Awkward.

by Kate, Lily

  I follow her seconds later, every bone in my body, every muscle shuddering. I hold her, propped against the wall, nuzzled against her neck. The shower has turned into a steam room, leaving us both covered in a glistening sheen.

  “Jack, I—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” I ease her down, take her chin between my fingers and tilt it until she’s forced to make eye contact with me.

  “But you said—”

  “Hey,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she curls against me. “I told you how I feel. I didn’t expect a response.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve decided not to go to Florida.”

  “Jack, you have to. You can’t throw your career around for...for me, for this—whatever might happen between us. You have to go.”

  “Turn around,” I instruct.

  Though confused, she does as I ask.

  My hands come up and caress her shoulders. I rub her there until she eases against my hands. She’s malleable, soft. When she reaches for the shampoo, I take it from her hands and rub it through her hair, the soap covering her body in a slick sheen.

  After rinsing her hair, she turns to face me and, to my surprise, tears hold in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Jack, I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?” I call as she steps from the shower and grabs a towel. “Allie, where are you going?”

  “This was a bad idea.” She turns back to face me, wrapped in a luxe white towel that frames her skin, giving her an angelic sort of glow. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Allie, wait—”

  “Promise me one thing.”

  “What? Stay here, please. This wasn’t a bad idea. I’m not asking more of you.”

  “But you will, Jack.” Her hands reach for my shoulders and hold on, tight. “Promise you’ll go to Florida today. Let me go.”

  “I can’t do that.” I shake my head, my fingers digging into the towel around her. “I’ll stay here. Something’s wrong.”

  "Jack, you have a career and a life. You can't throw all that away for me. You owe it to yourself to see this through. Go to Florida. Decide what's best for you," she says. "We need time to think about things between us, what we really want. Give me time, Jack. Don't follow me."

  “No, Allie.” I switch the water off and follow her into the bedroom. “Don’t do this again. Last time I let you walk out that door, I regretted it every second.”

  “Last time, I wanted you to chase me,” she says, a quiver rocking her lower lip. “Don’t follow me this time.”

  “What is this about?”

  “You broke the rules, Jack!” She raises her voice as she drops her towel and fumbles for her clothes. “You weren’t supposed to tell me you loved me—not like this. You can’t give everything up for me.”

  “This is us,” I tell her. “Me and you—best friends. This is not how we handle our problems.”

  Allie’s too busy sliding clothes over her body to respond. She shakes her head, tears freefalling now. Her cheeks are dampened from steam, from tears, her eyes rimmed red.

  “I can’t stand to see you like this,” I say, too afraid to reach for her again. I’m afraid if I push too hard, she’ll pull back for good. “What did I do? What did I say?”

  My questions also seem to be the wrong thing to utter because a new wave of tears erupt as she looks up at me, finally dressed.

  She grabs everything, marches to me, no longer bothering to hide her tears. “You didn’t do a thing wrong, Jack,” she says, reaching for me. Her fingers find my cheek and they’re smooth, cool against my skin. “You’re perfect.”

  “I want you, Allie. I love you, and I need—”

  “Stop.” She leans onto her tiptoes, her eyes leveling on mine, pausing before she completes the argument with the softest, quickest of kisses. “You are not the problem. It’s me.”

  “I can’t get on that airplane knowing you’re like this.”

  She drags a hand across her face, gives a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Please. For me, go. I need time to think.”

  “What’s there to think about?”

  She gives a shake of her head. “For me,” she says, and there’s a hint of begging to her words. “For me, Jack. Give me time.”

  She leaves my apartment, the door closing behind her. The click of it sliding into place, clinking shut with a finality that freezes my heart.

  I move toward it, far enough to rest a hand on the knob, and that’s when I stop. Something about Allie’s expression, her plea for me to give her space, rings back at me, and this time, I don’t feel like I have a choice.

  I have to let her go.

  Chapter 30

  ALLIE

  I’m crying so hard I can barely make it to school without crashing into every car on the highway. In fact, I cry so hard that eventually, I’m forced to pull over after too many close calls.

  Also, there’s the small fact of my eyes turning bright red, which is not a great look for the first day of school—but I don’t know what else to do.

  When Jack and I came together last night, this morning, it had felt somehow inevitable. As if it were something that’d been building up for years and years, finally culminating in a few hours that made my list of favorite-hours-ever-lived.

  And then he’d gone and tried to give up everything for me—a new opportunity, a development for his career, a change of lifestyle. I can’t let him do that for me.

  We weren’t supposed to fall in love. We weren’t even supposed to have sex, but that had happened, and now so had love.

  For both of us. Because even if I hadn’t told him out loud, he had to have felt it. Seen it in my eyes. There’s no other reason I’d ask him to not follow me this morning. If I didn’t love him, I’d have fallen right into his arms and told him everything. Confessed my love, my need for him, just as much as he seems to need me.

  The truth is, we fit together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces, like peanut butter and jelly, like coffee and cream. Except we don’t belong together. He’s a Darcy, and I’m Allie. He’s a famous surgeon, while I hail from all things normal.

