by Marilyn Grey
I held on to her and tried to process it all. Abort me? I didn't want to be selfish. I wanted to think of the poor woman who conceived me like that. But abort me? The words refused to leave my mind. I did my best to pretend like it was all okay. I told Mom I'd write a letter and apologize. But the entire time we played Pictionary, my mind was somewhere else.
Alistair sent me a message at 9:02pm asking if I was going to call because he was getting tired. I told him I'd call in a half hour and asked him to please stay awake, peel back his eyelids, whatever it took, I needed him. Yes. For once, I admit, I needed him.
I said goodbye to everyone as fast as possible, jogged to my car, and called him.
No answer.
I sent a text. Hey, are you there? Please be there. It's only 9:24. Alistair? Please be awake.
I called during my drive home. Over and over again. I called when I got home. Over and over again. I called in bed. Over. And over. And over. Again. I called fifty six times before midnight. Then I gave up, turned my face into my pillow, and used every ounce of willpower within me to keep myself from crying.
Chapter 50
I woke up at 3am from another horrible dream. I tried to call Alistair, hoping maybe he was awake and would finally answer. After calling three times, I hung up and called Donovan.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Jazzy," he mumbled half asleep. "You okay?"
"No." I pressed my lips together and breathed deep through my nose.
"Jazz. What's wrong?"
I started to explain, but my mind couldn't catch up with my heart and I couldn't find the words.
"What happened? Tell me you're okay." He sounded wide awake now. "Should I come over?"
"No," I said quickly. "No, that's not fair to Han and Alistair."
"What's wrong? Talk to me."
"Why does it feel like whenever something goes well for me it all starts to fall apart? I can't hold on to happiness, Don. It doesn't like me."
"Happiness is overrated anyway. Did something happen?"
"Well, my biological mother was at my parent's house tonight aaand that was interesting and Alistair and I..." My lip quivered.
"Did you break up?"
"No. No we're still together, but it's only been like a month since I got back and it's been so hard to talk. We keep missing each other and I feel like he just doesn't make an effort and I don't know, Don ... what if he realizes this isn't worth it and..."
"And what? You get your heart broken?"
I nodded as though he could see me.
"Remember what I said? A broken heart is proof that the heart worked to begin with. I doubt Alistair would do that. He adores you just like any guy would if they had you. It's long distance, Jazz. That comes with the territory. You just need to work through it like anything else. Just be honest with him."
"I will if I can ever talk to him again."
"Leave it to you to be optimistic."
"Mmmhmm." I felt a little better. "Thank you for picking up the phone."
"Always."
"I wish Alistair would wake up when the phone rings. The guy has an alarm on his phone and a digital clock next to his bed and still oversleeps sometimes."
"But he doesn't snore."
"No." I laughed. "Not that."
"Try to get some rest, okay? Close your eyes and put the phone on speaker. I won't hang up until you're asleep."
"Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this."
About that oversleeping thing.
I woke up ten minutes after 1812 was supposed to open and had three missed calls from Brooke. I called her back and told her I'd be there soon, then got ready without taking a shower.
On the way to the shop I called Alistair.
"Jane," he said.
"Alistair. It's so good to finally hear your voice again."
"I tried to bloody stay awake. I feel rubbish. I'm so sorry."
"How are you? How's work?"
"Everything is all right. Hey, I tried to call you back earlier. It was around 4am your time and your phone gave a weird beep like you were talking to someone else."
"Oh, it was Don."
"You called Don?"
I parked in back of the store and turned the car off. "I called him, yeah. I needed someone to talk to."
He didn't say anything. Something slammed.
"Are you upset at me?"
"No."
"Yes you are."
"I'm driving. I'll call you back when I'm off the road."
"Oh." I hoped maybe he'd pull over and finish our talk. "Okay."
"Okay then."
We hung up and I leaned back in the driver's seat wondering what the hell just happened. What was happening to us?
I sent him a message. Alistair, I hope you're not mad. You know Don is just a friend. I was upset about my birth mother and not talking to you as much.
A minute went by, then he responded with, He's not just a friend. There was a time when you chose him over me. Looks like you did again.
Me: I didn't choose him over you. You didn't pick up.
Him: Then why didn't you pick up when I called?
Me: I was sleeping. He just let the phone stay on while I fell asleep because he knew it would comfort me.
Him: Some other bloke comforting you. I see.
Me: He's not some other bloke. You know how I feel about him. Don't do this. Please.
Five minutes later he still hadn't responded. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and tried to stop them from shaking, then sent another message.
Alistair. Please. I love you.
No answer.
I went into the store, dazed, nauseous, dizzy. Brooke and Han helped me sit down in the back and said they'd take care of things. Brooke told me to rest, but how could I?
How could I possibly rest until he told me everything was okay? We were still worth the fight. I considered hopping on a plane and showing up on his doorstep, but I couldn't leave. And I didn't have any money anyway.
Han touched my shoulder. "Jane, someone here to see you."
