As he and Aisha burst through the gallery doors, Jase was surprised by the light. He should be getting used to it by now, but then again, maybe he never would. Maybe he didn’t want to. It was surreal: to live in a place where the “night” sky was bright as midday. The sun hanging low over the mountains in the west was still throwing heat and the huge full moon, visible in the east, glowed white as an egg against the baby blue sky. Beside him, Aisha’s halo of curls shone just as brilliantly.
Her, Jase thought. Only ever her. He was in love. And he knew it. And when he realized it earlier that day, he’d also realized that loving was the point—not being loved. Would he like his feelings to be returned? Of course. But if that wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t going to be because of his lame chicken ass.
“Look,” he started as Aisha said, “So here’s the thing.”
He looked at her. She looked at him.
“Um, do you want to go for coffee?”
“No.” Jase shook his head. “I couldn’t handle being penned up right now.”
“Yeah, I totally hear that.” Aisha bounced in her red flats. “Gah! I wish we were chopping wood together or something. It would make this whole talking thing way easier.”
Jase didn’t care if this moment was easy or hard. He was falling into the shimmering jade pools of her eyes and couldn’t help himself. He reached out and touched her face, first tracing her cheek, then resting his thumb on her curvy lower lip. She shivered.
His smile deepened. “And I wish we were lying on my big bed together and—”
Desire sparked and smouldered in her eyes. He wanted to pull her against him right then and there—but first. He swallowed hard. Forced himself to step back. He really did, they really did, have to talk.
As if intuiting his thoughts, she said, “Tree?” and inclined her head in the direction of a huge Maple.
“Tree,” he agreed.
She dropped his hand as they walked but remained close by his side. When they reached the tree, Jase pulled off his dress shirt and stood in just his short sleeve tee.
“The grass,” he replied to her questioning look. “It’ll be itchy on your bare legs.” He spread the big shirt on the ground at the base of the sturdy trunk.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” Aisha said in an old English accent, and dropped to her makeshift seat, crossing her ankles primly and smoothing her short plaid skirt—which only made him all the more aware of her smooth, soft legs.
He sat down beside her.
“I need to apologize,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, I do. Most everything you said was right, and I understand why you were angry.”
“I wasn’t just angry,” Aisha said angrily. She plucked a blade of grass and drew it back and forth across her leg.
Jase smiled at the outburst but felt infinitely sad. “I know. You were hurt, you are hurt, and I’m so sorry.”
She wouldn’t meet his eye and didn’t look convinced.
“But you were also wrong about one important thing.”
Aisha dropped the grass and her eyes flashed. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“The reason why I . . . held back.”
“So go on, what’s this big oh-so-forgivable reason?”
Jase bowed his head. “It’s just . . . you always looked at me like I was . . . someone worthy of respect or something. Like we were equals or whatever. I knew when you found out what I’m really like, who I really am, that would change. And I was right.” He made himself meet her beautiful eyes. “I know it’s not a good excuse, that it’s juvenile even, but I . . . love you. I love you and I like you and I wanted, for as long as I could, to hang onto your good opinion of me.”
Aisha reared back—because he’d shocked her or because the idea of him loving her was unacceptable?
“Not good enough,” she said flatly. “I do like you, or, very clearly did—something I made abundantly clear in so many ways, including actually telling you point blank. And you responded by keeping something really big, something that could be a life changer, from me—and kept letting me blab every little detail of my life to you, making a complete fool of myself, over and over.”
“No.” Jase pulled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins. The hardness in her expression—a hardness against him—was too painful, so he stared at the mountains in the distance as he forced himself to do what he’d come to the art gallery for in the first place. To talk to her. Really talk. Then deal with the fallout, whatever it was.
“From the minute I first saw you, I was impressed—awed, even. You are totally hot, sure—but it was more than that, even at first. You were . . . self-possessed.”
“Oh, yeah, sooo ‘self-possessed.’ I seem to remember slopping a whole bucket of disgusting mop water on myself.”
Jase laughed. “Right! I totally forgot about that.”
“Clearly.”
He looked at her. She was smiling softly. The tight bunched up feeling that was choking him relaxed. This was Aisha he was talking to. Whom he should’ve talked to right from the very beginning.
“Anyway, sludgy water aside, though it was hilarious—”
“Oh, yeah, hilarious,” Aisha echoed.
