Jack’s attitude couldn’t have been worse. He spent the entire time trying to make clear to me how much he hated the experience. He moaned, groaned, asked if it would take much longer, checked the time on his phone, took everything I picked out for him and hung it back on the rack… Mike, on the other hand, was acting like a model, taking turns in the mirrors with the most ridiculous garments. He never found anything he liked, but at least his ridiculous expressions lightened the mood.
I tried to offer Jack a blue cashmere sweater, then, when he turned it down, a sweatshirt with the Minions on it. I knew that would irritate him, and I was right. He admitted that he wasn’t going to like anything, but I put my foot down: I wasn’t leaving until he picked something. “Fine,” he said,and grabbed aBack to the Futuresweatshirt that looked like something a child would wear. It was horrifying, but Jack grinned and said he loved it. Mike distracted me, running over with a dozen garments under his arm that he said Jack was going to buy him now that he was rich. Jack shouted, “I’m not fucking rich!” and Mike recoiled—maybe that was some kind of sore spot for him.
Eventually, we made our way home. Mike had five bags of clothes—who knows where he got the money—and Jack had one, which I decided was a victory. Since everyone was home and sitting in the living room, Mike decided to show off for them while Jack and I went to the bedroom. He took out his sweatshirt, threw it on, and said, “Try not to salivate.” Then he tossed his bag into the corner.
Sitting on the bed, I told him, “Yes, your taste is excellent, as always.”
“Why didn’t you buy anything?”
“I don’t want to spend the cash, and I’ve got plenty to wear. And when I run short, I can always raid my sister’s closet.”
Saying that reminded me it was time for me to get dressed, too. So I told Jack to get away from the mirror and started trying on skirts, pants, sweaters. Nothing seemed to work that day. Everything was either too stuffy or too informal. I couldn’t find anything that hit that sweet spot in the middle. As I was taking off my fourth sweater, Jack asked, “How many times have you changed in five minutes?”
“I can’t help it! I hate everything!”
“Maybe you hate sweaters? Because that’s the only thing you’ve tried on, and I can barely tell the difference between them. Anyway, I think you look great. I get that you’re nervous, but you can’t let that eat at you. Just throw something on, it’ll be fine. Or, I’ve got an idea, let me pick.”
Breathing a sigh of frustration, I replied, “That could maybe work.” Jack dug through my things as I stood beside him with my arms crossed. There was only so much he could do. In the end, he was just digging backout the same things I had already tried on. He held up a brown sweater and grunted, “No, this one’s horrible,” then a yellow one, which he dismissed: “Sorry, you’ll look like a bumblebee in this one.”
Finally, he found another garment I’d stolen from Shannon and said, “This is the one. You had it on when you went to Mike’s concert a long time ago. I like it, red looks good on you.”
“Fine,” I said. “The funny thing is it’s not even mine. I actually gave this sweater to Shannon for her birthday one year, but then—”
“Shit!” Jack shouted, interrupting me.
“What is it?” Had I missed something? He opened a drawer in his dresser while I stared at him, wondering what he was up to, threw a few T-shirts onto the floor, and finally found what he was looking for: a big purple box.
“Thank God I remembered,” he said, holding it up and saying with a smile, “It’s your birthday present!”
I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but he certainly found it funny. He continued, “I guess I was waiting for some excitement, a thank-you, or something.”
“No!” I rushed to correct him. “It’s not that! I just… I had no idea you’d gotten me a present. When? I guess I’d just assumed after all that time had passed and all that you were too busy, or maybe didn’t feel like it.”
“It’s not that, Jen. I just…listen, I know I haven’t been my best self. But I didn’t forget, and I want you to know I never would. You mean too much to me for that.” He tossed it to me, and I barely managed to catch it. Let’s be honest: I’m not the most coordinated person. But it wasn’t my fault—it weighed a ton! I have to give Jack one thing, though—the fear that I’d drop it startled me so much I stopped worrying about my damn outfit!
“Be careful with my present!” I said.
I sat down and opened it carefully. I was so moved by it, I didn’t evenwant to tear the wrapping paper or the bow. Jack hopped down beside me and watched me impatiently.
“Can you get on with it?” he asked.
“Be patient, Jackie.”
I finished, and I felt my heart stop. It was a dark wood box with the nameRembrandtcarved on the top. I didn’t say anything, and Jack got worried and started asking if I disliked it. If I did, I could take it back, he told me, but it wasn’t that—I was moved, maybe more than I ever had been by a gift. I removed the sticker over the hinge and opened it. It had a silver palette inside, oil paints, brushes, charcoal, varnish…every single thing you could imagine or ever need. My fingers trembled as they touched the tips of the brushes. I could almost sense the tension coming off his body.
“Don’t you like it? I got it because I hoped you’d start painting again. Honestly, I don’t know the first thing about art, but I asked my mom what to get, and this is what she recommended. I guess it’s her favorite brand… So are you going to say anything? I’m dying over here…”
“Jack, I just don’t know what to say,” I replied. And that was true. My mind was a blank. It had been years since I’d taken any art classes; at most I’d just doodled in my notebooks, and I hadn’t touched a paintbrush since I was with Jack’s mom at their lake house. The fact that he’d remembered that and had gone to the trouble to find something so perfect gave me a ticklish feeling in my stomach.
“You could say thanks,” he suggested. “That would probably work for me.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot. I think this is the first time I’ve gotten a present and thought,this person really knows me. Sorry for making you nervous, I was just stunned for a second. It’s wonderful!”
I threw my arms around him and, caught up in the moment, I kissed him. Jack didn’t pull away. Still more, he stopped that awkward patting on the back that I think was meant to remind me we were just friends andreached down to squeeze my hip. I thought he would get on top of me, but then he pulled away and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “If we start like this, I’m not going to go to that stupid dinner.”
“Fiiiiine,” I said, and set the box down beside the bed. I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror to touch up my makeup. Jack sat there staring at me in silence with a confused look on his face. He picked up the box and started interrogating me: what was all that stuff in there, what was the point of the different brushes, why would you use a stick of charcoal instead of a regular pencil. I thought he’d have known all that, having an artist for a mother, but his family life wasn’t easy, and maybe they’d never been able to have those kinds of conversations. I tried to explain things patiently, but then I decided he was just acting stupid to get on my nerves, so I took the box from him, set it on the dresser, and said, “Thanks again, but we’ll have to finish our art lessons later. For now, we’ve got to go.”
