“It’s not plugged in,” I told him. As he blinked and stared at the machine, I proposed, “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and I’ll take care of this for you.”
“Aren’t you a little tipsy to be playing Gordon Ramsey?”
“Tipsy or not, I can do a better job than you. Now get out of my kitchen!” I grabbed a wooden spoon and raised it, and he smiled and ducked. I scraped out his first attempt at a sandwich—he’d squashed it flat banging on the lid—and grabbed the white bread, turning around to see him staring at me. My eyes swelled, and he scurried off to the sofa. He was right, I was a little drunk, and it took me forever to get out the cheese and turkey. I got mustard all over my fingers and nearly sliced my palm open cutting off the crust, but after ten minutes, I had two decent-looking sandwiches on two plates.
Jack looked relaxed as I sat next to him and set one of the dishes down on his lap. “I thought you went to dinner,” he said.
“I did. It was disgusting.”
I leaned into his shoulder and looked at the screen, where he was watching a show about people trying to fix their god-awful tattoos.
“I’m not surprised,” Jack responded. “Not everybody knows where to get a good burger in this town.”
“Don’t blow your own horn.”
“I can if I’m right.”
“Fine, you’re right. Are you happy?”
“I am,” he said, devouring his sandwich while I tore mine into little pieces, nibbling them but leaving half of the sandwich. As soon as he saw I wouldn’t eat it, he reached over for it, and in a matter of seconds it was gone. I didn’t complain. I was tipsy, drowsy, and cold, and I got up for a blanket to cover us. I felt pleasant and warm next to him, and he didn’t try to get away from me when I leaned into him. He even wrapped his arm around me so I’d be more comfortable. That made me smile, and I know he noticed. I could feel his eyes on me for a few seconds. Neither of us said anything. I guess we didn’t want to ruin the moment.
After a while, I yawned, cuddled up closer, and said, “This is so comfortable.” When Jack didn’t respond, I glanced up at him. He was gawking at the screen with dilated pupils. That reminded me of my conversation with Will. But if he was high, what was I going to do about it? I decided just to try and take care of him.
“Why don’t you put on your pajamas?” I asked. If I got him to stay home, he wouldn’t do any more drugs, would he? Didn’t people usually buy them and take them on the spot, at a crack house or something? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have any experience with that kind of thing, but I had an intuition that if I could keep him there until he slept, he’d be out of danger.
“How come?” he asked.
“It’s bedtime, isn’t it?”
He waited almost an entire minute before responding. “Does that mean you, uh…that you want me to stay here tonight?”
Maybe it was the cowardly way out, but I gave him a vague answer: “I don’t want you to go.”
I was happy to notice he didn’t pull away. And after a moment, he said softly, “OK. I guess… I guess I’ll stay then.”
I grinned more broadly than I probably should have and said, “Cool!”
His hands were on top of the blanket, and he was tapping his fingers compulsively. I could tell he wanted to ask me something, but I didn’t know what. The silence was painful, and I was trying to think of some way to break it when he asked me in a strained voice, “Hey, Jen? That money you loaned me, it’s in my jacket. Go ahead and grab it.”
Why was he so tense? I thought about asking, thought about asking him if everything was OK, thought about asking him to open up to me and so much more. But he’d turned cold, and when I didn’t move, he said, “Go on, please.” I stood and did as he said, and the money was there, but the bills were dirty and wrinkled. As I counted it out, I asked, “Jack, do you want to talk, maybe?”
Instead of saying anything, he just stood. His whole body was tense as he snatched his jacket away and picked up his cigarettes and lighter. He walked out, and a few seconds later, I heard his steps on the fire escape.
6
Truth or Dare
The next morning, I decided to go out for a run. I was full of energy when I woke up, and I jumped out of bed, got dressed, and threw on my headphones. I admit, part of my excitement was thinking I’d find Jack out there. I must have thought I’d saved him or something. But my hopes were dashed when I entered the living room and found it empty.
I stood there staring at the couch until Will emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes. Hoping he wasn’t still angry at me, I told him good morning. He must have noticed how disappointed I sounded. As he trudged over to the coffee maker, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just, uh… I thought Jack had stayed here last night.”
He looked at me with an emotion somewhere between incredulity and pity, as if thinking,you poor dummy. “He doesn’t usually sleep here,” he told me, the way an adult tells a little kid there’s no Santa Claus. “It’s not you, Jenna. It’s…the other thing.”
“He gave me my money back last night.”
“He did?” Will looked surprised.