“The more I got to know you, then saw you with Mo, the kind of mom you were, you are, even though you had her so young, how you provide for her, how you’re always there for her, so dependable, so loving, so . . . fun. How you’ve provided this amazing place for her to grow up and how you guys have this huge, close knit family—”
Jase took a deep breath. “I . . . well, I already knew, I’ve always known, I botched everything with Emily, but getting to know you highlighted it in neon or something. It showed me all too clearly that I was exactly the kind of father, the kind of parent, I’d never wanted to be. As in, no kind of father at all . . . and like I said, I couldn’t bear to admit it. To see my failure through your eyes.”
Aisha stretched out on her side on the ground, head propped on her folded arm so she could still watch him. “Emily,” she said, as if testing the name for strength. Her eyes were as soft as the grassy park around them now, not hard like the jade stone their color matched; he loved them both ways. “Is that the mother, or your daughter?”
“My . . . daughter.” The word sent awe and agony through him. Jase had hardly ever spoken about her to anybody.
He stretched out on the grass too, facing Aisha.
“Tell me everything.”
So Jase did. He told her about the lonely kid without a dad, with a drug addled mother, who wasn’t intentionally cruel or neglectful, just an addict—and with an addict, no matter how much they love you, you are always second—or last—to their addiction, and how at six he’d been removed and returned and removed and returned three or four times already. By eight, the removal was permanent.
“I was lucky,” he said. “You hear horror stories about foster parents and foster families all the time, and Colton had some bad ones.” He broke off for a moment, remembering the barely audible keening sound Colton made at night for months after he first arrived at Mike’s, like he was crying . . . but not.
“But mine? Mine were all right.” He nodded. “Some indifferent but not actively abusive or anything, some actually pretty nice and caring—those were almost harder because I’d always hope . . . Well, you know.”
Aisha reached for his hand and squeezed it, and Jase knew she understood exactly what he’d hoped for that had never panned out.
“Yeah, so anyway, nothing terrible, just nothing ever . . . permanent. I told you a bit about Mike before, right?”
Aisha nodded.
“Well, his group home, where I met Colton, was pretty great. He’d done a lot of traveling and told interesting stories, plus he taught us to work, not in a free child labor way—in a good way, like he thought we could make something of ourselves. He got sick though, emphysema.” He went quiet again, longer this time. “But hey . . . I got a brother out of it, right?”
Aisha cleared her throat and nodded.
“It really wasn’t terrible,” he said again. “So fast forward to a new group home and me at fourteen. I’ve always been big. And dumb.”
“You aren’t dumb.”
Jase shrugged. “Ask Colton.”
Aisha gave a small laugh. “Oh yeah. He’s a real poster child for smart.”
“Okay, maybe not dumb, but definitely naïve. Colton always knew the score long before I did, but I looked older for my age and I craved any kind of belonging I could find. Bonnie was seventeen going on eighteen and she seemed to really like me.”
“Oh Jase.” Aisha’s voice was different than he’d ever heard it, without a trace of mirth or teasing or stubborn crossness. “Of course, she did. You’re very likeable. Very lovable.”
He shrugged again, knowing that was just pity talking—pity for some kid she hadn’t even known.
“Anyway, Colton and I would get weed or beer from the older kids in the house and sneak out to meet her and her friends every weekend and some weeknights too. I was blown away. This cool older chick liked me. I didn’t know it at the time, but what she really liked was that dating ‘some thug’ drove her parents crazy.”
Aisha glowered.
“She was on the pill, but something got messed up and she got pregnant. Her parents weren’t thrilled to say the least. I wanted, I thought . . . ” His voice failed him for a second, remembering his stupid, stupid hope, and his plans to quit high school and get a job, his vision of a family, mommy, daddy, baby—
“Anyway, she flipped on me faster than eggs on a griddle. Told her parents it was date rape to get them off her case—”
“Was it?”
“No. If anything she was the aggressive one. I was a virgin, completely inexperienced, and would’ve been totally happy to just fool around, but I wanted to make her happy.”
“That’s what you meant about sex being complicated when you’re young.”
“Yep.”
They were still lying on their sides facing each other, and Aisha reached out, about to touch his shoulder—then hesitated and dropped her hand.
“So I don’t get it,” she said softly. “What are you ashamed about? It sounds like you were the one who got treated badly.”
Jase shook his head. “I . . . did nothing. Acted like it had nothing to do with me after she dumped me, then hit the road the summer before high school to work, and just never stopped.”
Aisha’s brow creased. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. I’m terrible.”
“No, I mean what Colton said doesn’t make sense. He said you’ve been taking care of your daughter since you were fifteen or so and that he doesn’t know any men who are as responsible as you.”
Jase laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Colton and I just know the same kinds of men, that’s all. The bar for what constitutes ‘taking care of’ is set pretty low. But yeah, I’ve been sending money—child support—for a long time, plus I have a savings account for her that Bonnie knows about.”