"I can't right now."
Brooke tapped on the doorframe. "You may want to come out."
I forced myself to my feet. One step at a time. A woman in a business suit stood at the front of the store. Why, for a second, did I think I was in a Nicholas Sparks film and Alistair would be the one standing at the door, holding a bouquet of black and yellow flowers? Why the hell did I think, for one freaking second, that maybe, just maybe, I could wrap my arms around him and make it go away?
The woman greeted me. So and so from such and such. I tried to focus. At the end she said, "You let me know," and I had to ask Han and Brooke what happened.
"She wants to hire you," Brooke said. "Spacing out again?"
"For what?"
"You weren't listening?"
I shook my head.
"She's from New York. Word got around. She wants to have your designs on the runway by the end of this year."
"What? Is that even possible? I'm not even sure I want that."
She pointed to the business card that I dropped on the floor. "Might wanna pick that up."
Maybe that should've been good news, but it wasn't because I couldn't share it with Alistair.
I texted and called over a hundred times before bed that day. Even sent a long email pouring my heart out to him.
He never responded.
Not. Even. Once.
Chapter 51
Four insufferable days. Four.
Day one, I was pissed. Day two, I was confused. Day three, I was worried. Today ... Thanksgiving ... sad. Not thankful. Not a fun person to be around, but I put on my happy face when I went to Mom's for dinner. Then, of course, as we're all sitting around the table listening to Granny talk about how Grandpa used to cook the perfect turkey, Mom passed me the sauerkraut and whispered, "Are you still upset about Julia?"
I traded the sauerkraut for cranberry sauce. "Not really. I sent her an apology
, but haven't heard back."
"She went back to California. It's really difficult for her, Jane. I hope you understand. None of this is your fault." She handed me the mashed potatoes. "But I'm glad you're here and whether I gave birth to you or not, you're my daughter and I love you."
Eddie cleared his first plate within minutes and looked up for seconds.
"Slow down," I said to him. "Some people have nothing today." I looked around the table. "And here we are overeating all in the name of thankfulness."
"Well, I am thankful," he said, scooping a generous spoonful of stuffing on to his plate.
I sighed and pushed my plate away. "I can't eat."
"Jane," Dad said.
I stood and stared at the sweet potatoes covered in marshmallows, which took me back to the day I met Alistair. The day he tried to make me feel less awkward about my name by bringing up how weird he thought it was that we put marshmallows on our sweet potatoes. The day he walked into my life that I was now starting to wish hadn't happened.
Better to not know love than to find it and lose it.
"Sit down, dear," Granny said. "You look famished. Please tell her to eat, son."
Dad looked at me, then Mom, then back to me. "Jane, sit with us? Even if you aren't hungry?"
"I'll be back. I need to go to the bathroom."
I went to my old room instead and sat on the guest bed. Mom converted the room to a Sense and Sensibility theme.
"I used to be sensible," I said to myself. "Now I can't pull myself together."
I checked my phone again. Just in case. Last text from him was still, Some other bloke comforting you. I see.
How could he not forgive me? It was so trivial in the grand scheme of it all.
I opened up my voice recorder and said, "Alistair, I don't know what's wrong with us. I don't know how to fix it if you don't talk to me. It's been four days and you can't even respond to one of my messages? Just tell me you don't want to talk to me ever again. Anything. Something. Just not nothing. You always told me we'd make it. We'd work through anything that comes our way. You told me to stay with you. So I'm here, but you've gone away. Please just respond. I miss you. I love you. I hate this. Please." I then put my phone in my lap and sang "Stay with Me" to him. I'm not the best, not always in tune, but I felt every word. Then I ended the recording, messaged it to him, and hoped maybe he'd respond before he went to bed.
{ Readers - You can LISTEN to this voicemail by clicking here }
Eddie walked by the open doorway, stopped, walked backward, and peeked inside. "Jane?"
"Hey." I shrugged. "Nice room here. Fitting for Jane Austen, don't you think?"
He sat beside me and looked at the regency paintings. "A few days ago I heard Mom and Dad talking about your birth and adoption and everything. They didn't know I was listening because I had headphones on, but the song ended and I heard them saying how weird it was that the two of them met over a Jane Austen book in class, and his last name was Austen, but then their first child was named Jane without their input. Dad said it was meant to be. Mom agreed and cried, saying she could never imagine life without you." He rubbed the back of his head. "So, yeah, I don't know what's going on with you and I know all of this is pretty shitty, but today is Thanksgiving and I'm thankful you're my sister, no matter how it happened."
I pat his shoulder. "Thanks, Ed. I'm thankful too."
"Good." He slapped his legs and stood. "So can you please come down before you upset Granny?"
We walked downstairs together and I sat down, trying to pretend again. It wasn't my life that upset me. I could get over that. I had a good family and I was thankful, regardless of the weirdness of my birth story and those years of my childhood spent wondering where I fit in and who I was. But I wasn't thankful for Alistair's decision to ignore me without closure and I knew what I needed to do.
