Traveling is not for the faint of heart. Maybe if you’re not accident prone, this doesn’t apply, but D, this trip, the cosmos have aligned against me and are saying, “TAG! YOU’RE IT!” before raining down fiery missiles.
But other than that, it’s really fun.
Always,
Mira
We’re on our way to New York. We spent another day in Montreal and loved the city, but the list is on Jaxson’s mind, and if we can’t get to Paris, he wants to make sure we at least get to New York. We’ve only been driving a few hours, but we’re both anxious to get there. Jaxson won’t settle on a song and keeps switching it just as I get into it.
“What’s up? You’re so anxious,” I say, reaching out and stopping him from changing the song again.
“I haven’t known whether to bring it up…” He glances at me and grips the steering wheel harder. “I started to say it the other night when you mentioned her, but…I lost my nerve.”
“What? Just say it.”
“I feel awful for not being there for you more after Tyra. And that craziness with your house being painted all happening around the same time…I didn’t know what to do or say. We’d barely talked for two years, but I remember you sort of reaching out to me that one Christmas. I didn’t want to make things worse. Even later, when we—” he clears his throat and chews the inside of his mouth nervously, “—you know…” The pregnant pause is excruciating. I know exactly what he’s not saying, but I’m not going to make it easy for him. “I, uh…well, I wish I’d said it then and I didn’t. I was so stupid and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
I swallow hard and look out the window. The view whips past me and I wonder if my eyes are doing that creepy fast movement I’ve seen in movies.
“Honestly, the year after Tyra died was a fog,” I finally say. “Most of it still is.” I don’t go into the parts I do remember. Some things are better left in the past where they belong. “It was a miracle I got through my sophomore year. I kept my head down—I didn’t want any trouble. I remember you trying to talk to me a few times, but I stuck to being alone. It was easier that way.”
“I was dying for you to let me in,” he says quietly.
I sigh and shake my head. “In your memory, maybe that’s how you remember it, but no. You were preoccupied with one thing, and one thing only…well, two things that went hand in hand for you. Sex. And Heather.”
He groans and I turn up the radio, so done with this conversation.
It’s early evening when we arrive in New York and I’ve barely said two words to Jaxson since our conversation. I look at all the buildings and lights around me, and it doesn’t feel real that we’re really here. We check into a nice hotel, freshen up, and go to a restaurant that the concierge recommends.
“What can I do to lighten things up here?” Jaxson says after trying to start a conversation numerous times.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I reply. “I’ve never been good at being fake.”
“I’m not asking you to fake anything,” he says, eyes snapping. “Talk to me, let me have it. Yell at me. I can take it. I deserve it.”
I take the last bite of my burger and stuff two fries in my mouth. When I’m finished chewing, I swig my Coke until my eyes burn. Then I stand up and walk out of the restaurant. I hear him calling my name, but I walk faster.
We’re in a busy part of the city and the sidewalks are crowded. It’s easy to lose myself in all the people. I walk and walk, looking in the windows, sometimes admiring the pretty displays, and other times seeing scenes of the past flashing before me. When those pictures get too vivid, I walk faster.
It’s two in the morning before I find my way back to the hotel. My feet hurt and even my little purse holding my phone and lipstick feels heavy across my shoulder, but I’m so exhausted that I’m hopeful sleep will come.
Jaxson is in the hotel lobby, elbows on his knees, eyes rimmed red, and hair going every which way. He jumps up when he sees me and hugs me to his chest.
“Thank God,” he says. “I was worried sick.” He doesn’t sound mad, but worse—desolate. It makes my heart hurt. “I’m so glad you came back,” he whispers.
When I lift my head, his face is close and his lips softly brush against mine. It surprises me, but I’m too exhausted to acknowledge it. He puts his arm around me and leads me to the elevator. When we get to the room, he pulls the comforter back and I crawl into bed. I’m filthy, but I’m too tired to do anything else. He crawls in on the other side and pulls my back to his chest, holding me tight the rest of the night.