“If you’re helping out, why won’t Bonnie let you see her?”
Jase hung his head. “Maybe she would, but what do I have to offer her? Bonnie’s married now, has been for five years or so, to some teacher, who’s apparently a good guy and who’s ‘one hundred percent Emily’s dad.’ They had twins, so Emily has two little brothers.”
“But—”
“There’s no but. I opted out of her life.”
“You were fourteen!”
“That’s not her fault and I’m not going to waltz into her life and mess everything up for her. She doesn’t owe me anything.”
“She doesn’t, you’re right. But she might want to know you. It doesn’t matter how great her parents are, she’s going to have questions about you. You’re still her dad.”
“I gave her mom a letter for her for when she turns like twelve or something.”
“Will she actually do it?”
“I think so. I hope so. We rarely make contact. I send money by eTransfer, and once a year or so, she e-mails me a photo and a super brief recap of what Emily’s doing, usually school-related, and that’s that.” They lapsed into silence and finally Jase couldn’t bear not knowing a moment longer.
“So where does this leave us?” he asked. “Now that you know everything, I mean.”
He kind of felt like he knew though. Aisha had shifted back slightly as they talked, so even though her position still mirrored his, a large distance separated them.
He wasn’t wrong. She moved to sitting and wrapped her arms around herself. “I hardly think I know everything, and I think you’re still painting some very dark times with too light a brush—but you’re right, I do know enough. Maybe if you’d told me before it would’ve been different, but I . . . well, I don’t even know that for sure.”
Jase sat up too.
Aisha shrugged and looked pained. “I mean . . . you have a kid, Jase. A child you don’t see—have you ever seen her?”
“Once. When she was new.”
Aisha shook her head. “Minus the support money, which does speak highly for you, especially since it was voluntary, not court mandated—it was voluntary, right?”
Jase couldn’t speak, but he managed to nod.
“Everything else . . . It’s too much like my story. Evan bowed out so easily, so completely. He came sniffing around, saying he wanted me back, and if not that, then shared custody—but all Sam and my Dad had to do to get him to go away permanently was to say he wouldn’t need to pay child support if he let me have full custody. He didn’t even try to negotiate for visitation. He just disappeared, totally. Which is great—perfect, actually—as I don’t want someone like him in my life or hers, but one day . . . ” Aisha sighed. “Mo will learn about him, and it will be a blow. That he never even tried to know her.”
“I am nothing like Evan.” Jase knew he sounded furious, but for once he didn’t care. It was true. He wasn’t.
Aisha looked at him sadly. “No, you’re not—but how will Emily ever know that? And that brings me to the real issue. You roam from job to job, one town to the next, living out of a backpack, never settling down, not because you’re a free spirit or because the money’s so much better in transient jobs—it’s because you’re punishing yourself.”
“But—”
Aisha ignored him. “And Mo, who you’re so good with, so sweet with . . . she makes you sad. It’s always confused me because you also seem to have fun with her, to love her, but now I get it. Whenever you see her, you see everything you lost, or didn’t do or something. How would that ever work?”
What could Jase say? She was right.
“You need to sort out your life. I don’t know how or what that will look like but until you do, you’re not ready for a relationship.”
Well, nothing else really needed to be said, did it?
Jase realized then that the light had finally left the sky. The night had darkened around them and he hadn’t even noticed. He pressed his clenched fists into his eyes, holding them there, hard, for a moment. Then he got to his feet a little unsteadily.
Aisha stood too, rubbing her bare arms, and Jase became aware of a chill in the air that he hadn’t felt until then. He scooped his shirt from the grass and held it out to Aisha.
She hesitated, then accepted it and slipped it on. It hung almost to her knees and she spent a minute rolling the sleeves.
“Thank you,” she said softly. When neither of them made a move to leave, she added, “So where do we stand? Still friends, I hope. You’re not angry?”
“Not angry, not at you, in the slightest. And yes, still friends. Always.”
They started to walk and, though Jase could hardly believe it himself, he chuckled a little. “You’re cute though, if you think that’s the last of me.”
Even in the shadows, he could make out her bewildered expression. “What does that mean?”
“Just what I said before. I’m nothing like Evan—”
“I shouldn’t have said. I didn’t mean—”
“Tut, tut, too late. And you’re right. I do need to sort myself out—and I will. You’ll see. Then I’ll be back for you. For us.”
Aisha laughed softly. “Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so.”
They didn’t hold hands on the way back to the truck—of course—but nonetheless, Jase felt something tangible between them as they walked silently through the quiet park, something that was almost as comforting as touch. She hadn’t told him to go and stay gone. She made it seem like . . . he could hope.