by PE Kavanagh
He was about to officially receive a PhD. Dr. Jackson King had a great ring to it and put on a grin on his face. He smoothed his palms down the satin fabric one more time before walking out to the reception area with his fellow graduates, who scattered to find their loved ones. Fathers were clutching shoulders, mothers were crying. Beaming, blue-robed graduates gathered with their congratulatory families and headed off to their respective celebrations.
He scanned the small crowd for his family. Jonathan King was unmistakable, debonair in his dark suit, standing a head above anyone else. Their physical similarities were undeniable, as was their ability to command a room.
Very little was said as the whole family made their way through the crowd toward the packed parking structure. No matter how many times he explained to his parents that a car in New York City was nothing but an inconvenience, they just couldn’t let go of their California habits. Thank goodness the city was slightly quieter than usual on that cloudy Sunday afternoon.
Jackson and his family walked through the restaurant his mother had chosen, on a different coast than the one years ago, but otherwise indistinguishable. It felt like deja vu when his father raised a glass. Jackson could almost recite the toast from his college graduation, word for word.
“We have so much to celebrate this fine day. Let’s offer a toast to Julian and Jackson! We send Julian off to UCLA to change the face of computer science, and we wish Jackson lots of luck in New York City.” Jonathan had turned toward his son with an expression free from irony. “He’ll need it.”
Maybe his father would try to contain his disdain this time around. Probably not. It wasn’t news that his father didn’t agree with his line of study. It had been a hard decision to veer away from engineering to go into the soft sciences. Jonathan King did not consider psychology a science at all. It was something that people with too much time on their hands did to feel important. Just one of many ways Jackson had failed his father.
The significant difference this time around was the presence of the wonderful woman standing next to him. Camille was a part of their family now, and maybe, with her there, it would be better. He reached down and took her hand, which she gave an excited squeeze.
“Cheers!” All the glasses met in the center of the table for a cascade of clinks.
Jonathan cleared his throat, making sure all attention was on him. “We are fortunate on so many levels. My wonderful girls, Jenna and Camille, successfully graduating from Princeton, the alma mater of my beloved Elena. Off to conquer Silicon Valley and the dastardly world of politics. We wish them all the success they have worked so hard to deserve.”
Glasses touched and Jonathan waited for full silence to begin again.
“And of course, to Jackson and his continued academic successes. Hopefully, he won’t let getting called doctor King go to his head and actually attempt to operate on anyone!” Jonathan’s bellowing laugh completely covered the uncomfortable titter around him.
Elena King raised her glass. “And thank you to Princeton and Columbia for holding their graduations on the same weekend, but not the same day! I just don’t know how we would have managed!”
Jackson knew exactly whose graduation would have been given short shrift.
The celebration moved to Jackson’s loft, where it shifted in tone and doubled in size. He’d made a huge number of friends during his time in New York, and his place was bursting with an assortment of people as varied as the city’s population.
Jackson sat on the couch, surveying the wonder of his life in New York. This was exactly what he intended when he chose to begin in a new place. His goal had been to build something completely on his own, outside the reaches of his powerful family. Being in a community was very important to him, and he wanted his own.
He stretched out his arm and signaled to Camille to join him. She plopped down, snuggling into the side of his body. They were Camnjack - the two-headed, single-named entity, well known to everyone around them. They’d both recently dispensed with their respective love interests, knowing those relationships would never survive the cross-country move. There was no one to get jealous about their closeness.
“Another great party, Jackson. Epic.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks, Cam.”
He looked out at the city skyline and felt a tinge of sadness about leaving.
“Are you feeling melancholy already?”
“Yeah. I’m going to miss this place, this city, the life I built here. It’s been remarkable.”
She nodded, a tendril of hair coming loose from the place behind her ear she constantly pushed it. “Well, a brand new, even better life awaits you back in California. As Professor King of Stanford University. I can’t believe you’re going to be molding young minds. Scary. Very scary.”
“Thankfully they won’t be that young. And I did pretty well molding your young mind. I mean, look at you now.” Look at her indeed, outshining every woman in the room. She had metamorphosed from the tentative girl he nearly knocked over the first day they met to a bold, confident, brilliant woman who was going to own Silicon Valley before too long. She certainly owned him.
“Really? You think you molded me?” She poked him in the ribs.
“Wishful thinking on my part.” He glanced down, then blinked at the curve of her breast directly in his sightline.
“Personally, I’m glad we’re moving back. We have great jobs, an amazing house, and no more snow. It’s going to be so much fun living with you and Jenna. The three amigos take the Bay!”
He tilted his head toward her, being careful to not look down at the enticing view below. “You mean Camnjack plus Jenna.”
“You better stop saying that. You know how mad she gets when she feels left out.”
“Hey, she’s the one who made up Camnjack.”
“True enough. But you better embed the three amigos in that big brain of yours.”
