Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1)

by Jean Evergreen

  This is one of the scroogy-ist weeks of the year for me. I don’t have any plans for Christmas. Jason is gone all week, visiting his family in New York. To make matters worse, it would seem I can’t turn a corner without hearing someone talk about how prepared they are this year because they did most of their shopping during the summer sales. Or how hectic the holidays will be trying to juggle their kid’s The Birth of Jesus play with relatives flying in on the same day. It all reminds me of how alone I am. Not that being alone during the holidays is a new phenomenon. Normally Blake and I send each other a present, and we open them together over webcam. Even though we weren’t physically together, I was comforted by the knowledge that he was there for me in spirit.

  Jason suggested that he might not be easy to get in touch with, but if I called him, he’d try to pick up. I’ve resolved not to call him. The last thing I want is for him to sense my desperation; I have my pride after all. Still, it’d be nice if he were around.

  Susan invited me to spend Christmas with her and Greg’s family. I declined, wanting to avoid an exhausting evening of inane chit-chat and exaggerated friendliness, all so Susan would feel adequately rewarded for her good deed. Susan always has the best of intentions, but she doesn’t seem to grasp my thorough disdain for large and unfamiliar crowds.

  As I watch Susan, through the glass wall, in her new office, I see her poke Bryan, the help desk guy, and both of them burst out laughing. Susan was recently promoted to the position of public relations account manager. She got an office across the room from where I sit. I’m still waiting for my office, but I’m not holding my breath. Private offices are a scarce commodity. I imagine the politics of obtaining one would require me to exert far more effort than I would care.

  Susan, being the pinnacle of team spirit, does not disappoint on ugly sweater day. Only, she wouldn’t dream of going into public with an ugly, drab sweater. She always has to make a statement, hence the transformation of her ugly sweater into a short, form-fitting sweater dress, with a pattern of penguins ice skating around the bottom. And of course, she wouldn’t be Susan if she didn’t couple her dress with four inches stiletto booties. A few seconds later, Susan and Bryan spill out of her office, laughing. Their eyes lock together as they smile foolishly at one another before Bryan turns and walks down the hall. Susan walks towards me with a sprightly bounce in her step. “Lunchtime!” she practically sings.

  Susan sips on her skinny non-fat mocha as she looks at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She’s been giving me that look all day — like she’s privy to a secret that she wants to divulge.

  “Ok, what’s with the look Susan?” I finally ask.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to creep you out,” Susan laughs. “A little birdie told me that you have a secret boyfriend.”

  I narrow my eyes as I look at her, wondering if she knows about Jason and me, or if she’s making a clever attempt to extract information. “Me? No,” I reply, with a sly smile which is immediately undermined by, what feels like, a bright red flare up of my entire face.

  “Oh come on Bridge, the cat’s out of the bag. I know you and Jason are seeing each other!”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I have my sources. And I notice you aren’t bothering to deny it.”

  “I guess not,” I say rolling my eyes in feigned irritation. The truth is, I’m somewhat relieved Susan knows.

  “Come on, let it out, you know you want to,” Susan goads.

  “Ok,” I say, putting my hands up as if in surrender. “Jason and I went on one date together.”

  “And?” Susan asks, excitedly.

  “And, it went well between us. We’re trying to keep everything quiet because we’re testing the waters and he’s still my boss. So promise you won’t spread this around the office, or you might put both of our jobs in jeopardy,” I say wagging my finger. “Besides, nothing’s official between us.”

  “As if I’d ever do anything to put your job in jeopardy. Don’t worry; I’ll be silent as the grave. What do you mean nothing is official between you two?”

  “Just that we’re taking it slow and not putting pressure on the relationship. We’re not labeling ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  Susan lets out an exasperated sigh. “That is the same thing you said about Blake. I’m sensing a pattern in the way you deal with men.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, raising my eyebrow in surprise.

  “I mean nothing is ever official with you. You’re always taking things slow. Normally it’s the guy who has commitment issues, but you, you’re worse than any guy I’ve ever met.”

  “That’s not fair, Susan,” I say, furrowing my brows. “Blake and I had a complicated relationship. It was long distance after all. What I have with Jason is new. We’ve just started dating. You can’t expect us to send out Christmas cards together with only one date.”

  Susan narrows her eyes at me. “I suppose not. But I don’t think I’m wrong.”

  “Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say you’re not wrong. So I have commitment issues. What does it matter?”

  “What do you mean?” Susan asks, confusion sweeping her countenance.

  “It seems to bother you. I don’t understand why it would,” I reply hoping my tone doesn’t betray how defensive I feel.

