Heart of Us

by Emma Browne

  I nodded and smirked at how awkward she was being. ‘On you go.’

  She left me waiting at the gate as she walked the steps up to her house and let herself inside.

  Chapter 27

  Miranda

  It was almost a month later by the time I finally spoke to Jack properly about things. I would have talked to him about it earlier, but I could never get time alone with him, and I didn’t think it was the kind of conversation we should have in front of others.

  It was late at night one Sunday a couple of weeks before Christmas, and Jack and I were packing up the market stall, as it was the last night of our turn at the stall. The following week, the other company would have the stall, and then we would have it again in the week leading up to Christmas. Packing the stall down and setting it up again every other week was a little tedious, but it was nice to have breaks from the busy Christmas Market.

  Selling period cups at the Edinburgh Christmas Market had seemed ludicrous when Sophia had first floated the idea by us. But now I was thankful we hadn’t thrown the idea out. In fact, I was surprised by how well we had done. Our mailing list was growing, and though lots of people were disgusted by even the thought of our product and had given our stall a wide berth, the majority had been encouraging and interested.

  We had sold more cups than I had expected – so much so that we had broken even on the cost of the cups during the week we had just finished. Now all the rest of the sales would fund a Kenyan high school’s project to give all their teenage girls a free period cup. Julia was going out there in early January to partake in the project, which was headed up by the school’s head teacher.

  I had never done anything like this before. Sophia had done a gap year before starting university, and Julia had done her year of teaching in Kenya the previous year. Both had come back talking about how there is a world out there that needed us to help. And whilst I had been excited for them, I felt unable to leave Edinburgh for any longer periods of time because of Dad. I wanted him to know that I would be there for him, even when he wasn’t reaching out. I didn’t need to go anywhere else to find the world that needed help.

  Still, it was exciting to be able to help make a difference for the girls who might otherwise drop out of school because of the shame associated with not being able to afford sanitary products. It made me feel as though I was part of something bigger, and that was more motivating than I had expected.

  Up until then, I had seen Project Cup as a short-term project, but now – for the first time – I started to consider the possibility of making it a long-term thing. I wanted it to go beyond being just a one-off project that helped one school in Kenya, and make it into a business that impacted women’s lives all over the world.

  So, when I did the accounts, I looked at what it would take for Project Cup to grow. I came to the conclusion it needed investment and whole-heartedness – also known as risk. It needed somebody to have to guts to jump with both feet and put everything they had into it.

  I started toying with the idea of quitting my job, or at least significantly reducing my hours, in order to invest my time into Project Cup instead. I just hadn’t worked out how to pay my bills, and take care of Dad if he needed it, if I didn’t work a proper job. Yet.

  ‘Are you almost done there?’ Jack asked.

  I gave a startled laugh. He had taken a couple of boxes to his car as I packed up the last things. ‘Yes. This is the last box now. You can head on home; I won’t be long.’

  He raised his eyebrow at me and gave me a look as though to say I was being ridiculous to suggest he leave me alone in the city centre in the middle of the night. ‘Uh-huh.’

  I gave him a dry smile back.

  The summer when I was eleven, Dad had been sober, and lived with us for a few months. I had a lot of good memories from that summer: one of them was how he had taught me how to defend myself if I ever needed to. As an eleven-year-old, the techniques he taught me probably wouldn’t have gotten me very far, but I had put on some muscle since then. I felt fairly confident I could put up a fight should I need to.

  Still, it was nice of Jack to keep me company.

  ‘Here. You can fold the tablecloth.’ I passed it to him and yawned.

  He tucked the tablecloth under his arm and reached to take the box from me. I stepped out of the stall, locked everything, and then his hand found mine as we walked through the market under the Christmas lights back to our cars. Jack whistled that familiar song I couldn’t place, and I told my sleepy self it wasn’t romantic, but – again – I was lying.

  By the time we got to the cars, it had started to snow. It was just a few flakes sailing slowly to the ground, but it was snow.

  Jack put the box in the back of his car – still holding onto my hand – before taking me to my car. There he turned toward me, pressing his warm lips to my cold forehead before opening my car door for me. He closed my door and ran over to his own car.

  Flustered by his kiss, it took me longer than it should have to start my car. Despite having been tired and cold all evening, I was now wide awake, and warm, and tingly all over.

  What had just happened?

  Would a friend give you a kiss on the forehead? Would Michael or Nick kiss my forehead? Would Angus?

  Then again, I told myself, Jack and I were very close friends. So maybe it was ok?

  No. We couldn’t be that close. It was too dangerous. I would have to say something. I cringed as I thought of how to bring it up, but I couldn’t let this go on.

  It took me longer than usual to drive home. I pulled my car into the drive and opened the garage, as Jack pulled his car up behind mine and started unloading the boxes. The snow was coming down heavier now, though the ground wasn’t cold enough for it to stay.

  When the last box was put away and the garage closed, I turned to thank him, and found him standing closer than I expected.

  ‘Jack,’ I said, as he looked down at me. My neck tingled, knowing he was about to kiss me again. ‘We need to talk.’

