots the full force of her glare toward me. The space between us feels fraught.

  “Don’t you dare, Winton,” she whispers fiercely. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I won’t have it.”

  It’s all I can do to stop myself from reaching across and pulling her into my arms. All I can do to stop myself hunting down those bastards to make them apologize. All I can do to stop myself from throwing myself at her feet and worshipping her strength and the way she’s built such a successful life after such a rocky start to adulthood.

  “Jess,” I whisper thickly. “That is just unforgivable.”

  She shrugs and sinks back onto her chair.

  “And that’s exactly why I will never forgive it.”

  ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Jess and I are walking through Hudson River Park. The afternoon sunlight is golden and warm, and Jess is wearing a huge straw hat and oversize sunglasses, carrying an air of old-school glamour. We’re walking in comfortable silence when her phone sounds. She fishes it from her pocket, reads the screen, then lets out an excited squeak and grabs my arm.

  “Jake,” she squeaks. “Abby is home.”

  “That’s great news.”

  God, she’s beautiful when she’s happy. I’m pleased that Abby’s been discharged too, but something about Jess’s joy right now is particularly infectious. I want to sweep her up in my arms and spin her around. Then I’d lower her to her feet and I’d kiss her until she was breathless. Then I’d throw her over my shoulder and spring back to her apartment, and as soon as we closed the door behind us, I’d strip those little shorts off her and I’d probably go down on her right then and there.

  I’m glad we’re not sleeping together right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it a million times a day. Jess touches me so freely, so affectionately. Every single fucking time she makes contact, I come up with a whole new fantasy. It’s a necessary torture, but it’s exhausting.

  “It will be a while before the twins come home though.” Jess’s hand falls from my arm and she sighs. “She said they’re at a bit of a loss being at home without the babies and since she’s supposed to be resting, they can’t go out, so she wants me to come for dinner.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “Well, sure, I’ll—”

  “Come with me?”

  “Um . . .” I clear my throat. “If we go together like this, they might . . .”

  “Make wild assumptions? They probably will. If they dare to broach the subject directly, which they won’t, I’ll say something exceedingly awkward about the superhot sex they’ll assume we’re having and then no one will ever, ever ask us again.”

  “So when we were having superhot sex, you didn’t want them to know. And now that we’re not, you want them to think we are.”

  “Meh. Whatever works.”

  We’ve already turned around and we’re walking back toward Marcus and Abby’s apartment. So it seems we’re doing this, and I’m bewildered by how blasé Jess is about the idea of our friends assuming we’re together.

  “Let me ask you a question,” I say slowly. “Let’s say we go to Marcus and Abby’s place right now, and they ask why we’re there together, and I tell them it’s because we dated a few years ago but we’re still friends.”

  Jess doesn’t say anything. When I glance at her, I see her face is set in an expressionless mask.

  “Fine,” she says suddenly. I gape at her.

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. It was a dick move of me to insist you keep it a secret in the first place.”

  “Why did you insist on the secrecy?”

  Jess shoves her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

  “At first I really didn’t intend for that night to become a whole thing,” she mutters. “And then even once it did, I was genuinely worried that things would get messy and it would be complicated for me and Paul at work. Mostly though, I wanted to keep it a secret because I knew they wouldn’t approve.”

  “Of us . . .?”

  “Of Slutty Jess and Saint Jake being together, yes,” she says impatiently.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding. These are your best friends in the world.”

  “Last Saturday, after you and I had our . . . disagreement at the rehearsal dinner, Abby made it pretty clear that if our . . . mutual tension was . . .” Jess is uncharacteristically lost for words. She gives up and shrugs. “Anyway she just made it clear she did disapprove. So, I was right to be worried.” She raises her chin. “Everyone adores you. If they knew how much I hurt you, they’d be pissed. That’s the main reason I’m glad they don’t know now, but it’s a weak reason for me to insist you keep what happened a secret from them. They’re your friends too. That was never fair.”

  “We hurt each other.”

  “Well, you didn’t do anything—” she starts to say, but I cut her off impatiently.

  “I didn’t listen to you. We’ve established that. I won’t tell them, Jess. Not because I’m ashamed of you or what happened between us, but because I don’t want anyone to misinterpret what happened. You fucked up, I fucked up, we fucked up together. But I think maybe . . .” I nudge her gently with my elbow. “I think maybe we wound up friends anyway. Right?”

  “It would seem that way. Friends with a limited-run season, but sure. We’re friends now.”

  “If they ask, we’ll just tell them we’ve finally graduated from frenemies to actual friends. Okay?”

