by Molli Moran
I feel like my entire center of gravity has shifted, and I’m cut loose, just drifting.
The first tears fall. I hate myself for them. I never imagined I’d cry over anything after leaving Nashville, but here I am, losing it alone on a Friday night. It’s my weekend off from Freshly Ground, so I have nowhere to be, which is fine with me. All I want is to stay here, alone.
I hear my phone go off again, and when it lights up, I glance at the screen and pause my music. It’s from Sloane.
Open up already! We’re here.
I sigh because I know she won’t give up easily. She’ll continue to linger until I let her in, and I might as well get this over with, so I go let them into my apartment. Then I turn and shuffle back to the couch.
“Okay,” Sloane says, marching in flanked by Mina, Brenna, and Cassidy. They’re all wearing fierce expressions. “We’re here to stage an intervention.”
I snort. “An intervention?”
“Yes.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “We’ve let you slide until now. But this is pathetic.” She glares at me. “Get up.”
“No.”
“Get off your ass now!” Sloane tugs the blanket away from me, and I pout. “Sophie, come on. This isn’t you.”
Cassidy sits at my feet. “Soph, I know you’re wigging out, and I don’t blame you. But you can be overwhelmed and still live.”
Can I? I’ve dodged Jake for a week and it feels like an eternity. He’s called me every night, and he’s tried to corner me several times at work. He asks me to stop and talk at work, but I won’t. I’m not sure what to say to him. It seems it’s one thing to pin your hopes on a fantasy, but it’s completely jarring when the fantasy comes true.
Every night this week, I’ve stared in the mirror. I’ve forced myself to say aloud that I am worthy of love, that even I should get a happy ending. I’ve swallowed down the fear, and tried to talk myself out of my natural impulse: running. I’ve always run, for one reason or another. Staying in one place is my problem. When I came home, I wanted to put down roots, and I have, so it’s killing me to think of tearing away from them.
I’m starting to believe a happy ending could be within my reach, and I’m starting to believe the girl in the mirror, but it’s slow going. I’m not a tragedy, but I am new at things working out in my favor.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper. I know it counterproductive to be scared of being happy. I know I’m being illogical, but I never claimed to make sense.
Sloane kneels in front of me. “Sophie, it can be done, one step at a time. Fake it ‘til you make it, like the rest of us do. Grown-up relationships are scary, but that’s life.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “And the first step is getting your ass off that couch and coming to Time Out with us.”
I glance around at their worried faces. Mina gives me a small smile, and Brenna nods. Cassidy’s eyes are pleading with me to stand up, to breathe, and to try. To believe I deserve happiness. I know I’m letting them down, but I’m so damn spun. I never really stopped to think how it would feel, what it would do to me, to know Jake cares for me, too.
I glance down at my wrist, remembering right after I came home, when Sloane put ours together so I could read the lyrics that have gotten me through rejected songs, breakups, weight gain, flat tires, friendships ending, and more. I survived all of those things. I can damn well survive this, because I’m like those girls at the gala after all. I’m Sophie-Claire Wright. I’m a belle too, covered in iron. I’m a rebel belle, and I won’t let this, or anything, shake me. I deserve love and happiness.
No more getting in my own way.
No more being afraid to grab hold of what’s standing in front of me.
So I take a deep breath. I stand up. I breathe. I try.
___ ___ ___
A hot shower, a quick manicure, and a shot of vodka later, I step into Time Out in stiletto heels I’m not sure I won’t break an ankle in. I wanted to wear my cowboy boots, but Sloane insisted, and it was worth the smile on her face to let her doll me up a bit. I’m wearing a super cute dress I got at Goodwill just after I moved home, but I drew the line at any makeup other than concealer and a little blush to take away my death pallor. I have to admit that post shower and dressed up, I feel nice.
After a week of feeling off, I need to feel good again. I forgot what getting ready to go out could do for my mood. Turning the radio up loud and dancing around my room while I dried my hair may have been ridiculous, but it’s what I needed. By the time we arrive, I’m actually in a better mood.