The next morning I feel bad about how I’ve acted and decide I’ll make an effort to try harder to keep the peace. Just a few more days…
“So coffee, then the Empire State Building?” I ask when he comes out of the bathroom, showered and looking far better than he should. It would really help if he were ugly.
His eyes assess me too and I can tell he likes what he sees. He lingers on my bare legs and the dip of cleavage—my sundress was strategic: I’m not trying to win Jaxson’s heart; I’m trying to make him suffer for all the times he’s broken mine. If I can look damn good every time he sees me from now until eternity, I’ve done my job. Not that there aren’t a million girls prettier than me…I know this. But any time he has a tinge of regret or looks at me with longing, it feels like justice.
“Can I just say, you look especially gorgeous today. You do every day, but this is…next level. That color on you. Your mouth. That hair. Your legs. And…” He motions toward my chest and flushes. “Speechless.”
I laugh. “You seem to be doing just fine. Thanks. You ready to go?”
He nods, swallowing again and looking a bit shy. “Should we talk about last night?” he asks.
“Nope.” I put the key in my purse and we walk to the elevator.
We tell the cabdriver the name of a coffee shop near the Empire State Building and he drops us off. I feel much better once I’ve got caffeine running through my veins. We walk a block and the crowd of people is insane. Streets are blocked off and everything is at a standstill.
“What’s going on?” Jaxson asks someone.
“They’re making a movie over there.” The guy points behind him. “They’ve shut down the Empire State Building and the area surrounding…”
Jaxson curses under his breath. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” We look at each other sadly and then he straightens his shoulders. “Plan D?”
“Plan D.” I laugh.
When we walk away from the crowd, he mentions a few things we could do and I agree to Central Park, maybe even the museum if we have time. I don’t know how it happens—I think it’s a combination of a skateboarder running into me and my foot hitting a pothole—but I go flying. The next thing I know, my face is planted on the sidewalk and my ankle hurts. A lot.
I turn so I’m on my back and look at Jaxson, whose eyes are huge.
“Oh, your face is bleeding,” he says in alarm. “It doesn’t look deep, just skinned,” he quickly assures me. “What else hurts?” His eyebrows crease together and he helps me sit up.
“I think I’ve broken my ankle.” We look down and my foot is turned in a really weird direction.
“Oh shit,” he says.
Five hours later, I have a cast on my foot and we’re getting back to the hotel.
“Room service and more meds?” he asks, as he helps me hobble onto the elevator.
“Room service and more meds.” I grin. “I love these meds. They are the best thing to ever happen to me. I’m hardly even thinking about Tyra anymore.” The smile falls from my face and my eyes fill with tears. “That’s not true. Not a day goes by that she’s not right here.” I put my hand on my head and shake it. “I miss her so much,” I say, leaning onto his shoulder and sobbing.
He guides me into the room and I cry until I can’t breathe. He reaches behind him, still holding onto me so I don’t lose my balance, and grabs a tissue.
“You’re not so bad, Jaxson,” I tell him, blowing my nose.
He chuckles. “Now I know the meds are talking. First the tears and then buttering me up?” He moves a strand of hair behind my ear and smiles so sweetly my eyes fill again.
“Olive you, Jaxson,” I tell him.
His eyes widen and he puts his hands on my cheeks. “What did you say?” he asks.
“I said, ‘Olive you.’” I try to enunciate better, but I might be slurring. I can’t tell.
He laughs. “How about I run a bath for you? You can wrap your cast in this plastic bag and prop your foot up on the edge of the tub.” He holds up a bag from the ice bucket. “I’d be happy to be of assistance, should you need help washing your back…or whatever.” He lifts an eyebrow and smiles his deadly smile.
“That sounds bloody fantastic,” I say.
He laughs again.
“You’re so cute when you’re happy,” I tell him. “And when you’re sad. It’s not right.”
“This is the best night I’ve had since that Christmas, you know the one…” His eyes twinkle. “Stay right here while I get your bath ready.” He helps me move to a chair and when I sit down, he pauses, looking down at me.
“Olive you too, Bells,” he says.