He gave her a sly smile. “You think my brain is big? You should see my-”
That merited a punch in the thigh. “Don’t be lewd, Jackson. Seriously.”
He had never had a relationship like the one he built with Camille. She was the best of all worlds for him - the buddy who could hang out and drink beer, the babe who made every man look, and the friend whose loyalty was only outmatched by her kindness. Their conversations flowed from school, to sex, to sports and everything in between without a hitch or hiccup.
He watched her as her eyes flitted around the room. She might not have even known how big a smile was plastered on her face. It had been four years of going to her when he struggled with a decision, teaching her how to dance, and saving him a hundred times from quitting his doctoral program.
Her fingers picked at the frayed section of his jeans near his knee. She’d given him the confidence to write his book, while he’d given her the lowdown on men and sex, including the practice run putting condoms on bananas. Jackson was never happier than when she laughed so hard she fell into his arms, and never more uncomfortable than when his desire caught him by surprise and could not be suppressed. She’d been a beautiful girl, but the woman she had grown into brought him to his knees.
He didn’t blame anyone for giving them shit about how inseparable they were. He had no interest in being apart from her.
Two of his neighbors walked by them and waved, in an attempt at a conga line, he believed. Living in the same household was going to be trickier, but worth it. Keeping himself out of her bedroom was going to take all the self-discipline he could muster. Maybe more. Crossing the line, however, was not an option. This odd relationship they had built was the best thing in his life, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize it for a twitch in his pants.
He accidentally looked down her shirt again and clenched his jaw. He imagined the number of women he would need to distract himself from the one he really wanted. It was a big number.
Camille stumbled out into the living room in a desperate quest for coffee. She usually loved this house. Jac
kson had chosen well. It was beautiful, spacious, and conveniently located. But it was not soundproof. They all had serious jobs, but Jackson was still living the life of a party animal, as evidenced that morning by a pink lace bra hanging off the kitchen countertop. It did not belong to any of the house’s occupants. Camille gritted her teeth, picked up the offending item with the end of a wooden spoon, and tossed it into the living room.
Her decision to move in with Jackson had been a big mistake. The stream of scantily clad women coming and going in their house was more than she could handle. She and Jackson were the best of friends, but being this close to his extraordinary sex habits was wrecking her life. Since Jenna had started spending all her time with her new boyfriend, there was no one to serve as a buffer.
By the time she was halfway through her mug of coffee, Camille had made a decision. She could easily afford her own place and was going to move out. She opened her laptop to a rental website and input her criteria.
The first one to emerge out of Jackson’s room was a naked redhead, presumably looking for the bathroom. He came out clothed, thankfully, minutes later.
“Hey Cam. How was your night?”
Instead of an answer, she tilted her head and squinted her eyes at him. Was he not aware how thin the walls were?
“Oh. Sorry.” He grimaced. “What are you up to today?”
A voice interrupted Camille’s answer. “Has anybody seen my bra? It’s pink and-”
Without looking up, afraid to get another eyeful, Camille answered. “It’s on the floor by the couch.”
“Thanks, hun.”
Could this be any worse? Camille picked up her mug and computer, and headed into her bedroom, which shared a wall with Jackson’s room, but would hopefully be quiet now that his guest was getting dressed.
She had bookmarked more than a dozen possible places and was pleased that there was quite a bit available in her price range. Her parents had left her a significant estate, but Camille was never one for unnecessary extravagance.
The knock on her door was followed by his voice. “Hey, Cam. Can I come in?”
She said yes, not that she really had a choice.
“I made another pot of coffee, just the way you like it. I brought you some.” He held out the light blue mug with a drawing of the Eiffel Tower that he had bought for her.
The tension around her jaw softened. “Thanks.”
He put it down on the night table and sat down on the bed next to her.
“What are you up to?” His slight smile was more concerned than happy.
“Actually, I’m looking for an apartment.”
It was as if all the blood drained from his face, emphasizing his dark eyes and hair even more. He did not look happy. “You’re moving out? No, please don’t. I’m sorry about this morning. And last night. Please don’t go.”
“It’s not just today. It’s every weekend. And sometimes during the week too. This is where I live, and I never know who’s going to be here. And whether they’ll be dressed or not. I need something more… stable.”
“Cammy…” He pressed his lips together before continuing. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to go. You’re my best friend. I love living with you.”
“We’re not going to be best friends much longer if I stay here. I’m not happy.”
“What would make you happy?”
Something about the look in his eyes broadcast trouble. He might have spent the night fucking, but he seemed to be looking at her like he wanted more.
“I’m going to go. Things will be better after that. I’m sure of it.”
He balled the edge of her sheet in his fist. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You can go take a shower. You smell like pussy.”
His mouth dropped open, as if he had been punched in the gut, and then he walked out of her room.