  “I’m not upset, just disappointed. I wish you would open yourself up to the possibility of a serious, committed relationship. Trust me; there’s nothing sexier than commitment. Look at Greg and me. Our engagement has only strengthened our bond. Neither of us has to wonder where we stand with each other. This ring means that we are bonded to each other for the rest of our days on this earth. It takes away all the awkward questions so we can just focus on us. I worry that you’re never going to experience a genuinely loving relationship, and I want that for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, unenthusiastically. When it comes to relationships, Susan always makes me feel like a child in need of schooling. I never seem able to make an intelligent argument to defend my position. I see myself as an inexperienced, amateur compared to her. It would be like a student arguing with her professor, when I should be listening and learning. “Who is your source?” I ask, wanting to change the subject.

  “Oh, a friend of mine that recognized you from the art auction. He happened to be at the conservatory on Saturday with his younger sister. They were in the Palm House when the two of you walked in. He had to shield his sister’s eyes as the two of you practically did the dirty deed right in front of her.

  “It wasn’t as bad as all that,” I reply, barely able to suppress a smile. “We kissed. But we didn’t do anything horribly inappropriate. Besides, we thought we were alone.”

  “That’s what my source said. He doubted the two of you noticed anyone else in the place. You seemed only to have eyes for each other. He was pretty into you when he saw you at the art auction. He thought you were attractive but standoffish. He asked me for your number, but I assured him he wasn’t your type. He doesn’t have enough grit for you. Anyway, Greg and I had him over for dinner last night, and that’s when he told me about your steamy encounter with Jason. Face it. Seattle is my playground, and I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I laugh, causing Susan to giggle in response.

  “What I really want to know is, how was it? The kiss I mean.”

  “It was … amazing,” I say dreamily as I recall Jason’s soft, tender lips against mine and his way of making me feel disoriented, like little stars were floating around my head. “He’s nothing like I thought he would be when we first met. Outwardly, he’s so aloof and sterile, like a model in a men’s suit catalog. I would have never suspected he could be so sweet and caring.”

  When I focus my attention back on Susan, I notice her staring back at me like a proud parent. “Jason’s the perfect example of why you can’t judge a book by its cover, or a man by his Cartier watch. He’s a total sweetheart when you get to know hi
m, and I think you’ll both be really good for each other. Just do me a favor and take my friendly advice, make sure you let him know that you like him. He’s a great catch, and the last thing you want is to let him slip through your fingers because you’re playing hard to get. A guy like that won’t be on the market for long.”

  “He definitely knows I like him,” I say, recalling my intrepid display of nudity on our date. “I wonder why you never made a pass at him? Or did you?” I ask. For some reason, it never settled with me that Jason seemed wholly uninterested in Susan, and she never made any attempt to flirt with or tempt him—ever.

  “I’m offended,” Susan laughs as she feigns anger. “I’ve been with Greg since I’ve known Jason. I would never make a pass at him, or any other man.”

  I try to steady my gaze at Susan, so she doesn’t sense my doubt. Surely, she must know that she’s an impossible flirt. But the last thing I want is to upset her, so I keep that thought to myself.

  “Seriously, though, he’s the dark brooding type, which has never been my preference. Even if I weren’t with Greg, he wouldn’t be the kind of guy I'd go for. He seems damaged, not very open, as though he’s experienced a bad relationship in the past and he’s still trying to recover. That’s why I think he’s perfect for you; you’re both so secretive. But not in a creepy, next door neighbor, axe murderer, kind of way. I think guarded is a better way to describe it. You are naturally that way, but I think circumstances have made him less open than nature intended.”

  Susan never ceases to surprise me. The things she picks up on when no one's looking. I’m increasingly learning to respect her insight of other people, because more often than not, she’s right. “I didn’t know you gave it that much thought, but I’m glad you approve. And I’m glad he doesn’t have your eye. I doubt I’d have a chance to compete with you. But then, we don’t have the same taste in men.”

  “And I’m engaged!” Susan says, holding up her hand and pointing to her engagement ring. “Which is another reason you’ll never have to compete with me for a man.”

  “Right,” I say as convincingly as I can. Fortunately, Susan changes the subject to her wedding. As she goes on about her planning obstacles, my mind drifts to Jason. Why didn’t I notice he was damaged? Could Susan be right, did he have a prior relationship that traumatized him? Is that why he was interested in me, because he knows my fear of commitment makes me safe?

  Of course, he would have baggage. For a gorgeous and successful man like him to be single means he’s either a player or a loner. Yikes, why does dating have to be so complicated? Suddenly, I miss the comfort of a long distance relationship: where the miles between Blake and I made all of our problems seem hypothetical rather than a reality we had to face daily.

  17

  A False Promise of Love

  It’s Christmas Eve and the night has been thoroughly uneventful. The preponderance of the day was spent making fudge, cleaning, and packing. I’m finally ready to leave this hole in the wall duplex and move on to cleaner pastures. My new apartment is a high rise in Seattle with the most magnificent view of South Lake Union. It’s everything my current living situation is not — for starters, it’s immaculate. When I saw it for the first time, I remember the very distinct lack of aroma; if anything, it smelled like a new car. After all these months in a duplex that continuously challenges my olfactory senses to ignore a particular carbon scent lingering in the air, the smell of nothingness is the greatest present I could hope for this Christmas.

