Page 27 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

Chapter Nine

Jinnie

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THE MORNING OF MY BIRTHDAY, I wake up to an empty bed.

It’s not new—Jack’s been gone for two months now—but today, the space beside me feels wider. Colder. The sheets stay smooth where I left them, no tangled limbs, no warm imprint of his body. Just me.

He’s been busy. I’m not surprised. This is what I knew would happen. Memphis and the success are everything I’m not. I can’t offer him anything. That life is what he wants.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Jack: Happy birthday, beautiful. Call you at noon?

I imagine his voice saying them. The Jack I knew would have woken me up with kisses, would have made pancakes, and maybe played me a song.

The phone buzzes again.

Jack: Check your porch.

My heart jumps. Is it a surprise visit? I hop out of bed, imagining him standing there with a cocky smile. That’s exactly the kind of thing I would expect him to do.

I jerk open the door, not caring that I have bedhead. But when I open it, he’s not standing there. I feel my soul deflate. The scent hits me first—overpowering roses, lilies, something expensive and cloying. That’s when I see it. How could I miss it? The bouquet is massive, spilling out of a crystal vase that definitely didn’t come from anywhere in our town. Flowers, red, yellow, and pink, explode in a burst of color.

A card sticks out from the blooms:

Happy 19th to the most beautiful girl in the world. Can’t wait to celebrate with you soon. -Jack

The handwriting is too perfect. Printed, probably.

I lift one of the roses to my nose. It smells like money, like something Liz would pick out. The old Jack would have brought me wildflowers. The flowers are beautiful, but they feel...wrong. Like someone is trying too hard.

My throat tightens.

The flowers weigh a ton. I struggle to lift the vase with both hands, nearly dropping it as I kick the door shut behind me. Water sloshes over the rim, splashing my bare feet. Great.

“Holy—” I curse under my breath, staggering toward the table. My tiny house wasn’t designed for floral arrangements the size of a small child. More like a small horse. I try setting it on the table, but it takes up too much space. I’ll end up knocking it over.

I look around and realize I truly don’t have the kind of space I need for this monstrosity. How could something so pretty be so offensive? I end up putting the flowers in the corner of the room. The flowers practically engulf the entire living area. I step back and stare at it, feeling weirdly invaded.

My phone buzzes again.

Jack: Did you get them?

I type back quickly: Yes, they’re beautiful. Thank you.

I don’t add that they’re also overwhelming and nothing like anything he would have chosen before. I don’t tell him they make me feel like I’m dating a stranger. Instead, I snap a picture of them dominating my living room.

Jack: Glad you like them. The florist said they were the best in town.

I sink onto the edge of the couch, surrounded by the cloying scent. Two months ago, he left. All the promises to bring me out to see him had yet to be fulfilled. We typically texted a few times a day, but there were times I wouldn’t hear from him until two in the morning.

I felt him slipping away. He still promises we’ll see each other soon, but honestly, I’m losing hope. I know he’s wrapped up in recording his new album. He tells me he works sixteen hours a day sometimes. I trust him. But I don’t trust the people he’s around. There have been several times when we’ve talked and I can hear people in the background. The scene in Memphis is far different than the one here in town.

I scoop Max’s food into his bowl, the dry kibble clattering against the ceramic. He weaves between my legs, purring like a tiny engine, his tail flicking against my shin. “You’re the only one who’s happy to see me today,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears. He meows in agreement, or maybe just because he’s hungry, and dives in to his breakfast.

I grab a mug and pour myself a cup of coffee, but it tastes bitter, even with sugar. I dump it down the sink and lean against the counter, staring at the flowers. They’re still there, looming like a neon sign I can’t turn off. A constant reminder of the boy who has my heart and doesn’t know it.