“If you say so. Seriously, what are you building back here?” she asked, flawlessly changing the subject back so quickly it took me a second to recover from the whiplash.
“Oh, you know, nothing,” I deflected again, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Seriously, what it is?” She pushed, looking again then back to me, determined to make me say it out loud.
“It’s a greenhouse,” I said, standing up and reaching for Phoebe. Mom passed her over without so much as a smile, brushing nonexistent dirt from her pants and slipping her shoes back on her feet.
“Are you taking up gardening, Marcus?”
“You know I’m not,” I answered, rubbing Phoebe’s back before opening the sliding glass door and walking back inside. Mom followed, throwing the beer bottles away before heading straight through the living room and to the front door.
“Yeah, I know you’re not, Marcus, and it seems to me you wouldn’t be building a greenhouse for your backyard if you truly believed in your heart that things were over. I’ll bring another pot by to replace the one I broke tomorrow,” she said, reaching out to scratch Phoebe behind the ears, then pat my cheek.
“Thanks, I’ll clean up the mess later.”
“Okay, I love you very much, Marcus. Dinner this weekend. No excuses.”
“Love you too, Mom,” I said, shutting the door and collapsing back on the couch with a sigh. Phoebe kneaded my chest, but even her little needle claws digging into my flesh couldn’t stop the gears from beginning to turn in my fuzzy brain, burning through the exhaustion like a wildfire.
All the weariness and anger that had seeped through my muscles were gone, replaced with something else. It was time to push aside my fears, admit I made the wrong damn choice, and embrace the fact my heart might get stomped to smithereens.
Actions spoke louder than words. If there was any chance of earning Jenna’s heart, it wasn’t by sending her a text or showing up at the clinic with flowers. She deserved something big. I rubbed my chest and glanced past the kitchen and to the backyard, where a half put-together greenhouse laid pitifully in the grass.
Determination? Hopefulness?
Sheer insanity?
Whatever it was that had taken root in my chest, sleep wasn’t happening, not when there was work to do to bring Jenna back where she belonged—by my side.
27 - JENNA
That stupid, stupid doggie doorbell was barking. I looked at my watch and groaned, pushing out from behind my desk and standing up. My back gave an uncomfortable twinge, and I leaned over and twisted from side to side to relieve the tension.
Had I forgotten to lock the door?
I stood up, smoothing down my shirt and looking at my mismatched ensemble. My old shirt was covered with paint splotches, and my jeans were faded and ripped. But my appearance was the last thing I was cared about until the renovations were done.
On top of seeing patients until we successfully transitioned, my workload had tripled when you added in the million-and-one-things that went along with starting a shelter. I still wasn’t sleeping for shit, so I was at the clinic at all hours. I should be giddy with joy, but my mind kept taking me back to the empty void in my life where he used to be. I didn’t know if it was the persistent ache in my back or because after trimming a bonsai tree for an hour last night, I’d realized I had made Phoebe’s cute little face, but something else was off.
I stepped over a large sign with our new name,Feathers and Fur,and trailed my fingers over the lettering as I walked down the hall past boxes of lightbulbs, fixtures, and paint cans. When I looked up, my heart stalled because Mark was standing right in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pockets.
I stopped and stared, not believing my eyes.
He isn’t supposed to be here.
I blinked and shook my head, putting one hand on my chest and the other on the wall. It felt over-dramatic, but it was like the aching emptiness I’d felt since he’d been gone somehow recognized its chance at becoming whole.
“The door was open,” he started, walking the rest of the way in and locking the door behind him.
He had on dark jeans and a green Henley, pushed past his elbows. His hair was a mess, like he hadn’t stopped running his hands through it, and his beard was trimmed close to his face, showing off his sharp, chiseled jaw. I gave myself three seconds to breathe him in before looking away. I wasn’t going to let myself hope. I wasn’t going to let myself feel anything. For all I knew, he was finally returning my damn key.
“What are you doing here?” I said with a voice that didn’t sound like my own. It was even, empty, emotionless. I focused on his shoes because if my eyes stayed on his for more than one millisecond, I’d force myself to see the pain I was feeling mirrored back tenfold.
“You were right,” he said, clenching his hands at his side. “I was scared shitless, so I left. Because if I didn’t, I’d have to admit to myself that choosing to stay single was fucking wrong.”
He ran his hand through his blonde hair and took a step forward as I took one back.
He wasn’t supposed to be here, looking every bit as miserable as me, like these last few weeks hadn’t gutted him.