I needed to fly out to him. As soon as freaking possible.
"How's Alistair?" Mom said over dessert.
"He's good," I said.
"Things are going well with you two?" Granny smirked.
"Yeah," I lied. "Everything is good. We're good."
But Mom knew something was up. She gave me that look.
"I'm going back out sometime this week," I said. "I'm excited."
Mom looked back at her plate, then Dad. She wasn't buying it.
And of course she pulled me aside later and asked me what was going on, but I didn't want anyone to know. Last time Donovan got involved it didn't go well and the surprise party was nice, but overwhelming. I wanted to handle this on my own without everyone trying to step in and write my love story for me. No, I needed to figure this out on my own. I needed to show him I still loved him and wouldn't let this stuff come between us.
Chapter 52
Another week and still nothing, so I booked a flight to England for the first weekend in December and hired a temp to help Brooke and Han at the shop. It was getting busier and busier especially around Christmas. I didn't realize how many Batman fans existed in Philly, although quite a few people liked the uniqueness of the designs and the store even if they weren't fans.
But I couldn't fully enjoy the success without Alistair to share it with, so I boarded the plane and tried to avoid the nauseating emotions begging my mind to turn around and go back home. When I landed I promised myself I would stop flying so much sometime soon. Not my favorite thing.
I got the rental car I booked, did my best to drive on the right side while also following the map on my phone, and finally made it to his house around 3am his time. I figured if he was sleeping I'd just wait in my car, but first I knocked on the front door. Of course he didn't answer, so I went around to the side and tossed a few pebbles up there. Still nothing.
Back in my car I went. Where I tried to sleep—ha!—until morning. He normally worked Saturday's, leaving around 8am. So I woke at five and set my phone's alarm for 7:30am. When it woke me up I bunched my scarf around my neck and put the hood of my coat over me, then slipped my gloves on and sat on his front step. By 8:32 I gave up peeping through the windows and being a stalker, and walked to his car in the back. Which wasn't there.
But I wasn't giving up. I wasn't going to allow myself to feel or be defeated. Love fights. And that's exactly what I intended to do.
So I walked back around to the front and sat down on the step. The door clicked and opened.
Shoes clacked behind me.
"Can I help you?" someone, a female someone, said.
I stood. "I'm here to see Alistair."
"Who?" She stepped out of the doorway and locked it behind her. "I'm afraid you have the wrong address."
"No, this is his apartment. I mean, flat. He lives here. Who are you? His girlfriend?"
"Darling, I don't like boys like that so that's a bit impossible." She laughed as she rattled her keys while walking by me and down the steps.
I looked back at the door. The bright red door. It was the right address. Unmistakeable door. I turned back to her and walked down the steps.
"Where is he?" I pleaded. "Look, if you're his new thing that's fine, but I need to see him."
"Like I said, wrong address." She stood at the driver's side of her car. "My name is Arabella and I live there." She pulled something out of her purse. "See." She showed me her name above the address, his address, on her mail. "I just moved in a week ago. Maybe this Alistair lived here before then?"
"Maybe." I closed my eyes and breathed in as much air as possible, then released it. "Thank you, Arabella. Sorry to bother you."
She drove off and I stood there, staring at that stupid red door and wondering why he wasn't behind it, then I started to worry. What if he died? What if I would never know? I didn't know his parent's names or addresses. All of his friends lived in London where he spent the second half of his life. And I never met them or learned their last names.
His old band mates!
I shivered as a frigid breeze swept down the street, then looked up their website on
my phone as I got into my car. Nothing came up and their old site had an error page. Their Facebook page was gone too. I tried to remember one of their names, but realized I didn't know any of them. I didn't know one person in his life.
"Maybe I don't know him at all," I said to myself. "Maybe he was a creep."
"I don't think so," I responded to myself. "You knew him. You loved him and you knew him."
"But I don't know any of his family or friends."
"Shut up!" I turned the car on. "Whatever side of my brain you are, stop being negative. I'm done. I'm thinking positively no matter what you say."
"But—"
"Nope."
I turned the radio up to ignore my thoughts and of course that Stay with Me song came on. I didn't turn the station though. Instead I sang my heart out as loud as possible while driving around aimlessly looking for him.
Too many questions. It was unlike him. Either he was seriously pissed off at me, he found someone else he liked better, or he died. But why would he move?
My heart beat was driving me nuts and my chest felt tight. I pressed down where it hurt and pulled over to catch my breath. Cars passed and I found myself hoping for a ridiculous Nicholas Sparks feeling scene. Anything would be better than whatever I was experiencing now.
I rummaged through my purse for some headache meds in my special, rarely used pocket reserved for pain meds. I pulled out arnica with a note in Autumn's handwriting that said, "Use this instead. If it doesn't work, use the chems." She called over-the-counter drugs "chemical drugs" and soon she just called them "chems." I popped the recommended dosage in and hoped they were more than sugar pills. Then I saw another note in there.