  “I hate how perfect you are,” Jess sighs, shooting me a sideways glance. “It’s so annoying.”

  “I’ve tried to stop,” I say dramatically. “It’s just hopeless. Perfection is who I am.”


  “Want to watch a movie after dinner?”

  “Can we eat popcorn while we do?”

  “Will you bastardize it with fucking M&M’s?”

  “I absolutely will.”

  “Then I’ll think about it and let you know.”

  When we get to Marcus and Abby’s place, Marcus opens the door, glances between us, then gives an exaggerated sigh of relief and pretends to wipe fake sweat from his brow.

  “Thank God you’re both here. I was going to have to be on both teams for Pictionary and I was really not looking forward to it.”

  “No one said anything about Pictionary,” Jess says, feigning alarm.

  “We’ve exhausted the whole Netflix catalog, Jess. Board games are all we have left until those babies come home to fill our days.”

  “Um, we could just get drunk or something?” Jess suggests hopefully.

  “Abby can’t drink. Pain meds, plus she’s expressing breast milk for the girls. It really has come to this.”

  When Jess and I step into the living area, I see the surprised expression cross Abby’s face. She glances from Jess to me, and her gaze grows thoughtful.

  She was incredibly ill on Saturday. Whatever she said to Jess, she does deserve a bit of grace, but . . .

  . . . the idea of anyone making Jess feel less-than makes me furious, but especially knowing it was Abby. Jess was willing to put herself through hell for this woman and her family last week. She simply deserves better from her friends.

  The urge to say something to Abby is almost overwhelming, but I know that Jess wouldn’t want me to. Partly because Abby’s been through a lot and she’s likely still a little fragile herself, but mostly because Jess is more than capable of fighting her own battles. She’d hate for me to intervene here, so I won’t.

  When Marcus and Jess get distracted in the kitchen ordering takeout, Abby waves me over to the sofa where she’s resting. I sit opposite her, and she says hesitantly, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I might have hurt Jess’s feelings last weekend, before everything went haywire with the twins. When Marcus tried to take her down to the NICU the other day, she didn’t even want to go.”

  “You should talk to Jess about this, Abby,” I say gently.

  “I tried,” Abby says unevenly. She blinks rapidly. “I mean, I tried to apologize for . . . I said something, and I think it hurt her. But when I tried to say sorry, she cut me off, and now I just really don’t know if I should raise it again or leave it. I think that maybe the reason she doesn’t want to see the girls now is that she’s angry with me.”

  Ah, hell. Looks like I’m doing this anyway.

  “Jess would do anything for you,” I tell Abby quietly. “I think she’s proven that.”

  “She has,” Abby murmurs.

  “She’s the best woman I know, Abby.”

  Abby’s gaze lifts to mine.

  “I know that too.” She gnaws her lip. “It kills me to think I might have hurt her, Jake. How do I make it better?”

  “I’m not brave or stupid enough to get involved in Jess’s business when I know she wouldn’t want me to,” I say carefully. “But . . . I will say this—I’m just glad that you know she’s a marshmallow underneath all of the bluster.”

  “I really need to just apologize and make her hear it,” Abby sighs, then flicks a glance at me and asks curiously, “Is there something going on between you two?”

  “No. We’re just friends.” My gaze gravitates back to Jess, just like it always does.

  “But that’s not what you want, is it?” Abby says gently. I turn back to smile at her sadly.

  “It’s the best Jess can offer me, and I guess I’ll take her any way I can get her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jess

  “COME SEE THE NURSERY,” Abby blurts as we finish eating. She looks nervous so I’m wary, but then again, any diversion Abby might want to take would buy me a few more precious Pictionary-free minutes, so I rise to follow her anyway.

  Has it really come to this? My friends have kids and suddenly I’m spending my weekends playing fucking Pictionary? Given Mitchell has often accused me of being lame and boring on weekends when I hit the clubs with him only once, he must never know how far I’ve fallen.

  I walk beside Abby as she leads the way to what used to be her bedroom. She and Marcus have obviously put a lot of effort into redecorating the space. Now, it’s painted in soft yellow shades, there’s a mural of frolicking woodland animals on one wall and two precious little baby beds set up in the center of the room. Abby walks gingerly, no doubt still healing from her surgery, but as soon as we’re in the room she pushes the door closed behind me.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts. I frown at her.

  “What for?”