We commandeer a table right in the middle of the bar. Sloane orders us a round of shots, save for Cassidy, who is here for moral support. I draw the line at corrupting my sweet sister. We gave her a sip of vodka at the apartment, and she nearly gagged, so I definitely don’t have to worry about her. And that’s reassuring. Wes and I had our share of misadventures as teens, so seeing Cassidy be so good, is comforting.
When the drinks arrive, we all hold ours up and toast to “living life.” I declare it a no-guy-talk zone, and insist on talk about anything but romance. Tonight, I don’t want to hear about kissing or hook-ups or anything like that. I feel bad because Brenna just got engaged, but I tell her that it’s nothing personal and I’m happy for her.
“So how’s work?” I turn to Sloane, who’s downing her shot.
She shrugs, grimacing after she finishes her drink. “Work. Chasing leads, fighting for credit on articles.”
I wince. “You’re still trying to prove yourself to Les, huh?”
Sloane nods. “Yeah.” Then she sighs but tries to shake it off. “It could be a lot worse, though. I mean, sure I’m a floater, but at least he’s finally assigning me a task other than getting his coffee.”
“True, true.” I take my shot, letting the burn spiral down. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab a glass of wine. Anyone want something?”
The girls all shake their heads, so I wander over to the bar. I nod to Anthony, who I went to school with, and place my order. Then I drum my fingers on the bar top while I wait. Even though I originally didn’t want to leave the house, this is actually fun. I’m glad to have my friends with me right now.
Anthony refuses to let me pay, claiming that he still owes me for all the English tutoring in high school, and I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and a thank-you. When I get back to the table, Mina and Sloane are chatting about Sloane’s upcoming marathon. Besides volunteer coaching at the high school for the track team, Sloane is also just as involved in her running as always. I love that about her. She’s stuck to her passions just like I have mine.
“You’re obviously going to win.” I sip at my wine, beaming at Sloane.
“You’re very biased.” She grins at me. “And very sweet.”
Before I can reply, one of my favorite songs comes on, and I’m on my feet before I even realize it. All the girls gape at me when I gesture at them to stand.
“Come on. We’re dancing!”
Maybe it’s the drinks. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s just being out of the house and feeling alive. Whatever it is, I feel better than I have all week. Once I’m on the dance floor, the feeling only increases. I dance, I sing along to the music, and I throw my hands in the air. I don’t care who’s watching, or what they’re thinking. My friends are all around me dancing, even Sloane, who is doing something I wouldn’t really call dancing.
I tip my head back and laugh, spinning around before I start shaking my hips again. Whatever the music, I just go wherever it takes me, moving in whatever way feels right. The songs change, but I can still feel the music all through me—the clash of the drums, the wailing guitar, the pounding of the bass. I’ll dance to anything, and the band plays a bit of everything.
I hold my drink over my head, trying not to spill it as I shimmy and sing along to the songs I know. Sloane and I make up lyrics for the ones we don’t know. Time folds in on itself as we shout the chorus to one of our favorite songs, and I realize this is what I needed. Ju
st this, being here, free, with friends.
We dance to song after song, sometimes in a group, sometimes as individuals. I dance with Sloane, and we laugh when two guys eye us. Then we’re finally all too tired to keep going, so we troop back to our table. It’s been a few hours, and I’m parched. I’m glad I wore my hair up because I’m hot. After I order water and gulp most of it down, I listen to Brenna and Sloane talking quietly. Their conversation is a pleasant hum, and I’m just thinking how I’ll reach out to Jake tomorrow and explain why I’ve been such a space case all week when Mina comes back from using the restroom.
“Oh shit,” she says as she drops into the seat beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder. Her narrowed blue eyes and tone should be warning enough for me that something is wrong, but apparently it’s not.
