This reaction, the tears, all of it, is not only because I hurt another person with my thoughtlessness. And it isn’t because the guy I am going to be living next door to—if I can find a way to afford my place in time—maybe deep down did want to warn another man away from me, because milk really does keep longer than my relationships.
No. I’ve had a visceral reaction to rocking the boat since I was a kid. In fact, I have an almost pathological need to do the opposite. It’s the reason I don’t demand the raise I deserve or tell Anthony what a roadblock douche he is. It’s only evernotbeen that way with Margie and Avery…
And Jack.
With my friends, I’ve developed a level of trust over a long period of time. With Jack… Well, I didn’t give a shit what he thought of me, and trying to capsize his boat has always been top priority over keeping mine on an even keel.
But now I’m clinging to a dinghy, smack in the middle of a hurricane, all because I wanted to make Jack jealous despite knowing I’m not emotionally healthy enough to be involved with him romantically. I feel exposed and embarrassed in a way I can’t quite understand.
I don’t feel like walking home, so I hail a cab. Mom calls as I’m sitting in the dark confines of the car, listening to the loud advertisements on the screen in front of me. Throat tight, chest heavy, I send her to voicemail, preferring the ads to whatever demands she’s been marinating.
Back at my apartment, I spend a good hour with my plants on the fire escape, the clipping and pruning restoring some of my sanity. Enough that when Jack gets home, I can face him.
I’m dressed like someone from a workout video from the eighties—some of Jack’s music must’ve inspired me—but he returns before I can fully rethink my wall-demo ensemble. I lean through The Hole as he closes his front door. “Hi…”
He looks like he’s sucked down buckets of coffee today, to no avail, but even an exhausted Jack in a suit is sinful. He gives me a strange look as he sets his bag down before tossing his mail on the counter. I check my expression, hoping myPirate Dukethoughts weren’t that transparent.
“Um. Are we still working on the wall?” I ask.
“Sure. Let me get changed.”
I climb through The Hole, and Jack is changed in less than a minute. He waves me over to his kitchen and wordlessly hands me a beer from his fridge. I accept with a nod and then await his command, pretending I don’t want to squeeze his biceps. Him playing the swashbuckling hero is the worst thing that could’ve ever happened to me. I’m not ready for a relationship, no matter what I feel about him.
“How’s the actor?” he asks finally.
“Not great.” I list Lucas’s ailments and then mention that Margie’s show has been put on hold until the showrunner can decide what to do.
“That why you were crying? Your eyes are all red.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I grab a mask and some gloves from the counter and put them on.
Jack sighs. “All right, I got the plaster down on this side and bagged it. We’ll finish with the plaster on your side and then take down the beams.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” I say. Which just bringsPirate Dukeback to the forefront of my mind with a vengeance.
Later, after we’ve cleaned up, I spy Jack on his sofa through The Hole, surrounded by folders and documents, laptop open on the coffee table in front of him.
“What are you doing?” I angle over my sofa to peer over his shoulder.
“Work. Summary judgment response due tomorrow.” He taps away at his laptop. “Need to fight to avoid having the case dismissed.”
“What’s the case about?”
“Woman suing her ex for emotional distress and adverse possession. That last one is like theft.”
His piney scent must be his soap or aftershave, since it’s been amplified by his shower. I spy a fleck of glitter on the back of his ear and bite back a smile. “Theft of what?”
“Her ‘best years’—”
I am over his sofa, sitting cross-legged next to him with one of his files open on my lap before he can finish his sentence. I read, “‘Client says ex strung her along for years with ‘just-the-tip’ emotional connection, enough to keep her hanging and hoping. He thought her decision to leave was sudden. But he lost her in pieces, every time he played his push-pull game.’ Wait, she left him and then sued him?”
“Yes. He ghosted her, blocked her on everything, then came back to try and reestablish the relationship. She allowed it but got angry and resentful over the next few months. She dumped him, then sued.”
“Holy shit, she said she wants to sue for lost hotness?” I read. “I am dead. Why do you look so stressed?”
He sets down his laptop and runs both hands through his hair. “There are lots of cases of women suing for wasted or lost time in other states—and here we have intentional infliction of emotional distress…”
“Yes, we do.” My face clearly says he’s the source of my emotional distress.
