Jackson: I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. I’m sorry.
text for longer than I should’ve, all alone with my mug of tea in my mother’s kitchen the next morning, parsing the words and trying to find the meaning behind them. The why.
But the why didn’t matter. Not really.
All that mattered was that he was gone.
He’d said all those perfect things yesterday. About how he was imperfect. How he’d never had a relationship before but was willing to try.
And then he’d left even before the beard burn on my thighs had faded.
I shuddered and stood, tugging my robe more closely around myself. I set my cold tea in the microwave and waited for it to heat.
Mom would tell me I’d given him what he’d wanted, so there was no reason to stay.
Tiannah would put it more bluntly. She’d tell me my coochie and I had fallen right into his trap.
Melissa would tell me she was proud of me for putting myself out there, even though it hadn’t worked out.
I scrubbed a tear off my cheek. Jackson Jones wasn’t worthy of my tears.
“Cariño.” I hadn’t heard Esmy come into the kitchen. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” I sniffed. “Must be allergies.”
“In November?” She clucked her tongue a few times and put the back of her palm against my forehead. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your date last night, does it?”
“Date?” I opened the cabinet and pulled down the bottle of honey.
“I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but back in my day, when I came home with wet hair and wrinkled clothes, it meant I’d got some action.” She pressed the button on the microwave. “And that tea’s not going to heat up unless you turn it on.”
I grimaced. “You and Mom are always telling me I should date more.”
“And you should. But you aren’t glowing today the way you were last night.”
Last night, I’d practically floated back inside the house. This morning, since I’d read Jackson’s text, I had lead in my veins.
“I’m fine.” And I would be. People had one-night stands all the time. And that’s all the night before had been. I just had to convince my cracked-open heart.
And, apparently, Esmy. She squinted at me. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” The microwave beeped, and I pulled out my tea. “I’m going to clean out some closets. I’ll see you later.”
The work did me good. I blasted Rihanna through my earbuds while I went through Noah’s closet and drawers and bagged up anything that looked too small. I hosed off his soccer cleats in the back yard and set them on the back patio to dry. I tackled my own room next. Jackson’s sweater, the one he’d told me I could keep the night we sat together on the porch swing, went into the donation bag with Noah’s outgrown SpongeBob pajamas.
That night, to show Esmy I was fine, I cooked King Ranch chicken, Noah’s favorite, in the kitchen I’d scrubbed.
Still, she pursed her lips whenever she looked at me across the table.
Wednesday wasn’t so good. After Noah got on the school bus, I looked at my phone once an hour, hoping to see a text or missed call from Jackson. Something in response to the text I’d sent him.
Me: Are you coming back?
Nothing.
Still, I managed to get dressed before Noah came home from school, and I even made spaghetti for dinner.
Thursday after I walked back from the bus stop, I scooped up Tigger and curled around him on my bed. What had I done wrong? Had I been bad at sex? I’d gotten weird for a while, hiding inside his duvet. And then I’d said all those things that made me sound not at all like the Wonder Woman persona I’d tried so hard to project. Maybe he’d decided I wasn’t worth the effort.
I probably wasn’t.
Tigger kneaded my scalp, running his claws through my hair and reminding me of Jackson’s shampoo-massage in his shower. He’d been so tender, so caring. Had he been putting me on? Pretending?
That line he’d used about never letting himself be with someone he respected, until me, had destroyed my defenses. But that’s all it had been: a line. Had he used the same one on that intern? Maybe he used it on everyone he wanted to sleep with.
I wasn’t special. Not to Jackson Jones. If I were, he’d have kept his promise.
Gently, I lifted Tigger off my pillow and wrapped it around my head. I let loose a scream—muffled by the feathers—and another, and another until I was hoarse. Maybe a tear escaped. Or maybe two. My pillow soaked them up, and no one was the wiser.
I hid under my bedspread well into the afternoon. At last, I dragged myself into the shower and was reasonably normal-looking by the time Noah walked inside.
