CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jasper and I drive mostly in silence. I’m used to driving alone and I like the quiet, but of course my anxious brain kicks in after a few minutes. What if Jasper wants to talk and isn’t sure ifIwant to? Or what if his silence is a product of him second-guessing coming with me to my mom’s? Or, or, or…?Ugh.
Eventually, I employ a trick my therapist taught me: feeling outward. It’s not the easiest thing to do when you’re in control of a moving vehicle, but I give it a try. Basically, you tap into your surroundings and attempt to get a sense of how the other person is feeling. A quick glance at Jasper shows him gazing out the windshield, hands resting in his lap, and shoulders relaxed. No tightly clasped hands or fidgeting. No furtive glances. My grip loosens on the steering wheel and I allow myself to enjoy the companionable silence between us.
“Your mother lives around here?” Jasper asks when I turn into a subdivision full of older homes.
“Yeah, on Cambridge Street. Do you know it?”
He lets out a puff of air that might be a quiet laugh. My eyes dart in his direction. Sure enough, he’s wearing a slightly bewildered smile.
“I grew up on Cambridge Street,” he says. “My parents bought a house there when they got married. It was where they were living when I was born. Lina came along a couple of years later, followed by Malcolm. Shortly after he was born, my parents decided we’d outgrown the place, so we moved.”
A thrill zips over my skin, raising goosebumps on my arms. The Perrys would have been gone by the time Mom and I moved to this neighborhood, but knowing Jasper’s life began on the same street where Mom and I startedournew life years later makes me smile. What a strangely small world we live in. “Which house?” I ask as I turn onto Cambridge Street.
“Number thirty-seven.” He sits straighter in his seat, peering intently out the window.
I’d been unintentionally holding my breath, waiting for him to say my house number—twenty-two—and cement this as the world’s most bizarre coincidence. I pass Mom’s place and come to a stop in front of number thirty-seven.
“Don’t tell me this is your house,” Jasper says.
“It’s not. I just thought you might like to see your old home.” I have a vague recollection of an older couple living here. There are no lights on in the house, but a small spotlight illuminates a For Sale sign on the front lawn. “Looks like they’re selling it.”
After a beat of silence, Jasper says, “I know.”
My head jerks in his direction. “Youknow?”
“I often drive by here when I’m in town,” he explains. “I came by last weekend and saw the realtor erecting the sign.”
His wistful expression tugs at my heart. I would have thought Jasper was far too practical to be the sentimental type. “You really loved this house, didn’t you?”
“I suppose it’s what the house represented more than the dwelling itself. Life was simple back then. Despite my recollections from those days being fuzzy, I remember a sense of love and happiness. After we moved, Evan and Hadley were born within a year of each other. I was used to being the oldest, but something changed when they came along. I felt a greater sense of responsibility, even though my parents didn’t expect any more from me. I’ve often wondered if I somehow knew I’d end up being guardian to them someday, and I took that to heart early on.”
Jasper has been looking at the house this whole time. When he shakes his head and shifts in his seat, I realize I’ve been in an almost-hypnotic state, listening to his soft voice and watching his face. The tugging in my heart turns into a pang of sorrow for all Jasper has been through. Despite being forty and all of his siblings being in their thirties, he obviously still feels a deep-seated sense of duty and obligation to them.
I want to tell him it’s time to live life for himself. To release the past and learn how to live without the weight of old responsibilities on his shoulders. I want to tell him his siblings don’t expect anything from him except for him to continue loving them. I don’t say any of those things, though. Silence stretches between us, heavy now, full of unspoken words instead of the companionable silence from before.
Finally, Jasper says, “Your mother is expecting us.”
Air rushes out of me like a deflated balloon. “Right.” I remain still for a moment longer before using the driveway of Jasper’s childhood home to turn the car around.
My anxiety returns as we fall back into silence. I park in the driveway behind Mom’s compact SUV, taking a brief moment to admire Emilio’s car. I don’t know much about cars, but the sleek and shiny vehicle is fancier than a lot of the cars around town, and likely pricier too.
As we approach the house, Jasper makes a disgruntled sound. “I should have thought to have you stop somewhere on the way so we could pick something up for your mother,” he says. “It’s rude to arrive empty handed.”
There’sthe Jasper I know how to handle. I’m humbled and honestly kind of mind-blown that he’s opened up so much to me in the short time we’ve known each other, but for some reason I feel better equipped to handle stiff Jasper versus somber Jasper. “She won’t mind, I promise. It was a last-minute invitation, and I guarantee you she won’t expect anything or think you’re rude.”
The concerned furrow remains in place between his brows, making it impossible for me to hold back a smile. As I knock on Mom’s door, I wonder if I should have warned her about Jasper. That may sound unkind, but Mom is used to me having a certain type of friend—outgoing, confident, chatty. She’s probably expecting an older version of Evan, who’s warm, open, and funny. I’m not sure what she’ll make of Jasper and his formalities. Am I being ridiculous? Usually when I have to ask myself that, the answer is yes.
I don’t have time to dwell on it before the door flies open. Mom greets us with a wide smile, ushering us inside. All my worries dissolve as I’m enveloped in the familiar glow of the front hall and the smell of Mom’s cooking, soon paired with the scent of her perfume as she wraps me in a hug.
“I’m so glad you could come over,” she says, giving me a squeeze before kissing my cheek and releasing me. Her face is flushed with pleasure—and probably a few glasses of wine. I sweep my gaze over her, taking in her beautiful form-fitting emerald dress, bare feet, and gold-painted toenails. When my gaze returns to her face, her bright, curious eyes are taking in Jasper.
“Mom, this is Jasper Perry. Jasper, this is my Mom, Lydia.”
“Jasper.” Before I can stop her, Mom steps forward with her arms outstretched. Jasper’s wide eyes meet mine over her shoulder as she wraps her arms around him. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. We’ve known Gwen forever, and Evan has become like a part of the family since last year.”
Much to my surprise, Jasper puts his arms around my mom. Is it weird that I’m jealous? Even weirder that I want to step in as they release each other and get in on the Jasper hugging action?
