In the past, I could never honestly picture myself living with a man, especially one that I’m sleeping with. The very notion of becoming intimately acquainted with each other’s bad habits and most embarrassing flaws is the stuff of nightmares. Even after Blake proposed to me, I couldn’t stomach the thought of him looking at me as a real person. I wanted to be perfect for him. I knew that if we lived together, he’d know I wasn’t the strong, put together woman that he saw on our brief visits with each other.
With Blake, I was a tower, alone. The sole source of my support and subsistence. Every bit of strength I drew came from within. Every bit of joy was a solitary triumph, and every bit of sadness was my burden to shoulder. All so Blake would never have to know that, at my foundation, the very thing that I’m built upon, is nothing more than storied disappointment.
I don’t have that problem with Jason. He’s well acquainted with the charade played between lovers that all too often results in walls made up of lies and deceit. He won’t allow an erection of such a barrier. He won’t let me be perfect, alone. He forces his presence and reinforces mine. He commands me to draw upon him for strength just as he draws upon mine. He won’t accept anything less than my unwavering commitment to him, any more than he’ll accept his for me. Where Blake tried to dominate me through force, Jason possesses me with little more effort than a flash of his brilliant smile. We’re equals, partners, and in that way, Jason accomplished what Blake never could — I trust him.
As close as I’ve grown to Jason, his moving in with me hasn’t been without consequence. For one, he’s a workaholic. I don’t know why I never realized that he practically lives at the office when he’s not home. He’s also a light sleeper, I often wake in the middle of the night and find him on his computer, watching TV, or more often than not, working out at the apartment gym. I doubt he’s ever slept through an eight hour night the entire time we’ve been together. Despite the odd hours Jason keeps, he’s always fresh as a cucumber the next morning; and this morning is no exception. Jason is up at six o’clock making preparations to close yet another multi-million dollar deal while I lay idly on the bed, with absolutely no intention to get up for another hour and a half.
“What’s brought on this onset of romanticism?” Jason asks, continuing to multi-task on his laptop.
“I was thinking that you’re about to close a huge deal and I’ve never been to Paris. Also, both of us have racked up a ton of vacation time. It just seems like it’s meant to be.”
“I haven’t closed the client yet.”
“But you will, because you always do. And when that happens, we should go away together and spend two glorious weeks in France celebrating your victory.”
“I wouldn’t mind two weeks of celebration,” Jason says, suggestively raising his eyebrows.
“You’ll get that and more,” I say playfully.
“Now I’m intrigued. What’s more?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“I think you should set it up.”
“Seriously?” I ask excitedly.
“Absolutely.”
“When?”
“Anytime you’d like. But the sooner, the better, I want to start celebrating as early as possible. What’s so funny?” Jason asks, as I giggle.
“You didn’t even bat an eyelash when I said we should go to a nude beach.”
“That’s because I like that part of your plan.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
“That, and Paris doesn’t have an exotic nude beach, just some sand they dumped next to the Seine.”
“How do you know that? Have you been to Paris?”
“A couple of times,” Jason replies dismissively. “But I also happen to know that Paris is in the middle of France, nowhere near a beach. And, on top of that, I know that you would never go nude in public.”
“Maybe that’s the surprise,” I say jokingly. “Let’s go to Nice instead. I’m pretty sure there are nude beaches there.”
“I’m on board if you are.”
“No, you’re right. I never would. I just wanted to freak you out. Why do you know everything?” I ask as Jason continues to browse his emails. “Since you think you know me so well, I bet you can’t guess what I’m thinking right now.”
Jason smiles as he places his laptop on his bedside table. “I’ll take that bet,” he says pulling open my robe, he begins lightly kissing my stomach.
“That’s pretty close,” I say, with a smile. “I wanted you to stop looking at your computer.”
“I know,” he says impishly. “I just thought it might be fun to start celebrating early.”
“I guess that I lost the bet,” I reply with feigned disappointment. “Oh well, I’ve never been much of a gambler.”
“With me, you’ll never have to be,” Jason says before moving his kisses upwards.
20
Where is Jason
It’s eleven o’clock and Jason hasn’t returned home. I wonder what’s keeping him. I’m itching to tell him all of the progress I’ve made planning our trip to France. I decided to extend our vacation from two to three weeks. I doubt he’ll mind. This will be our first trip together, and I want to prolong every second we have. Besides, I think he’ll like what I’ve planned for the extra week. I’m prepared to do something with Jason that I have never done before, with a guy, of my own volition — meet his parents!