  I turn my car off, resting my head against the steering wheel as I think. I think and think, and still, I can’t come up with a solution. Mrs. Darcy returns to mind, and I can’t help but daydream some nasty words in conjunction with her name. If it weren’t for her, I might not be so hesitant to give this relationship a chance.

  I take a few deep breaths, calming ones, and turn my keys in the ignition. Jack will be at the airport by now. He’ll have gone; I know this because I asked him. Begged him. If I’d asked him to follow me instead, he would have. If I hadn’t specifically forbidden him to follow me, he would have done that, too.

  My car turns over, but it doesn’t start.

  “Are you kidding me?” I smack the steering wheel hard enough to bruise my hand. “Start!”

  Another try, and still nothing. A few more tries, and it’s clear there’s something horribly wrong with my vehicle.

  “You asshole!” I yell at my car. “Not today! Any day but today!”

  By the time I have AAA dialed, I’m able to realize the silver lining of this whole thing. I’ve traded my sadness for anger, my angst for frustration. All of the original emotions floating around Jack are still there, they’re just buried deep beneath a pile of mounting fear over how I’ll ever manage to get these bills paid. I need a car; I need to drive to work.

  Do I have enough money for a new transmission, food, and rent? Not so much.

  As I wait for the car guy, a hundred million thoughts flicker through my head, most of them dark and broody and filled with expletives. I could ask my parents for money, or I could ask Jack, but I hate asking for favors. Even if I plan on paying them back.

  There is, however, one way I can afford the repairs on my vehicle by myself—without taking out a loan or selling my body on the streets of Los Angeles.

  With a resigned sigh, and
a few dozen false starts, I finally manage to make my fingers call the correct number. When the woman on the other end of the phone answers, I hold my breath and debate hanging up for a full three seconds.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” I say finally. “I’m calling to apologize, and to see if you still need someone to watch the poodles next weekend?”

  Chapter 31

  JACK DARCY

  It’s Saturday night, nearly one week after my night with Allie, and I’m frantic.

  I’m supposed to be at the awards ceremony for my mother, but I’m running late. Specifically, I’m standing outside Allie’s apartment, wondering where in the world she could be when I need her to be here. Now.

  I haven’t called her all week. I tried to once, but she texted me back and said she’d prefer not to talk over the phone. That maybe we could catch-up once I’m back.

  Catch-up, as if we’re high school buddies that haven’t fucking talked for ten years. So, I gave her the week. Now I’m back, ready to catch up as she put it. Which brings me to the question of where Allie is on a Saturday evening.

  I ease out my phone, tapping my foot with anxiety, and dial Aimee. She’s the only other person in whom Allie confides her plans.

  “Jack?” she answers sounding rightfully confused. “What’s up?”

  “Do you know where Allie is?”

  “Uh, no?” she says. “She said she had something to do tonight, but I don’t think she ever said what it was.”

  “Don’t you two tell each other everything?” I demand. “Where is she?”

  “Cool your jets, superman. I’m sure she’s just grabbing groceries or something. If she were doing anything cool, I’m sure she would’ve told me. Have you tried to call her?”

  “No.”

  “Well, she does have a phone, and I’m sure you know her number.”

  I hesitate, confused. The way Aimee is talking, it doesn’t seem like she knows anything about last Sunday night. Had Allie kept our time together a secret? She tells Aimee just about everything, and I can only think of two reasons why she’d keep it quiet: shame or disappointment.

  Neither are great options.

  “Oh, uh, okay,” I mumble. “Thanks a lot, Aimee.”

  “Jack, are you okay?” she asks. “You seem...flustered.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m going to let you go, I think she texted me.”

  I hang up, realizing too late that Aimee was still talking. I wince, figure I can apologize later, and flip to my text messages.

  It’s not from Allie, and the name on the screen has me confused. Caroline? Usually if it’s work related, she will call or email, or leave a note on my desk. A text from a co-worker is something I tend to avoid. It’s too personal.

  I click into the message, surprised to find no word about work. Instead, there’s a link to a website, and underneath it, a simple message.

  Caroline: Jack—I think you need to see this.

  Chapter 32

  ALLIE

  I twiddle a pencil over the paper, struggling for a new title. The notebook sits empty before me, as does this huge, beautiful, cold house where I’ve planted myself for the night.

  A couple grand in cash provides great inspiration to set past arguments aside and buck up to do a job. The job I’m doing tonight is watching poodles, and it’s going to pay for the new transmission, tires, and brakes that my car so desperately needs before the school year kicks into high gear.

  It’s been a week since Jack left for his Florida trip, and he should be back by now—in time for his mother’s award. I say should be because I’m not sure if he actually returned or not. Then again, I did ask him to give me time and space. So, I shouldn’t be surprised that he gave me time and space. If nothing else, Jack Darcy is a man of his word.

  When I’d arrived at the Darcy house earlier this afternoon, I’d been working up the guts to ask Mrs. Darcy if she’d heard how the interview had had gone. Lord knows she’d have been happy to hear I hadn’t talked to Jack for a week—her plan, it seems, is working.

