Checking Up
January 2005
Ican't concentrate on what my professor is saying. My mind is on the two reminders of my birthday that showed up at my apartment this morning. The first was a dozen white roses. I immediately assumed they were from Jacob. They’re from Michael. As beautiful as they are, they make me feel guilty just looking at them.
The second was the birthday card my roommate got from the mail and left on my dresser. The return address was missing, but the handwriting looked familiar. I didn't realize why until I opened the card. It was a generic card—a birthday cake on the outside, blank on the inside except for three words.
Thinking of you.
I tried to convince myself that it was a coincidence or someone's idea of a sick joke, but I know Brad's handwriting. He's not supposed to contact me. I thought about calling my lawyer, but there's probably no way to prove it was from him. I threw it away.
My cell phone vibrates. I jump and clap my hand over my leg to silence it. I keep my head down as I head to the back of the lecture hall, walking as fast as possible.
I manage to answer it before it goes to voicemail.
“Happy Birthday, Jess.”
“Jacob!” I scream, not caring that I'm still in earshot of the class.
“You didn’t think I would let today go by without at least a call, did you?” I can picture his lazy half-grin when he says that.
“Jacob, it’s so good to hear your voice. I cried for an hour when I realized I'd missed your call on New Year’s Eve. I should have told you about the stupid party.”
“No, I’m sorry. I should have known you'd be out. There’s no reason for you to be alone on New Year’s Eve, sitting around waiting for a phone call.” His voice sounds far away and lonely. My chest aches.
“The chance to hear your voice is a huge reason for me to sit around by myself. I don’t care what day it is.”
“How was the party?”
I suck in my breath. This is the last thing I want to talk to Jacob about. “It was okay.”
“It wasn’t a wild frat party, was it?” He's teasing, but I sense something beyond curiosity in that question.
“No way, I told you I got my fill of those the second week of school. This one was at one of the deans' houses. It was much more formal.”
“Did you get a kiss at midnight?” There's a jealous edge to his voice, something I've never heard before.
“Jacob, how can you even ask that?” I’m glad I can answer him honestly. “Yes, I kissed a little old man on the forehead. Is that okay?”
“It sounds perfect to me. Speaking of which, do you want to know how many you owe me now?”
“How many what do I owe you?”
“Kisses.”
I grin. “Sure, how many?”
“Let’s just say you’d better stock up on lip stuff now.”
“Good, I hope we get to spend the first three days after you get home just kissing.” Cheesy, mushy, I don’t care how it sounds. I love talking to him this way.
“You have no idea how good that sounds to me right now. Holding you. Kissing you. Whatever that leads to…"
My checks burn. I'm not ready for this conversation yet. “So how are things there?”
“Wet, muddy, basically a mess. What about there?”
“Cold, a little snow. I didn’t think I’d ever miss the rain, but some days, I’d be willing to trade the rain for the cold. At least we get to see the sun.”
