Jessie

by Karen Botha

  Zac

  “I need to return to work. I’m bored.” She’s staring out of the window at the typical British overcast summer day.

  “You will not go back until the doctor signs you off.” I snuggle up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.

  She’s been scrolling through newspapers on my iPad and still holds it in her hand. “Look at this.” She twists, angling the screen toward my face. “This is substandard coverage. It’s page fourteen for goodness’ sake. It’s not even in the sports section, let alone right hand.”

  I have learned over the last week that there are optimal positions in every form of media. Apparently in the press it's the right hand and the front half of the correct section, in this case that is the sports supplement. Frankly, I think her health is more important, but I admire that she has passion and dedication.

  “OK, well I really need to go home at least. I can’t keep intruding on you.”

  “What? Intruding? I love having you here.”

  “But my things aren’t here. I’m just lying around while you do everything. I have to be busy. Even if I can’t go back on the road yet, I need to be in my own space so that I have the tools I need to remote in. Lovely as your roof terrace is, I’m feeling fine now and I’m about to turn well and truly stir crazy if I just hang about doing nothing much longer.”

  With that, she’s up off the sofa, marching to my bedroom, and is pulling off the pajamas I bought her after her accident.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going home. I just said.”

  “Oh, right. As quick as that?”

  She looks at me with a question mark above her head.

  I don’t know, but I would have expected there would at least be a little warning. “OK. Shall I come with you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ve imposed on you for too long. You get on with all the stuff I’ve been getting in the way of.”

  Huh? Sometimes women really and truly are a breed all of their own. I’ve just said I love having her here so how would she be stopping me from doing anything? “So, when are you coming back?”

  “I don’t know. How about a few days? Does that work with your schedule?” She grabs her phone to check the calendar we’ve synced up.

  “Ah, that’s not up to date. I’ve canceled all my appointments for the next week so that I can stay here and care for you.” I hear the unasked question in my voice. What have I done wrong. It’s screaming out to her, but she misses it.

  “Zac, thank you so much, but I’m feeling well again. I only had a little scare. There’s nothing to prevent us from getting back to normal.”

  I’ve gotten used to having her around, to her being in my space when I arrive home from the office. It has become my new normal. I enjoy wanting to leave work at the end of the day now because she is waiting for me. Caring for her is a novelty I want to grow accustomed to. Her heading back to her house is not part of that agenda, but she walks out without a backwards glance, blissfully unaware of my confusion.

  Jessie

  It’s not as great as I expected being back in my home. The walls feel cold; the warmth that I remember loving about this place has transcended into a bleak silence.

  I think about sending a text to Zac, but what will I say? He needs his own space. He’s been amazing, but I can’t risk forcing myself on him. He’s too polite to say that I’ve disrupted his life too much already.

  No, I’ll leave him to enjoy his personal time and then pick up with him in a few days like we arranged.

  My heart is heavy as I dial into the work server. I should be excited, happy to make a difference to the success of the company which I live and breathe. But my brain is flicking around all over the place. I can’t concentrate on anything long enough to complete a task, let alone do a good job of it.

  Maybe Zac and the docs were right, perhaps I’m not as well as I thought. Dumping myself back in the real world has highlighted weaknesses that being part of a couple hid.

  Isn’t that what people say about being in a relationship, that it makes you stronger? This may be what they mean. That the strength of the other person papers over the cracks you can’t manage alone. That the power of two is always greater.

  If I don’t keep my distance though, I’ll never see the poor guy again. Talk about a rough start to the first throws of passion. He’s been through the ringer with me and it’s time that I stopped putting on him and showing him that I’m not all take.

  But I miss him.

  I tap the black screen of my phone trying to decide if I should message him. Every part of my body is aching to speak with him, to make some kind of contact.

  But then the sensible part knows men need space.

  I swipe the screen and it springs to life. I start to type, “How is your day?” then delete it. What can he say to that? It’ll just irritate him; he’s busy and can do without idle chit chat.

  I try again, draw a blank and sit with an empty screen, until inspiration takes me and I write, “Plowing through loads of work. See you in a few days.” There, that should do it. It shows him I’m not the pathetic damsel he’s been caring for since my accident, and that I’m looking forward to seeing him.

  Perfect.

  I press send.

  Two minutes later he hasn’t texted back.

  I keep checking my screen; still nothing eleven minutes later.

  Nope, the phone is definitely on ring and the volume is turned up. He must be in a meeting.

  An hour later, I still haven’t heard back from him. This meeting is running a bit long. But then I guess it depends when he went into it. If it had only just started when I text, then it’s conceivable that it could still be going on now.

  When he’s still not replied after five hours and I’ve called and checked with my provider that there are no problems with my network, worry is creeping into the pit of my churning stomach.

  What happens if something has happened to him? I should call and check.

  But then, that’s defeating the whole object of giving him space. If he’s simply not replying because he’s enjoying being alone, then calling to make sure he’s not had an accident because he didn’t reply quickly enough to my text does look way more clingy than I’m happy with.