I found some fish sticks and tater tots in the freezer for dinner. Esmy bit her lip but didn’t say anything.
Finally, on Friday, I looked at the bags under my eyes from my second sleepless night and decided I needed help.
Tiannah answered her door with Tavon on her hip. “You look like you need a margarita.”
“It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”
“A mimosa, then. Come on, we’re going out.”
While Tiannah buckled Tavon into his car seat, I picked Cheerios out of her minivan’s footwell.
She peeked over my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Orlando and the kids wash my car every Saturday. He’ll get those.”
Tiannah had Orlando, who loved her enough to vacuum Cheerios out of her car. With his scalp massage on Monday, Jackson had fooled me into thinking he cared about me. Yet he couldn’t even be bothered to answer my text.
A tear plunked onto the leather seat. Another followed it. Then a sob so violent I had to lean my hands on the car door to keep from collapsing right there onto the sticky seat.
“Oh, no, honey, what’s the matter?” Tiannah rubbed my back.
“It’s just—just—Jackson.”
The side door rolled back, and a few seconds later, Tiannah gently turned me away from the van. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”
We sat on her couch while Tavon banged away at a toy musical keyboard.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
I wiped the tears off my face with the crumpled tissue she pulled from her jeans pocket. “So, Monday, after the end-of-project review with Cooper Fallon, we were supposed to meet the team at a restaurant for dinner. But instead, Jackson and I went back to his place.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And?”
“We, ah”—I glanced at Tavon—“we went to bed.”
“Girl…” She shook her head. “All right, how was it?”
“Good. I thought. And then I felt…weird.”
“Weird? You mean physically?”
“No. Too exposed, you know?”
“Vulnerable. Okay.”
“And then he made me feel better. Safe. Cared-for. I thought it m-meant something.”
She walked to the bathroom and handed me a box of tissues. “And then?”
“We said we’d do something Wednesday. But he texted Tuesday to say he’d left. And when I asked if he was coming back, he didn’t respond. He g-ghosted me.” I hiccupped.
She rubbed a circle on my back. “Maybe something happened to him.” From the way the words came out through her clenched teeth, it sounded like if something hadn’t happened to him, she’d see to it that something did.
“The good thing about dating someone famous is that you pretty much know if something happened to them. I, ah”—I closed my eyes and sighed—“I set a Google alert for him. Nothing. Go ahead, you can tell me you told me so.”
“Why would I do that to you?” The circles didn’t stop.
“Because you told me not to get involved. That nothing good could come of this for me. That I’d get hurt. You were right.”
“I’m not going to kick you while you’re down. Love hurts enough.”
“Love?” I blotted my eyes. “I’m not in love.” Sure, I’d thought I was for a second. But I could erase it, pretend it never happened.
“Honey, you’re too smart, too driven, to have risked your career for anything less than love. I know you didn’t roll into bed with your coworker—”
“Former coworker.”
“And the best friend of the person who’s supposed to write you a testimonial. You wouldn’t have done that for lust. Love makes you do stupid things. If it hadn’t gone so wrong, I’d say I was proud of you for letting someone in.”
It’d only been a crack, but he’d shoved through it with his broad shoulders and left me gaping wide and bleeding out. The tears started to fall again.
Tavon pushed himself up, toddled over, and hugged me around my knees. I ran my hand over his soft curls.
“I won’t be making that mistake again.”
“Oh, honey. I know it hurts now. But didn’t it feel good for a minute? To care about someone and feel cared for?”
I tugged Tavon up into my lap and hugged him. “I guess.”
“Someday, you’ll find the right man who’s emotionally mature enough to talk about his feelings. Who won’t leave when things get hard.”
“There are guys like that? Couldn’t prove it by me.”
She pursed her lips. “You had a couple of bad examples.”
“This, right here?” I waved at my puffy eyes and tissue-roughened nose. “This is what happens when I let myself fall for a guy. You always make fun of me for dumping guys for trivial reasons. But that’s better than this.”
“Let it all out, honey.”