Jackson started drinking very early on the day Camille moved out, making it impossible for him to help. Not that she had asked. Things had been strained since that morning she told him she was going to leave. He knew it was one hundred percent his fault, parading all those girls in and out of the house, desperately trying to compensate for the one he wanted but couldn’t have.
She left without saying goodbye. They didn’t speak for two months.
He was supposed to be by her side, and now she couldn’t stand to be around him. He could hardly stand it himself. All the attention he had been getting for his books was turning him into a monster. And she was the only one who reminded him of his better self. He would have to find a way to bring her back, to show her how much he loved her without scaring her away. He knew she didn’t see him that way. In fact she recoiled at any hint of his feelings for her. But he couldn’t live without her. So having her as a best friend instead of the love of his life would have to do.
He left the meeting with his editor dejected and desperate. The new book just wasn’t working and would require a complete rewrite. The publisher had already extended the deadline once and wasn’t likely to do it again. Not thinking, he drove south and found himself in the large parking lot of the Google campus. It could not have been more inappropriate to ambush Camille at work, but he couldn’t stand one more day without her.
No one stopped him as he strode into the center of the large expanse of cubicles and then toward her office to the far right. Perhaps the determination of his expression was enough to dissuade any interruption in his path.
A spectrum of emotions transformed her face as she watched him approach her glass-walled office. She popped up out of her chair, eyes wild with… was it fear, relief, confusion?
He opened the door, stepped in and began speaking immediately, not allowing anything to stop him from saying what he came to say. “Hi, Camille. I’m sorry to barge in on you at work. I know you’re very busy. I needed to talk to you, to see you, and it felt impossible to wait even one more minute.”
He took a breath and she sat back down, wordless. He continued. “I’m here because… The reason I’m here is…” He had to swallow a swell of emotion clogging his throat. Why was this so hard? “What I came here to say is I love you, and I miss you, and I’m sorry I was such an asshat that you were forced out of your own home.
“I understand if you don’t want to live with me anymore, but I can’t not have you in my life. It just doesn’t work without you in it, Camille. So, will you please forgive me? Please take me back.”
She picked at the nail of her left thumb, the habit he had long known signaled discomfort. After a painful pause, she pushed her chair back, stood up, and walked toward him. They stood face to face as she examined him, and he became even more uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. He wasn’t sure whether she was going to scream, or hit him, or something worse. Instead, she put her arms underneath his and hugged him tightly.
“I love you too, Jack. I never stopped being your friend.”
The juxtaposition of the two statements caused a searing pain in his chest. Although the former was music to his ears, the latter was devastating.
Chapter 6
Now
The plane touched down in a foggy San Francisco. Camille was relieved to have left behind all the drama of Chicago, the wedding, and the emotional ruckus created by her now ex-boyfriend and her best friend, whose status was currently undetermined. All the energy she required to make it home left her drained and shaky. She didn’t worry about unpacking, preparing for work the next day, or checking mail.
She took an indulgent shower until there was no more hot water and then crawled into bed. The fact that it was the middle of the afternoon bore no relevance to her decision.
She wasn’t surprised to wake up at eleven pm, starving and disoriented. This was going to screw her up for at least a day, maybe two. While the soup warmed on the stovetop, she picked up her phone, which had been curiously silent since she’d left Chicago. The lack of activity was not only unexpected, it was nearly impossible considering the shitstorm she’d left behind.
>
The tiny airplane in the upper left corner explained the lack of incoming communication. Like opening an overfull cabinet, switching her phone off of airplane mode resulted in a cascade of rings, pings, and buzzes while her screen filled with every type of message bubble available. She poured the soup into a broad patterned bowl and carried it, along with her phone, to the dining table. Waiting for the soup to cool enough provided the perfect window to tally the goings on of the past few hours.
Nearly all the activity on her phone came from Jackson, and perhaps the rest was related to him as well. Instead of taking the time to start from the beginning, Camille opened the most recent texts and voicemails. Listening to his strained voice clenched the base of her throat. He spoke with the controlled anger she had seen him use with his father during their epic disagreements.
“We are not doing this, Camille. Not again. I can accept that I probably fucked up, even though I still don’t know exactly how. What I can’t accept is you shutting me out. Regardless of what happened this weekend, you are still the most important person in my life. I’ll be coming back from the east coast on Monday night and I’m going straight to your apartment. Please be there.”
She listened to his voicemail three times and then stopped herself from any more replays by deleting the message. Ever since she realized that the world was not going to hand her everything she wanted, and in fact would more often hand her exactly what she didn’t want, Camille had become adept at saying no, and meaning it. The exception was the tall man with the square jaw, ebony hair and milk chocolate eyes whom she had found nearly impossible to refuse. The conversation she would have with him in less than 24 hours was going to be the ultimate test of her ability.
When she opened the door to him, the first thing that struck her was that the consistently photo-ready Jackson King was a mess. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were ringed with dark circles, and his jacket had a yellow stain near the lapel.