  My phone pings. “Glad you’re being productive. See you then.”

  Well, he has not come to a grisly end then. But, is it me, or is his tone cold?

  Zac

  It took me hours to work out how to reply to her. Why is this relationship so blooming complicated?

  I know she didn’t mean to push me aside, especially after I’ve opened my home and my heart to caring for her, but her telling me how much she was enjoying her time without me and noting how much she was getting through in my absence stings.

  Maybe if she hadn’t had the accident, and I hadn’t seen her in a near death state, then I may not feel so affected by her.

  But I did.

  And ever since then I am just not motivated about work anymore. I’ve lost my drive.

  Sure, I still want to be successful and if there are more millions to be made, then I’ll take them. But, my commitment has now been split, whereas before it had 100% of my focus.

  That’s all fine, except Jessie does not feel the same. It’s an issue because I can understand, how after her accident, her perspective has also shifted. It’s natural that she wants to grab everything she has with both hands after her accident and run off making the most of her overfilled life.

  And therein lies my problem. Replying to her message was not as fluid as it should be with someone with whom you want to share your life.

  She’s like a piece of Jello, tempting but impossible to get hold of and when you do, the instability of your grasp is unnerving.

  I have a choice.

  I can either accept this and watch as she drifts out of my life, enraptured as she is with her independence.

  Or, I can snare her.

  The second option will risk me
ending with egg on my face, but then at least I’ll know one way or another whether this whole relationship has any legs.

  Knowing wins out.

  It’s time for a plan.

  Jessie

  Nerves have been eating at my gut all day, a day which has ebbed away slower than molasses. This has not been a fun run up to a date with the man I adore as it should have if we are as right for each other as my soul is telling me.

  Zac has been in touch over the course of the last few days, but he’s been distant. I’ve had to wait way longer for his replies than I’ve been happy with and when they’ve come, they’ve been functional. He tells me what he’s done with his day, asks how mine has gone, but the embellishments which make our relationship personal have been missing.

  I’ve not quite known how to deal with this. I was the one who decided to give him some space; I was determined not to take over his life with a selfish abandon which will push him away for fear of progressing our relationship too quickly.

  So, in the spirit of keeping our flame burning brightly, I haven’t hounded him.

  I wanted to.

  But I was good.

  The end result is that I’m anxious as a kitten getting a flu shot. I’ve been moving constantly all day, unable to sit for the cramping in my limbs when I’m still. Coming home to get on with my own things was a huge mistake. I know that now. And that knowledge means that I’ve not been able to concentrate on work for the entire time we’ve been apart. As soon as I start working on a project, there’s a trigger that snaps my brain back to a memory with Zac.

  It’s been hopeless.

  And now, I’m sitting here, all ready for our date tonight.

  I showered two hours ago, tied my wet hair back in grips and went to the trouble of blow drying it in segments. I dropped in at the local department store and paid someone to apply my makeup to appear natural while in fact, I have more product on my face than they had behind the counter. It feels greasy, but it looks OK, so I’m happy.

  I should have had a browse at the clothes when I was there. My top seems too low, I keep tugging it up and now my chest is glowing red. I’ve considered changing, but I’ve already been through my entire wardrobe twice. And it’s still an hour before I’m due to even leave.

  Even more frustrating is that I can’t sit for fear of accessorizing my chosen outfit with jagged creases. It’s one thing not being able to rest because of the nervous energy coursing through my veins, but another being prevented from doing so. Instead, I stand in a stiff mannequin pose and move from one room to the other, looking for something that will occupy my transient mind while I wait to leave.

  “Ah, screw it,” I mutter to myself.

  I pop my heels into my oversized bag and insert my feet into some old sneakers. The evening is warm with a cool breeze. I’ll take a saunter over to his place and see how far I make it before these long minutes pass sufficiently that it’s time to hop on the tube.

  It was a good idea, and for once, it didn’t go wrong. There were no huge gusts of wind to mess up my carefully styled hair, no puddles which would splash up my legs and the heat is dry so my skin doesn’t get clogged with London’s pollution.

  I’m a happy girl.

  Until I arrive at Zac’s.

  Despite me planning my route every step of my way, I’m a few minutes early. Where this wouldn’t have bothered me a few days ago, the shift in our relationship means I now stand outside deliberating whether to press his bell ahead of my allotted time. My finger literally hovers over the buzzer as I’m riddled with indecision.

  Someone in a lower apartment is playing music. It’s filtering through their open window next to where I linger, and I allow the tune to distract me momentarily as I stand, fingertip poised, undecided.

  Nope, arriving too soon will not help our distance. I saunter off round the block, looking in the lobbies of the posh apartments in this neighborhood.

  The wait is the longest few minutes of my life. I check my phone every few seconds waiting for the time to click over and announce I may head back and reveal my arrival.