  Then there were the rust free, stainless steel appliances, and the stain free, hardwood floors. I practically had tears in my eyes; it was so lovely a sight to behold. Jason was the one who orchestrated the whole thing. He knew the building manager and was able to get me a sizable reduction in my rent, which still leaves the monthly cost double what I’ve ever paid for even my most expensive apartment. After living so long in a place where I don’t feel comfortable sitting on the floor without laying down a towel, I feel fully justified splurging on a place that makes me feel like a queen. Besides, it has the added bonus of being closer to work. No more harrowingly long bus rides, with ten stops, before I reach my destination.

  Jason promised to help me move after Christmas when he returns to Seattle. Until then, I’m on my own. With a long day of productivity behind me, I’m finally relaxing on my futon — ready to enjoy the delicious walnut chocolate fudge I made, while watching White Christmas. When suddenly my phone starts to vibrate on top of a packing box. My heart sinks when I see the caller — it’s Blake. I know precisely the reason he’s calling. I brace myself as I answer the phone, knowing this is going to be a bumpy ride.

  “Hello,” I say, as I’m greeted by the sound of Blake rustling around on the other end, then silence. “Hello?” I repeat.

  “Hi Bridget,” comes his familiar voice.

  I thought I had numbed my heart to Blake entirely. Since we called off our engagement, I pushed all of my affection for him to the far recesses of my mind. These days, most of my thoughts are for Jason. And yet, to my dismay, I can’t deny the visceral response Blake’s voice has the power to elicit. When so caught off guard, how can I reasonably be expected to ignore years of conditioning, where I’ve associated his Texas twang with an automatic uptick in my happiness? If I had fair warning, I could have prepared myself, staved off what inevitably follows when hearing the voice of a person once held so dear. But as it is, I didn’t take the proper precautions to protect my heart and, despite all of my insistence to deny it, warmth creeps in.

  “Hi Blake,” I reply cautiously.

  “I told you to keep it.”

  “I know,” I say carefully. “I wouldn’t have felt right if I did. We’re not engaged.”

  After my date with Jason, I made the decision to return Blake’s ring. It was sitting on a side table, next to my futon, since the night I broke off our engagement — which is so unlike me. I generally can’t stand the thought of random objects haphazardly strewn about. As my dad always said, “Drawers exist for a reason.” I suppose it gave me comfort to see it there, like a security blanket. Whatever I might have told Blake, I wasn’t ready to cast the idea of him from my mind. Then I had the date with Jason, and the incredible kiss. That’s when I knew it was time to let Blake go. I sent the ring to him the following Monday. I had a feeling he’d call.

  Blake is silent for a moment. “I think about you all the time. I know you asked me not to call anymore, and I want to respect your decision. It’s just … I miss talking to you, hearing your voice…”

  “Blake,” I cut in. “I miss talking to you too. I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I haven’t changed my mind. We both know it would be impossible for us to just be friends. It’s in both of our interest to move on.”

  “What if I don’t want to move on? I don’t want to stop thinking about you. I can’t just turn off how I feel. I want to fix our problems, not run away from them. I want to go back and figure out what went wrong between us. I still love you, Bridget. Don’t you love me?”

  I can hear Blake’s voice crack, like he’s moments away from tears. Blake’s not normally the type to be so openly vulnerable. “Have you been drinking?” I ask, accusingly.

  “No, why do you have to go and say a thing like that? You always assume the worst about me. I’m not drunk. I haven’t had anything to drink in a month.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” I reply, feeling foolish for making such a rash assumption.

  “No, it’s ok. I …” he trails off.

  “I honestly don’t know what to say. I can’t give you what you want.”

  “Won’t you at least try? I know how you are Bridget. You imagine the worst and isolate yourself from the world, so you don’t have to deal with …”

  “With what?” I ask coolly.

  “With life. With things not going your way, when everything isn’t perfect. If you can’t wash or organize a problem away, you run away. You can’t control everything, Bridget. Yo
u can’t throw away the last five years as if they never happened, any more than you can stop me from loving you.” When I don’t respond, Blake continues, “I want to see you. I can fly into Seattle tomorrow. I know that if we could just be together, you would change your mind. You’d remember that you love me too.”

  I sit on my futon with my knees tucked close to my chest. I feel exposed, and I hate that feeling. And I hate Blake for making me feel the way I do now. In an instant, with just as much ease as warmth crept into my heart, filling it with sentimental affection for Blake, that same warmth disappears, leaving me numb from the cold. It's time that Blake understands, he can’t hold me hostage by dangling this false promise of love. Love doesn’t control me. I control me. Blake always tells me I’m tough as nails. I’m finally ready to live up to his assessment and do what needs to be done — survive.

  “Blake, I’m seeing someone, and things have gotten serious between us.”

  I hear silence; then the line goes dead. I look at my phone and see a “Call Ended” message. I did the right thing. It would have been cruel to lead Blake on. He needs to move on with his life.