  He was still standing so close I could feel his breath on my face. I watched, mesmerised, as the side of his mouth pulled up slowly. ‘Do you want to go inside? It’s pretty cold out here.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I shook my head and fumbled to get my keys out. ‘Right. Yeah.’

  Once in the kitchen, I went to fill the kettle, stepping awkwardly around Jack where he was leaning against the counter.

  ‘What’s going on, Mir?’

  It was now or never. I steeled myself, put the kettle down and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I’m thankful for your friendship, but I can’t help but feel as though you see more here than I do. You kiss my forehead or hold my hand, and that isn’t what I want our friendship to be like.’ I waved my hand in the air. ‘People are asking questions, and it’s all making me feel uncomfortable, because I don’t want anything more than friendship from you.’

  Jack was still leaning against the counter. ‘I’m sorry.’ He rubbed his forehead before dropping his hand with a sigh. ‘I’ve tried so hard not to push you. It’s hard though.’

  ‘I feel I’ve tried to tell you several times that I don’t see a future for us, but I know we’ve been hanging out a lot lately, and maybe you’ve misinterpreted…’

  Jack held his hand up. ‘I’m sorry I held your hand and kissed you earlier. I can see you weren’t ready for that.’

  Ready? Ready?

  Oh no. I pulled my hands through my hair, tugging at it in frustration. ‘It’s not that I’m not ready! When will you understand?’

  He frowned. ‘What do you need me to understand?’

  I put my hair behind my ears and looked at him. ‘That we aren’t getting back together.’ I swallowed. ‘It’s not ever going to happen.’

  He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away as though deciding what to say. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard you say that, but I can see that you feel this too.’ He motioned at the space between us and spoke gently, as if to express that he cared about m
e, even though he was clearly frustrated. ‘I don’t want to pressure you. You know I love you, and I always will. I wasn’t ready to get married back then, but that doesn’t mean our relationship has to be doomed forever. I-’

  ‘Let me stop you there.’ I held up my hands. Listening to his hopes for our relationship was painful. ‘I don’t know how to say this to you, but I need you to stop talking about us getting married. I’m never getting married. Least of all to you.’

  He flinched as though I had slapped him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because!’ I took another deep breath to calm down. ‘Don’t take it personally. I’m not going to marry anyone.’

  ‘But why? I thought we talked about what happened, and you said you understood why I broke things off with you back then.’

  I shook my head, wishing it was as simple as that. ‘Yeah, it’s not about that.’

  ‘Then, what? What is it about? What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘I-’ It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the baby then, but I stopped myself. What good would it do him to know now? ‘Look Jacky, all you need to know is that I will always be your friend.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Always. But that’s all I can give you. And I need you to stop hoping for more.’

  He looked at me, as if trying to figure out what was going on. ‘I wish you would tell me what this is about.’

  I almost laughed, because the thought of telling him brought both relief and terrible anxiety, and there was no way I could see how it would help him to know. Instead, I took a deep breath. ‘It’s probably best if you go now.’

  He sighed and buttoned his winter coat over his scarf. ‘Yeah.’ He nodded and left me standing in the kitchen with the kettle that still hadn’t been put on, staring after him as he let himself out.

  Again, I felt a stab of deep sorrow, and I struggled to see anything out of my eyes for quite some time. But I shook it off, made some camomile tea, and went to bed.

  So what if I didn’t sleep very well that night. I had done the right thing.

  I had definitely done the right thing.

  Chapter 28

  Jack

  I have always believed in respecting what people say, and have never been the kind of guy to push or coerce a woman who had said no. Consequently, on the airplane, when Miranda said our Asia fling was over, I respected her wishes and stepped back. We’d had a great time in Asia, and I thought it would be a matter of time before she would want to make our relationship real and permanent. I had made no secret of the fact that I wanted us to be together. I would marry her in a heartbeat if she gave me the chance. And over the following weeks, she seemed more and more open to me. We spent lots of time together, as friends. But I thought we both could see that we were headed towards being more than friends. Therefore, her pulling back again hurt.

  I would respect her wishes and back off again, but it did hurt.

  I couldn’t do much about loving her. She was everything for me, and no matter what she said, she didn’t decide what I felt or hoped. But I wouldn’t push her, and I felt terrible that she felt like that’s what I was doing.

  And still, I wanted to know what was behind her refusal to let us be together when it seemed at least part of her wanted to. I was sure now she was hiding something, and the less she wanted to tell me, the more intrigued I became.

  She texted me early the next morning.

  Miranda: Is everything going to be awkward now?

  Me: Of course not. I’m sorry I pushed when you’d said no.

  Miranda: I probably could’ve been clearer.

  Me: Your words were clear enough. I was hoping for more, but I can respect your choice.

  I was still confused, as her words didn’t seem to match what I had seen in her eyes. That confusion made it harder to come to terms with Miranda’s mind being made up. It hurt like nothing else, but I could only blame myself for not taking the chance when I had had it back in the day.

  Miranda: Thank you. Wanna come over tonight? You still want to be friends, right?

