“Nope, just some Caramel Delights for Paige.”
“Hi, Mrs. Miller,” I practically sing as I lean closer to the speaker.
“Hi, sweetie,” she coos.
Jordan just shakes his head.
While I hope Jordan never thinks of me as a sister, I love that his mom accepts me as a pseudo-daughter, especially since my parents no longer live in Colorado, having moved to Nevada while I was attending college in California. Mrs. Miller is my mom away from mom. Jordan always says she loves me most, but there is no way that’s true. Jordan is like the poster child for saintly sons. I’ve only seen him miss a phone call from his mom once, and if he’s not checking in on her at her house every day, he makes sure to call at night and often sends one of their neighbors over to make sure she’s okay.
“Did Candice stop by tonight?” Jordan asks.
“No,” Mrs. Miller says. “I passed her on the street earlier today and told her I didn’t need a babysitter.”
“Mom,” Jordan grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.
This is about the time when I want to jump in and tell Jordan that his mom’s a grown woman and she can manage herself, but we’ve started that conversation too many times to count, and it always ends with a swift topic change or Jordan shutting down.
Even though it’s been years since Mrs. Miller’s struggle with cancer, Jordan still treats his mom like a porcelain doll, but she is one of the strongest women I know. While most people would shatter under her life experiences, she stands as tall and put-together as always. But despite her resilience, Jordan is bent on coddling her like a child. But who am I to judge when I have no idea what it feels like to watch a parent fight for their life?
I wasn’t even there. Though I kept tabs on Mrs. Miller through phone calls and texts during her treatment, I didn’t call Jordan. Not once. For four and a half years.
Yep. I, his so-called best friend, didn’t call Jordan during the most crucial time of his life. We say we’ve been best friends for nearly seven years, but for more than half of those years, I was nursing my pride away in college as he endured his greatest struggle alone. It wasn’t until I returned home six months ago that we started talking again. But despite my neglect through those years, Jordan’s never once resented me for not being there for him. He’s forgiving and gracious, and I don’t deserve his friendship, but he gives it to me regardless. The least I can give him is respect and space when it comes to his relationship with his mom.
“I was in the zone working on a new sewing project tonight,” Mrs. Miller says. “I probably wouldn’t have heard the doorbell even if Candice did come by.”
Jordan blows out a long breath, and his light mood from earlier dissipates. “How are your hands feeling today?”
“Hands, are you okay?” she asks dryly. After a pause, she says, “Yes, they say they’re okay. They love you, too, Jordan. Now stop worrying about them. Goodnight.”
Jordan parks the car. “Goodnight, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Miller!” I chime in.
“See you soon, sweetie,” she says before ending the call.
Jordan leans his head against the headrest, and a bit of dark-blond hair falls onto his forehead. I want to brush it away, squeeze his hand, lean over and embrace him, but I don’t. We’re not like that. So I try the next best thing, asking, “You want to get some air?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
We get out of the car and start walking up the sidewalk until we’re at Lookout Point, a spot where the trees open and all of Pine Lakes is on display. Streetlights twinkle below us like constellations, mirroring the star-filled sky above, and themajestic mountains that surround Pine Lakes are but a shadow against the dark night.
We find a park bench and sit, taking in the view we know so well. I hold the silence in place, giving Jordan the time he needs to process, but when his shoulders relax and his legs straighten out and cross in front of him, I know he’s back.
I flick the collar of his dress shirt. “Which client meeting did I interrupt tonight?”
Jordan smiles. “Zero Gravity.”
“The trampoline park?” I look at Jordan with wide eyes. This is big news. When Jordan was in community college, he filmed and directed a commercial for our local recreation center for one of his student projects, and it went viral. After that, he got dozens of requests to create TV spots and social media advertisements, and eventually he turned it into a business that has been exploding ever since—but Zero Gravity is his biggest opportunity yet.
“Yeah. They want us to film several of their West Coast locations for their ads,” he says casually.
I turn to him, tucking one foot under my knee. “Jordan, are you kidding me? That’s amazing. Zero Gravity is a huge client. You saved this tidbit of info until now?”
Jordan lays one arm on the back of the bench, nearly brushing my shoulder, and my heart is far too aware of its proximity.An arm. It’s just an arm, Paige.I try to remind myself how uninteresting an arm is with no luck. Jordan’s well-defined forearm might as well be a giant bounce house for all the room it occupies in my mind.
I find a new focal point in a nearby lamp and watch some bugs swarm to the light, knocking themselves into the lantern’s glass over and over again. I can’t help but feel something in common with those bugs.
“I don’t think we’ll take it,” Jordan says, his voice cool, like we’re discussing choosing an appetizer at dinner instead of making a deal with a major franchise.
