Great. Not awkward at all. Do they notice I’m wearing their brother’s shirt? What do they think that means? I bet they can’t even begin to guess.
“Who wants brownies?” Jasper’s mom says, and suddenly we are all very interested in the half-empty pan sitting on the counter.
The brownies are, in fact, delicious. Dark and chocolaty and not a nut to be seen. I have two while Jasper and his family talk around me. His sisters, once they stand down from interrogation mode, are great. The oldest, Sierra, is studying to be a physiotherapist. The middle, Amelia, wants to be a teacher. And the youngest, Lexi, who looks like she’s about fourteen, says she’s going to be a lawyer, and the general pause that follows the statement is so short I almost don’t catch it, but I do see the silent exchange between Jasper and his mom. Just a faintpursing of lips and the raising of an eyebrow, and then the room fills with laughter again. I can only assume whatever just happened has something to do with the fact Lexi is wearing a nasal canula and wheeling a small oxygen tank behind her, but I don’t ask about it.
“So, Morgan,” Jasper’s mother says. “Are you a surgeon at the hospital with Jasper?”
Oh. I didn’t realize we’d have to talk about me next. But I straighten my shoulders and put on my best face.
“Sure am.” I force a smile. “Doing my residency, actually, so... not fully a surgeon yet. Still getting there.”
Jasper’s hand is on my shoulder again, and I lean into it without meaning to because it offers some small comfort in this room full of strangers. I blush as his mother looks between that hand and me and up to her son. Her scrutiny leaves me feeling vulnerable, like she’ll be disappointed when it turns out her son and I aren’t really together, but I won’t embarrass him by shrugging away.
When Lexi starts to yawn, the whole household announces unanimously that it’s very late and past everyone’s bedtime. Jasper kisses his mother, teases his sisters a moment longer, then stands expectantly by the front door while I give polite goodbyes and thanks for the brownies.
“Come back anytime,” Jasper’s mom says. “We never meet any of Jasper’s friends. If you’re like him, you work too hard. Friday is pizza night, we always order too much. There would be plenty for you if you stopped by.”
My throat thickens at her invitation, and I ignore the twinge of envy. I guess this is the difference between a mom and Mother. One who made brownies and has movie nights. Mine told me about the bad people in the world and how I was inadequate to fight them. In contrast, Jasper’s mom calls out after us as we cross the driveway, telling Jasper not to stay up toolate and me not to be shy about sneaking back into the kitchen for more brownies.
It’s all so shockingly normal, and underneath my envy and relief is a current of annoyance that Jasper has chosen the life he has while his family waits at home and believes a lie. It’s a privilege to have this. If he ever gets caught or hurt, they’re going to be so hurt too. When they finally learn he’s not a doctor, that betrayal will cut deeply. Not to mention, if Wolfe knows where Jasper lives, he has easy access to Jasper’s innocent family members to use as leverage, and they won’t even see it coming. Risking them like this is beyond thoughtless and selfish.
But when I open my mouth as we enter his apartment, he holds up a hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to ask about my family.”
“But—”
He goes to yank his hat off his head, then must remember I’m still wearing it, so he stuffs his fingers in his hair instead, pulling on the strands in frustration.
“I’m so tired of fighting with you, Morgan. Can we stop with the judgement for a little while, at least?”
My mouth falls open. “I wasn’t?—”
“You were.” He flops down at the edge of his bed. The apartment is a basic studio with an efficiency kitchen, a bed against one wall, a desk with an elaborate computer setup, and a door I assume leads to a bathroom. Jasper scratches at his scalp in frustration. “You were going to ask me if my mother knows about what I do when it’s obvious she doesn’t. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
I have to clench my teeth not to dive right into the argument. But whether we talk about it or not, I can’t reconcile the man who teased his sister in the kitchen with the man chumming it up with Bobby and Leo and builds secure servers to keep secretsfor people like Walter Wolfe. And I want to, because on top of everything, I can’t reconcile how much I want to kiss him again with how completely inappropriate it would be to do anything of the kind with someone like him.
I sit down next to him, even though it feels like the space between us has never been bigger and somehow, it’s always my doing. I slide off my shoes, mostly for something to do in the uncomfortable silence. Jasper stands, and my heart squeezes with worry that I really have upset him. He goes to the desk, sitting at the computer with his back to me. He types wordlessly, keys clicking, as the system boots up. I wait, quietly examining the back of his neck where his hair thins away at the nape, and the way the curve of his shoulders stretches the jersey of his T-shirt.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Lexi is...”
He sighs. His head drops, and the clack of the keyboard falls away. But finally, he turns. He says, “It’s called Emmanuel Stanley syndrome. It causes a progressive thickening in the lining of the lungs and makes it hard to get enough oxygen.”
Considering how much I’ve thought about death—my mother’s and, more recently, my own—suffocation has always terrified me. Probably because of my allergies. To slowly realize your body is going to lose the fight for more air, I can’t imagine anything scarier. At least in my case, all I have to do is avoid things like murder pickles and onions. It’s controllable, and as long as I’m careful, it doesn’t get worse.
“Has she been sick long?” I ask.
“Pretty much her whole life.” He glances over his shoulder at me, and his eyes are tired. “It’s genetic. My dad had it, though he didn’t get really sick until his late twenties. But Lexi had whooping cough a few times in grade school and it set her back.”
I have a feeling I know where this is going. “And your dad?”
“Died when Lexi was a baby.” He forces a brighter smile. “But Lexi’s doing better lately. She’s in a clinical trial that seems to be making a difference.”
“That’s good.”
The conversation dies. Jasper turns back to the screen, and I’m left to pick at lint on his comforter and wonder if I’ve finally screwed up this thing between Jasper and me beyond the point of saving it.