  Being her friend without there being any hope of getting back together again would hurt more than being stabbed in the gut. But if friends was what she could give me, then I would be the best friend she had ever had.

  Me: Sure, I’ll swing by after work. You cooking? Course I still want to be friends – don’t be daft

  ***

  A couple of evenings before Christmas, I was at her house helping her decorate her Christmas tree, making sure to stay well and truly inside the friend-zone.

  It was only a little tree, so didn’t take long to dress, and afterwards, she brought out a handful of plastic zip lock bags. She also had little packs of soap and hand sanitizer, tins of beans, beautiful pairs of wool socks, ordinary socks, packets of crackers, energy bars, chewing gum, a few period cups, and so on.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked, as she sat down on the couch and started stuffing items into the zip lock bags.

  ‘I like to make up little care packages for Dad to give his friends at Christmas.’ She looked at me. ‘Do you want to help?’

  I nodded. ‘Sure.’ I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from asking one of the millions of questions that were on the tip of my tongue, hoping she would tell me without having to ask.

  ‘You probably think this is weird.’

  I opened a multi-pack of energy bars and started putting them in the bags. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Dad has a lot of homeless friends, and most of the time the kinds of gifts he would give them aren’t the kinds of gifts that are actually helpful to them, even though they might be the kinds of gifts they want most.’

  ‘Are you saying you give your dad a bunch of care packages to give to his friends for Christmas?’

  She nodded. ‘Mum started doing it a long time ago, and I’ve been doing it since she died.’

  ‘I like these socks.’ I had seen her knitting socks all autumn and had wondered who would wear them, as I had only ever seen her wear two different pairs.

  She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Well, they’re not all pretty, but hopefully they’ll be warm.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll love them.’ I helped her make the care packages up and didn’t think too much more about it. It was a long time since I had seen Jimmy, but every time I asked about him, she seemed to close up, so I decided not to go there.

  When Christmas came around, I had done my best to be more friendly and act less… interested in her. I made myself stay away more and ask questions less, and, though there was still some tension after our late-night chat when she had told me to back off, things were going well.

  Too well.

  She continued to be reluctant to share anything beyond surface level information, and I was getting increasingly frustrated with how well she was avoiding talking about whatever it was she was hiding.

  I was still trying to work out how to get it out of her when Christmas Day came around. Everyone was gathering at my parents’ house for a traditional Christmas dinner, and Sophia, Michael, and I had been put to work in the kitchen. Mum had given us all jobs to do to help get Christmas dinner on the table, and my job was to peel about three kilos of potatoes, a kilo of carrots, and some other root vegetables.

  Michael and Sophia were bickering about how to say aluminium, or whether macaroni and cheese could be considered a meal. I didn’t feel bad staying out of that one. They acted like an old married couple, even though they were both adamant they were just friends that happened to be legally married.

  I shook my head when Sophia tried to get me to get me to side with her over whether olives were nice to eat or not. ‘I’m staying out of your marital spat,’ I said, and Sophia threw me an annoyed look. ‘What? You guys are married and are having a spat. Hence, it’s a marital spat, no?’

  ‘No!’ Sophia shook her head as Michael rolled his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was rolling them at me or her.

  ‘Uh-huh, sure. Keep me out of it, in any case.’ I
winked at her and she sighed.

  A few minutes later, she said, ‘When the Bible talks about women being quiet at church, how do you interpret that?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m definitely staying out of that one.’ Though I wasn’t sure how she had ended up on that subject, it sounded like a recipe for disaster. I glanced at Michael.

  He looked amused.

  I shook my head at him and went to turn up the Christmas music, when Miranda and Julia walked through the door. They were both wearing ugly Christmas jumpers. As was I. Ever since we were kids, Mum would go round the charity shops after Christmas to buy up any Christmas jumpers, which she would give us the following year.

  And as ugly as Miranda’s jumper was, she was still the most beautiful girl in the room.

  ‘Oh, good morning girls,’ Mum said, her hands deep in the turkey as she tilted her cheek toward them for a kiss.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ Miranda said cheerfully.

  ‘Oh good, the little elves are here,’ I said, and smiled as Mum had Miranda pull out a chopping board to chop the vegetables I had peeled.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Julia asked Mum.

  ‘I’ve got the perfect job for you, dear. Would you set the table?’

  I chuckled. ‘That’s because she doesn’t want to take any risks with Christmas dinner this year.’

  Julia threw me a dark look, and I got the feeling she would have said something had Mum not been there.

  ‘Now, now Jack,’ Mum said, working hard to hide her smile, as she finished rubbing the turkey with oil and herbs. ‘Be nice to your sister.’

  Julia went to get cutlery and said, ‘Uh-huh, that’s fine. I don’t mind setting the table.’

  Ignoring the others, I turned to Miranda and said, ‘I like your jumper.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Yeah, it’s high fashion, this is.’ She smiled as though she was holding back a laugh. ‘I like yours too. And your pinny.’

  I looked down at the frilly apron I had on over my reindeer jumper with bells. ‘I jingle when I walk.’ I glanced at Mum, who was talking to Dad. ‘I don’t know how she finds these ugly things.’