  “In the car on Saturday on the way to the hotel to get ready for the wedding. About Jake and you. I think maybe I hurt you, and I really didn’t mean to.”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” I say stiffly, even as my gut twists, but I try to laugh it off. “Honestly, Jake and me? What a ridiculous idea—”

  “Jessica,” Abby says, and she gives me a pained look. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the most confident woman I know.”

  “Well, of course I am. I’m amazing.” I’m not even playing. I believe this to my very core. Someone wise once said that there’s nothing stronger than a woman who has rebuilt herself. I like to think I’m living proof of that. Just as I love the life I’ve worked so hard for, I love the woman I’ve become.

  “Exactly. So don’t for a second suggest you’re somehow not good enough for a guy like Jake.”

  “That was definitely not what I was doing. But surely you can see we’re mismatched. Mr. Perfect out there and . . .” I shrug, then open my arms wide before I point back to myself. “Me. It would definitely end in tears.” As it already did, and probably will again next week. But speaking of tears, Abby’s big brown eyes are suddenly full of them. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt and blame postbirth hormones. She reaches for me and brings me close for a hug.

  “I wasn’t trying to say you and Jake weren’t a good idea. I really just meant that the timing would have been off, given it was the night before the wedding. I can’t stand the thought that my stupid, careless comment made you hate me.”

  “Abby,” I laugh softly, pulling back from her. “I could never hate you. Why would you even say that?”

  “You didn’t want to go see the girls after you visited on Thursday,” she says, gnawing her lip.

  “Abby.” I close my eyes briefly, then force myself to explain. “Hospitals are tough for me, okay? I don’t want to talk about why, but that wasn’t because of anything you said about Jake.”

  “Promise?” I can see she’s curious, but she doesn’t press the issue.

  “I promise.”

  “You just deserve every good thing, Jess.”

  I pull away to look right into her eyes as I reassure her, “My life looks exactly the way I want it to. Exactly the way I always dreamed it would. Jake has been a good friend to me, but that’s all he is.”

  “And all he’ll ever be?” Abby looks so sad about this I’d almost marry Jake just to bring her smile back. Almost. But not quite.

  “Yeah,” I tell her softly. “That’s all he’ll ever be.”

  AFTER A GAME of Pictionary that might actually almost be fun, Jake and I came back to my place and now he’s microwaving popcorn. There’s a bag of M&M’s on the counter beside it and a cup of melted butter beside that. I’m sitting right on the counter, watching him warily. I’m still hoping to find a way to make sure those three things do not mix because I’m not at all convinced it’s the magic formula for happiness Jake thinks it is.

  “Jake. What did you say to Abby?” I ask him suddenly.

  “About?” Jake prompts me.

  “About what she said to me on Saturday.”

  “Why?”

  “She apologi
zed. When she dragged me in to see the twins’ nursery.”

  Jake is silent for a moment. He’s folded himself pretty much in quarters to bend low enough to watch the bag of popcorn as it circulates in my microwave on the countertop. When he glances back at me, I see the truth in his eyes.

  “Before you rip me a new asshole, she asked me about it. I just told her to talk to you.”

  “If I wanted her to apologize, I would have asked her to apologize.”

  “I know.”

  “So why did you—”

  “I told you, Jess. She brought it up.” He links his hands behind his head and exhales. “I love Abby like a sister and I’m very conscious that she’s been through a lot but knowing that she hurt you made me crazy. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to make her apologize. I’ve got your back, and I always will. In fifty years’ time if I hear rumors the nursing home isn’t giving you the good pudding, I’m going to want to shuffle over there on my walker to get it for you myself. But I won’t, and do you know why?”

  “I feel like that’s a rhetorical—”

  “Because I know that you don’t need or want me to fight your battles for you. So even when I want to, and even when I’m tempted to, I won’t do it. But what I will do is mix these delicious M&M’s in with this popcorn so you can experience the next best thing to sex you’ll find in this lifetime.”

  He snatches the M&M’s off the bench, dumps them into the bag of popcorn, then pours the melted butter over the top. I faux-gag, and Jake takes advantage of my open mouth to press a buttery, salty, chocolaty kernel of corn right on in there.

  His finger is in my mouth. I catch it, and suck it gently, ignoring the popcorn altogether. He doesn’t move his finger, so I suck again and then twirl my tongue around it, because apparently, I can’t help myself. Jake groans, and gently drags his finger away.

  “Wench,” he mutters.

  “You stuck it in there,” I remind him, around the mouthful of popcorn. I chew, then stare at him. “That’s it? That’s what all of the fuss is about? It’s gross.”

  Jake grabs his chest in false horror.

  “Jessica! How dare you! That’s the love of my life you’re talking about.”