I look up, follow her gaze, and almost lose my grip on the glass I’m holding. I immediately feel like echoing her words. A few deep breaths do nothing to steady the hammering of my pulse, or the sick feeling uncoiling in my stomach.
Jake is here.
Chapter Nineteen
I study Jake. He hasn’t seen us yet, because he’s talking to someone just inside the door. His eyes are tired, and he’s as pale as I am, as if he hasn’t been out in the sun either. His eyes look shuttered, and I don’t think he’s shaved all week. He’s wearing worn jeans and a flannel shirt, and his hair is messy. I want to comb my fingers through the locks and tame them, but instead I look away. I down my water quickly so I’ll have something to do. I tell myself I have to face this if I want to deserve this life.
Leaning over, I ignore the worried looks and tell Sloane I’m going to go talk to him, but then I get a chill.
“Claire.”
He says my name so quietly that I barely hear it over the music. But I feel him. Before he even appears in my line of sight, walking around from behind me to lean slightly against the table, I feel his presence. My next breath trips and stutters, and I’m relieved I’m sitting, or I would trip, too.
“Claire…can we talk? Please?”
It’s the desperation in the “please” that gets me. I finally look at him, and I swear, I can feel every minute of the last week hanging between us. The nights I saw our picture flash as his caller ID on my phone, and let it go to voicemail. The voicemails I deleted after replaying them at least three times. The shredded breaths I tried to take when his eyes met mine during our staff meeting. How empty my hand has felt all week without his to hold.
I sigh under the pull of those eyes. They’re deep, dark brown in this light, and they’re getting to me. “Okay. We do need to talk.” I stand, my chair scraping against the floor. Sloane says something, but a new song starts, and I can’t make out her words.
Jake and I fall into step beside each other, and even though I know I’m raw and not ready, I can’t help the thrill coursing through me. I’ve missed him. I love him for respecting me this week and giving me my space, but I’ve felt his absence all through me. No one makes me laugh like he does. No one has our history. I don’t fit in anyone’s arms the way I do in his. Our friendship is rare, too.
We end up down the block from Time Out, which is almost downtown. There’s a little park here with a gazebo, some benches, swings, and a slide, as well as a sandbox. It’s off on a side street, a quiet area despite where it is, so families feel safe coming here. There’s no one here tonight except Jake and me.
I wander over to the wooden swings and sit. After a few seconds, he takes the one beside me. I wonder if he’s thinking about the other times we’ve come here: the night before freshman year started, after our junior year homecoming dance, and after my deb ball. He and I sat here passing a bottle of Boone’s Farm back and forth until it was gone, along with the stars.
We came here after graduation, too. It’s where I told him I was leaving to move to Nashville. Every big event involving the two of us is tied to this place. These swings. Do the ghosts of who we were haunt this space?
“So, this hasn’t been a banner week for me,” Jake finally says. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I miss you.” The words come out slowly, his drawl more obvious. “And I’d say it hasn’t been a great time for you, either.”
“You could say that.” I force the words out through an almost-closed throat. The ache is still there, even when I swallow.
He sighs, and the sound is loud with nothing else but the crickets calling distantly. “Claire… I’m not sure what to say. I want to fix this, but I’m not sure how. I’m not sure what happened to us.” His voice is an open wound, and all I want is to heal it. Heal him.
After a few moments, I twist my swing’s ropes until I’m facing Jake. “I saw Victoria kissing you.” Is that my strangled voice? My broken words? “It hurt me. Worse than anything.”
There’s just enough starlight for me to watch Jake’s face change. I see confusion first, then understanding, but then the emotions are too thickly painted on his face for me to decipher. I can’t tell if he’s sad, mad, or happy. I can’t tell if he’s finally getting it or only thinks he does.