“Maybe I should start dating women, like Mom.”
“Maybe you should. But don’t get any ideas. I’m not about to start cheating on Orlando with your skinny, white booty.”
I chuckled, and then Tavon giggled, and I started laughing so hard I couldn’t stop.
“I’ve got orange juice and V-O-D-K-A. How about a screwdriver?”
I couldn’t stop laughing, but I gave her a thumbs-up.
After Tiannah went into the kitchen, Tavon gave me a sticky hug. Eventually, my hysterical laughter subsided. I inhaled his baby-shampoo scent. What had I done? Why had Jackson seemed so caught up in his feelings, too, and then…nothing?
I picked up Tavon and brought him to the kitchen, where I buckled him into his highchair. Tiannah set a sippy cup in front of him and scattered Cheerios across the tray. She handed me a drink.
“To my best friend, wise in the ways of the heart.” I clinked my glass against hers.
“You’ll get over the sleazeball. Once you start your next project, you’ll be so busy you won’t get all stuck in your feelings.”
My phone jangled in my purse. I didn’t jump for it like I’d done for the past three days whenever it rang.
“You’re not gonna get that?” Tiannah asked. “What if it’s—”
“It’s not.” It wasn’t his ringtone. “It’s probably Jamila.”
“Did you tell her? She’s probably calling to let you know she’s almost done whooping his A-S-S.”
“No! And don’t you tell her, either. I don’t want her to know what a—what a fool I was. She’s calling about a job. She’s left some messages.”
“A job here in Austin?”
“No. It’s at her San Francisco office. A long gig starting in the new year.”
“You should do it. Take your mind off things.”
Being in San Francisco, where Jackson lived, wouldn’t take my mind off anything. “I can’t leave Noah. Or you.”
“It’s temporary. We can manage Noah for you.”
“Tee.” I reached over the table and laid my hand over hers. “I’m not going.” I drained my glass.
“You need a refill.” She picked up my glass.
“More V-O-D-K-A this time, please?”
“You got it.” She fixed the drink, this time with only a splash of orange juice. “How about you and Noah come over tomorrow? Orlando’ll grill some steaks, and we’ll let the kids run around the yard.”
When she handed me the glass, I sipped, the strong drink burning my throat. “That sounds good.” It’d keep me from driving past his apartment—again—looking for his truck.
She gripped my hand. “You’ll get through this.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” I wasn’t sure the wound would ever close. That I’d ever stop hurting. “I guess the good thing is that I learned something: I suck at relationships. I was right all along to stay away from them.”
“Honey, that’s not—”
“I’ll be what Rick called me, an ice queen.” I imagined it. Though it really wasn’t too different from the persona I’d used in my early days at Synergy.
“He called you that?” Tiannah bristled.
“At Ja—at the party.” But I didn’t want to think about the way Jackson had stood up for me and punched his former workout buddy. “Who needs a partner when there’s such a variety of battery-operated toys? Maybe I’ll order a new one.” Someone had to make one that sucked my clit the way Jackson had.
“Fu—screw Rick. I never liked him, anyway.”
“You said I should give him another chance.”
“I didn’t know he’d called you that. I’ll give him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”
“I’ll bring the popcorn.”
“The right guy’s gonna come along. It’s not Rick, and it’s not Jackson Jones. But he’s out there.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done with men.” I wouldn’t be giving anyone else the chance to hurt me.
She picked up my glass. “I’ll make you another. We’ll get good and sloshed before lunch.” She twisted her lips. “I’m proud of you, you know. For being vulnerable. For letting someone in far enough to hurt you.”
“You’re proud that I was foolish enough to get hurt? How many of those have you had?” I nodded at the empties in her hand.
“Sugar, being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak. Acting like a woman who has feelings doesn’t make you weak. Weakness is hiding yourself away from hurt. Never taking risks to get something you want. You took a risk. It didn’t work out this time. But next time, it might. And I don’t want you to miss that.”
Goddamn motherly wisdom.