  However, she and Mr. Darcy had been gone already, both of them prepping for their Saturday night soiree. I’d been left with a long list of instructions and enough emergency numbers to line a phone book. Only the promise of a sweetly running car engine is keeping me here with a smile on my face.

  As promised, the Darcy’s are leaving tomorrow on business, so I’ll be popping over throughout the week to take care of the dogs when I’m not at work. I’m not sure if she told Jack about this arrangement, which gives me a certain antsiness. I’m just steps away from Jack’s old bedroom, the one where we’d lay and watch movies as kids or read books when Jack tired of movies.

  This memory brings a smile to my face, and I stand, easing down the hallway, my fingers tracing over the few picture frames that display real family photos, and not professional works of art.

  I pass one that catches me by surprise. It’s of Jack and me—I’m around four years old, and Jack is about nine. We’re covered in so much dirt that only the whites of our eyes are visible, and this makes me laugh.

  I feel a little odd laughing inside this huge home, alone, so I move on to things with less sentimental value. Or so I think, until I catch a peek of Jack’s room. Most of this house looks like a museum: things are in their rightful places, the furniture is top of the line, and even the pillows aren’t meant to be touched.

  But this room has something else, something more.

  A hint of personality, of Jack. The innocent little Jack who I’d known and loved growing up. As I retreat from the room, suddenly feeling as if I’m invading something all-too-personal, I realize there’s still a bit of that sweet little boy in grown-up, handsome and successful, Dr. Darcy. His smiles, the excitement in his eyes at a stupid car movie, the belief that he and I might be in love—there’s an optimism that’s never quite left his spirit.

  This thought pricks my eyes with tears, as does the thought that I’ve hurt Jack. That I couldn’t give him what he needed, what he deserved. My heart aches, feeling as if it’s tearing through my chest as a hot streak of tears runs down my cheek, to my chin, and drips to the floor.

  I wipe it quickly, suddenly prepared to write. My blog has sat vacant for a week, though I must’ve started and stopped work on it a million times. Even Caroline reached out, asking what was wrong. The world, or at least a little part of it, seems invested in my story. It’s not until this moment, in this house filled with memories of childhood, that I understand what I need to write.

  I flip open the laptop I’ve brought with me and pour myself a glass of wine. Next to it, I have a cup of coffee, already warm. This time, I’m able to forgo the pencil and the doodles, the procrastination and the bullshit, and write down all that I wish I could tell Jack, but that I’ll never be able to say aloud.

  Then, once I’m finished, I drain my glass of wine, pour another, and hit publish.

  Chapter 33

  JACK DARCY

  I race across town, my heart pounding.

  The screen on my phone is still backlit by the website Caroline had linked me to, and the article with an anonymous author who, fortunately for me, is no longer anonymous to me.

  My phone rings, the screen blinking with my mother’s number. She’s called no less than five times in the past twenty minutes, probably wondering where I am. They’re due to give her the award in an hour, and she wants me and my father to be standing next to her when it happens.

  I haven’t thought of what I’ll tell her yet, but tonight, there’s something more important than an award that needs my attention.

  The familiar house rolls into view, and I’m grateful I had the foresight to pick up a souvenir for Allie in Florida. I grab the bag from the passenger seat of the car, having meant to drop it off at her place. Then, I had discovered that the woman I love is currently at my childhood home.

  I open the garage door with the keycode and make my way into the house; the quiet stillness of home is familiar and foreign all at once
, and I take just a second to adjust and catch my breath.

  Once I’ve managed to take a few steps into the entryway, I hesitate, wondering why she hasn’t come to investigate the sound of the garage door opening. That’s when I spot her—the first time I’ve seen her in nearly a week—and I freeze.

  She’s sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, headphones plugged in and a half-full wine glass sitting next to her. She’s bobbing her head and singing quietly off-key as her fingers move across the keyboard. That explains her lack of concern at the sound of an intruder.

  I set the bag down, a gift far too large for any occasion, but one that I’d felt Allie would appreciate—and hopefully use tonight. I take a step through the door and savor the sight for a long moment—Allie happy, jamming to her music, a smile on her lips and the slight buzz of a glass of wine giving her cheeks a pink flush.

  If I could pocket this moment and save it forever, I would.

  Unfortunately, I proceed to ruin the moment in the very next second, taking too big of a step forward and startling Allie right off the stool at the counter. She throws her hands up, toppling back in surprise. Her headphones are yanked from the jack in the computer, and though I lunge to catch her, I’m not fast enough.

  Her headphone cord lassos the glass of wine, and it tips over, shattering into a million pieces. The bottle follows next, landing with a huge thud that sets the dogs to barking. The wine probably hasn’t helped her balance, and I feel a wash of guilt as I rush to her side and help her stand.

  “Jack, what the hell?” She pops her headphones off and looks at me. “What are you doing here looking like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like James Bond! And you’re slinking around, and sneaking in here...” She shakes her head, gathering herself. “Oh, shit. The wine.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I have to. Wine stains things. This is your mother’s house, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  I exhale thickly. “Nope. Haven’t forgotten. Let me help you.”