Finally, he sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I’ve been lost without you all week.” He laughs humorlessly. “Totally lost. I didn’t know for sure what I did, but I knew you were pissed at me. And now to find out it’s over a kiss I didn’t want or ask for, and one I certainly didn’t return…”
“I know.” I have so much to say, but I don’t even know where to start. “I saw what happened after, I mean, I was hiding…” I shake my head. “I came after you when you went to get your speech, and saw her with you. I stayed out of sight, but I was watching. At first, I thought you might hook up with her.”
“Hell no!” The expression on his face would be laughable under other circumstances. He shakes his head back and forth. “God, Claire, no. No.” He exhales. “I pushed her away.”
“I know.” My voice is so small. “I heard.”
“I would never be interested in her. Not now, not ever. She’s married. She’s not my type at all…” I hear him take a deep breath, then another. “And most importantly, I’m with you. If I made you think anything less, even for a minute, I apologize.”
Letting my ropes unravel, I spin until I’m facing straight forward. I lower my head, hiding behind my hair. This isn’t going how I thought it would, but then again, we aren’t in a romantic comedy. This is real life. And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that love doesn’t play out according to a script. It isn’t how it is in the movies, at all. It’s infinitely better, but it’s also messier, and harder.
He’s watching me. “I couldn’t stand it if I hurt you. But Claire, you hurt me too, by shutting me out. Please don’t do that to me. You should have told me what you saw, so we could have talked about it before now. We have to communicate if this is going to work…even if it means having uncomfortable discussions at times.”
I clear my throat, gazing at him. By now, I know him well enough to know when he’s lying to me. He can’t. He has a tell—a nervous tug at his ear—and because of it, he’s never been able to lie to me convincingly.
“Well.” I fiddle with my thumb ring. He’s watching me, waiting patiently. “I guess I owe you an apology. I know I’m melodramatic sometimes, but you didn’t deserve being shut out like that. I should have talked to you, should have…let you explain. I’m sorry, too.” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t doubt you. I know she came on to you; I was just hurt it happened at all.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Jake says slowly, “she’s a terrible kisser.” When I look at him, his eyes are sparkling slightly.
I snort loudly. “That actually does.” I push my swing back and forth gently. This is the difficult part. “I heard you turn her down, and I heard what you said about me. About us.” Dammit it all to hell, I’m blushing. I stare up at the sky, tears gathering in my eyes. “It…messed with my head. It doesn’t seem like real life, because real life isn’t this amazing. So I just needed to think. I needed some time.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes. I’m not sure what else to say, how to express all I’m thinking. I know him well enough to know he’s mulling over what I’ve said, and I know I can’t push him. So I wait.
“Claire, can we rewind? I hated not having you around,” he finally says. “And I’m scared, too.” He says the last part very gently. “I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t.”
Can we? Can we go back to what we had before? It was so easy, so breathlessly easy at times. So tense at others, full of what I thought were possibilities, of words I thought were unsaid because we didn’t have to say them. And now I’m not sure of anything, other than that everything is changing. He says we’re together, but until now, he’s never given me any concrete reason to think he means it the way I do. I followed signs, that’s all. Just signs I could have misread. Signs that could get me hurt again.
What are we now? A couple? Neither of us has told the other directly how we feel. Jake is my entire heart now. Am I his? Can I finally trust this, trust us?
“I don’t know.” I look his way, chewing on my bottom lip. “I’d have to think about it. I’m not sure what to do now. I’m…spun.”
He stands, his swing jangling as he walks over to me. My breath catches as he closes his hands over the ropes I’m holding onto tightly.
“Don’t take too long, sweetheart.” There’s a plea in his voice, in his beautiful eyes. Just a simple request I could no more deny than I could pull the stars from the sky and hold them in my hands. I can’t look away from him. His eyes are locked on mine, but they drift to my mouth. I’m barely breathing.
I missed him so much. Missed his touch, the way he makes me laugh. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to be without him any longer. Earlier, I vowed I wouldn’t get in the way of my own happiness, and it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. So I’m scared. Maybe being scared means I care. Maybe it’s time to take a leap of faith.