Jack looks up and meets my gaze once more, and the sadness has vanished. That playful spark has returned. I feel relieved that he doesn’t want to linger in that old hurt. Maybe he has put it to rest. After all, there are a million innocent reasons he could’ve had lunch with Mal that day, and I feel silly for second-guessing it.
“I think it definitely needs to be pickup trucks and whiskey are better than Valentine’s chocolates and champagne.”
“I like that even better.”
Jack takes my hand in his and draws a line down the center of my palm. I shiver, glad as much for his touch as his attention, now squarely focused back on me.
“What kind of name is Mal, anyway? Short for Malorie?” I ask, even though I don’t really care about the answer. I’m intently focused on Jack stroking my hand.
“Short for Malort,” he says.
“She’s named after the bitter liqueur people dare each other to drink on St. Paddy’s?” I snort a laugh. Actual reviews of Malort call it the taste of turpentine and sadness, with a hint of grapefruit.
Jack grins, and begins to massage my palm a bit, reminding me just how well he massaged other parts of my anatomy. “Yep. Her parents are part Swedish. And Malort, as you know, is a Swedish brand. They thought it was cheeky, I guess.”
“Turns out, the name really does fit.”
“Yeah, well.” Jack shrugs. “She kind of had terrible parents. It’s why she’s had so many issues.” He clears his throat. “Speakingof ghosts of exes past,” he says, changing the subject, “what was the deal with you and Marley?” O-kay, well, tables turned. Now it’s my turn for show-and-tell. I tug my hand back to me, and Jack releases it.
“I mean…” Jack backtracks quickly. “You do not have to answer that question, obviously. I don’t want to be nosy.” He hesitates. “Okay, that’s a lie. I am absolutely being nosy. I just wondered why you two got married.”
“Pregnancy scare,” I say, but that answer doesn’t sound like enough. It’s the flippant answer I give to acquaintances or coworkers who might ask. It’s not the whole story. “It wasn’t just a scare,” I admit. “I was pregnant.”
Jack’s eyes widen and he sits very still.
“What happened? I mean… if you don’t mind me asking?” Jack’s face, open, warm, his eyes telegraphing to me that he really, truly wants to know. There’s his heady focus again, the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world he cares about.
I feel my throat tighten. “In the middle of my second trimester, when I think everything’s going to be fine, I go in for a normal doctor’s appointment, but she can’t find the heartbeat. They do an ultrasound and…” I feel the tears choke me. I still can’t believe all these years later, the wound feels so fresh. “The baby had died. In utero. We never knew why.” I sniff back stupid tears. My stomach feels tight. Uneasy. “Marley wanted to celebrate. He was so happy. But I was…” I remember being curled up on the couch, not being able to get up for two straight days. “I was devastated.”
Jack squeezes my hand. His fingers feel like a lifeline.
“He was celebrating. My mom and sister thought it was goodnews, too.” I shake my head, disagreeing with them even now. “But even though I knew it wasn’t the right time for me to have a baby, I really, really wanted that child. Even if now I can say that it’s probably best Marley and I weren’t parents, I’m still mourning her loss.”
“The baby was a girl?”
I nod. Jack grabs both my hands now, and it’s his turn to make sure I don’t sink below the surface of the past. He swings his stool to the side, so we’re knees-to-knees. He looks at me. Really looks at me.
“I’m sorry, Sora. So sorry. Sometimes, I don’t know why things happen the way they do. Sometimes, things just aren’t fair.”
I nod. And I’m stupidly relieved he didn’t tell me I have plenty of time to have another baby. That I’m young, like my mom told me, that I’ll have other boyfriends, like Nami told me, or that this was a blessing in disguise, like all my friends told me. It sure didn’t feel like a blessing. Felt like a punch in the face. Felt like the one thing I truly knew I wanted in all the world would never be mine.
“The worst part is that we stayed married nearly four more years after that.” I shake my head, remembering that dark time.
“Why?” Jack asks, surprised.
“Inertia,” I say. “I was in such a dark place after the miscarriage, nothing seemed worth doing. I should’ve left Marley, but, honestly, I just couldn’t work up the energy to do it. Nothing seemed to matter, so why not stay with Marley? Marley stayed around because he liked that together we could qualify for a mortgage and that I paid more than my share of the bills. I’dcome to find out later that being married hadn’t really slowed down his dating life any. So. There’s that.”
Jack shakes his head slowly and makes a disapproving sound deep in his throat. He looks at our clasped hands. “Well, then, he’s probably not going to change for his new girlfriend. Or anyone else.”
“Probably not. It seems obvious now that I should’ve left him right after the miscarriage, but, honestly, I just went on autopilot,” I say, and as the words tumble out, I realize I’ve never really talked at any length about this time in my life. “When Marley got it in his head we should buy a condo, I said yes. When a friend of a friend put me in touch with Arial atSlickfor freelancing opportunities, I went ahead with it, ignoring that small warning in my gut that makeup and fashion, as awesome as they are, just weren’t really what I wanted to write about. I was in a dark place where nothing seemed to matter, so why not just let the world decide things for me, you know? If I couldn’t control what happened to my own body, or baby, then why even bother trying to control anything?”
Jack squeezes my hands and nods. He doesn’t try to talk me out of my sadness. He just sits with me in it. Talking to Jack isnice.He doesn’t make my problems seem little, but at the same time, doesn’t let me wallow in self-pity, either. It’s that delicate balance he manages to strike every time. Jack flashes me a killer smile that looks even whiter against his beard, and the sparkle in his eyes makes my stomach do cartwheels.
“He wasn’t the right man for you,” he presses.
“I don’t know if there is one, though,” I admit.
“I get it. Really. I do.” He rubs the top of my knuckle withhis thumb. “But I think we can live our lives afraid, or we can live our lives like we don’t know what tomorrow brings. Because we don’t.” He grows silent. “I mean, look at her.” He nods toward Allie, who’s swinging her feet beneath her chair, eyes glued to her show. “She got a really rough deal, but she’s not bitter. She’s not afraid. She’s a little pink glitter Powerpuff.” He glances at me, brown eyes soulful. “So I’m not going to be afraid of broken hearts. That just comes with living. Just a risk we all take to find happiness.”