  I’m still over a minute early when I finally decide to unfurl my clammy fingers from their ball which has been clamped round the arm of my shoulder bag. The tinny chime echoes around my vacant heart, twisting it as I wait for Zac’s answer to my calling cry.

  “Come up.” That’s all he says before the door hums open. It’s difficult to tell from that where my place is in our new, distant relationship.

  Zac

  I did not know my heart could hammer so loudly against my rib cage. I swear Jessie will be able to see it battering away inside my chest when she arrives.

  I wait as I’ve planned at the open door with a glass of wine we tried when we went to Borough Market. The elevator takes forever, and I watch the floors tick over on the neon counter across from where I’m waiting.

  When it dings in the otherwise empty corridor, my heart leaps before its pummeling increases.

  I imported a stack of cheeses from France and the Netherlands for her. They’re resting on the table upstairs. I was concerned whether she’d be late, worrying they would melt beyond recognition in the city heat. The state of the cheese is insignificant now, what’s more important is whether she is happy to spend this evening with me. I eye the sweating glass, decide it’s not the best start to take a swig while I await her grand entrance.

  The doors to the elevator slide open and she steps out. She’s adorable, dressed in a cut skirt which floats above her knees with flirty frills and a vest top with a matching pattern. She’s nailed the combination of sexy while remaining classy.

  Seeing her after just a few days apart is as though we’ve been separated for a lifetime. Energy rushes through me, whisking away my breath and sending my mouth into an uncontrollable Cheshire-cat-grin. I can’t help myself, my eyes squint as my cheeks push them closed, and I’m pleased because they’ve watered up.

  Our eyes lock and her face mirrors mine, splitting in the middle displaying her gorgeous white teeth. I almost forget to pass her the glass I’m holding such is my eagerness to pull her close and feel her body press against mine, to feed from her energy again.

  We stand like that for several seconds, just inhaling the other until we have enough to be whole again.

  “I missed you,” I whisper in her hair.

  She looks up at me, her brow crunched together. “Really?”

  “Sure. Didn’t you miss me?”

  She tips her head before answering, “Yeah, but... well, I’m surprised, that’s all.”

  OK. Not sure what she means, but I pull her in for a kiss, nevertheless. Her small body melts into mine and our lips fit together like two halves of the same jigsaw puzzle. Bursts of pride and of love explode as our tongues coil.

  When we pull apart, our breathing is shallow. I rest my forehead against hers and I smile again.

  “Come on, I’ve got something for you.” I’m conscious of the time.

  “Ooh.” She follows on, her energy lighter than when she stepped through my door, skipping up the steps behind me as I stride up to the roof terrace, two at a time. I take a quick glance at my watch. We’re doing OK. I’m just two minutes behind schedule. That’s OK.

  “Oh, wow. Look at this. You’ve outdone yourself.” She comes to stand beside me and just kind of stands awkwardly in front of the cheeses, like that’s all the announcement it needs. I guess that’s right because she can clearly see I have purchased a boat load of varieties, but I wanted to tell her the trouble I’ve gone to in order to source these for her. Now the time is here though, I’m embarrassed. My mouth is dry and I’ve lost any ability to string a sentence of explanation together.

  I swig my wine and decide to avoid showing off.

  Instead, I begin to explain more formally than is right about how we should proceed. “Ok, so, there’s a bucket of wine here.” I point to the glass trough filled with crushed ice, water and several varieties of wine for the pairing. “Here’s
a ticket.” I point again, now in front of each cheese. “We need to drink said wine,” I underline the example on the card I’m using as the explanation, “with each cheese.”

  “Ooh, where to start?” She's smiling, but she senses I'm odd. I can see the confusion wracked over her face, but I'm unable to lighten up.

  “Wherever you want.” I plant a kiss on her head and instantly inhale her gorgeous apricot shampoo.

  “Where did this lot come from, Borough Market? I didn’t see them.”

  “All over the place. Not many from Borough Market; we’ve done that now. So, I got a few from elsewhere.”

  She must pick something out of my tone because she asks, “Like where?” She closes her right eye, waiting for the truth.

  And so, I relent. “I spoke with a specialist I know and he imported some for me. It’s no big deal.”

  “It is to me. Thank you.” She steps onto her tiptoes, rests both hands on my shoulders and places a peck on my lips. As she reaches up, she spots the projector over my shoulder. She gasps, covers her mouth with the back of her hand as her eyes brim. She moves toward the reel of pictures I have playing on the outdoor cinema screen.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Of course. I can’t believe we’ve done so much in such a short time.” Her voice is soft, wispy like her hair floating in the breeze.

  The images flick over from our summer island to her on my couch just a few days ago.

  “Oh, I can’t believe you included that, it’s such an awful shot.” I captured her laid out on the sofa eating a bowl of chicken soup I cooked for her.

  “It’s one of my favorites. It’s real.” I drape my arm over her shoulder. We’re back in each other’s company, and all is well with the world again. I’m now super confident that I made the right decision about this evening.

  Jessie