Since it’s impossible to find a nonstop flight to France, it’s the perfect opportunity for us to stay in New York for a few nights. In the process, he can show me around the city and impress me with his abounding knowledge of restaurants and entertainment venues — he’ll love that I’m sure. Then maybe we can squeeze in a dinner, or two, with his parents. In the very recent past, the thought of meeting with my boyfriend’s parents would have triggered a procession of doubt, fear, and full blown panic. The result would be my feigning placidity as I convince him that we should take our time and think about whether it’s a good idea to let other people into our relationship. Look at how happy we are without the outside pressure. Why ruin a good thing?
With Jason, much of the fear and doubt falls away. He’s practically shown a superhuman level of patience for my many idiosyncrasies. He eats vegetarian meals with me, even though he’s not a vegetarian — Blake would never dream of having a meal without meat. He wasn’t remotely bothered when I told him about my aversion to alcohol. He says he doesn’t drink, which as far as I know is true. He’s never had a drink around me, which shows me how much he respects my lifestyle. He doesn’t care that I’m such a homebody and would never force me into an uncomfortable social situation. He’s never tried to persuade me to meet his parents. Come to think of it; Jason’s never asked me to meet anyone in his life. And I’ve never asked him to meet anyone in mine. He doesn’t care about all the extraneous nonsense that tends to get in the way of the stuff that matters — which is how we feel about each other. He just gets me, accepting me for who I am; and that makes me love him all the more. And for that reason, I’m willing to make myself uncomfortable for him.
“Eleven-thirty,” I groan aloud as I glance at my computer clock. Time sure flies when I’m fantasizing about a dream vacation with the sexiest man on this planet. I have work tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for a meeting with Jason, maybe we’ll have a chance to talk then. I didn’t see him today. He was working with another marketing director to close a client. They probably went out afterward, and knowing Jason, they’re playing cards or doing some other male dominated activity that he is very considerate to insulate from me. We spend every night together. One night apart isn’t going to kill us.
Although, he really should have called or texted. Oh well, I’ll figure out a way to scold him later. For now, my thoughts are entirely consumed in reverie, with visions of us together, at night, on our hotel balcony. He’ll stand behind me, holding me in his arms. Together we’ll take in the beautiful Parisian skyline, bathed in radiant light. It will be breathtaking, but
only because I’ll be looking at it with the man I love.
“Where are you?” I text Jason
He hasn’t answered any of my calls, and I haven’t seen him all day. He missed our meeting at work and didn’t come home last night. I’m sure he has a good reason, it’s just that he’s usually very diligent about getting back to me. I admit he spoils me, I’m so accustomed to having him at my beck and call, it’s a little unnerving when I can’t reach him, which is the only reason I’m cutting him slack.
I spent most of the evening running errands, and I’ve only just arrived home. I’ve looked forward to this part of the day from the moment I woke up. I’m finally free to start narrowing down hotels I want us to stay in, while in Paris. I had a whole methodology planned to filter by four and five-star hotels: by the highest reviews, by price, then by whichever place is the most aesthetically pleasing. I’m sure Jason will appreciate my diligence. He won’t admit it, but I can tell he’s a bit of a snob when it comes to his environment.
When the moment finally arrives where I’m not consumed by a barrage of extraneous tasks, I relax into my sectional with a delicious bowl of quinoa and stir fried vegetables. The minutes tick slowly by and I find I’m still alone. I can feel the unfettered zeal that filled me earlier slowly dissipate, and my energy along with it. I try to distract my growing anxiety with an episode of Buffy.
As the night wears on, and one episode turns into a Buffy binge marathon, I finally decide to peel myself away from the TV and get ready for bed. It’s almost midnight and Jason still isn’t home. I’m not freaking out. I’m sure he’ll have a perfectly legitimate explanation for his vanishing act. This is Jason after all — Mr. Reliable. If he’s not answering his cell when I call, I have no doubt that he has a good reason. Jason would never purposefully neglect me.
But if he’s not ignoring me, then what could keep him away? Did something happen to him? What if he got in a car accident last night on his way back to the apartment? He might be in the hospital right now, shored up in bed, in a full body cast, unable to move. No, I can’t think that way — I’m sure it’s nothing so dire. Still, I wish he would call, so I don’t have to worry.
Rather than go directly to bed, I return to the living room and curl up on my couch as I resume watching Buffy. I know that if I try to sleep my thoughts will travel to a dark place, a place that I’m sure to regret going. Getting in the habit of doubting Jason will only hurt me. He’s only ever shown me his utmost love and devotion. He deserves the same from me.
It’s a good thing this is one of my favorite Buffy episodes. Harmony, the vampire, gets into a slow motion hair pulling fight with Xander, one of her old classmates from Sunnydale high school. That scene always gives me a good laugh. And laughter is precisely what I need at the moment.
“Jason?” comes a barely audible whisper from my throat. My vision is blurry and my throat scratchy, as I peer at Jason staring down at me, uncertain if I’m awake or dreaming. It’s still dark, with only the lamp beside me illuminating the room. I feel like a block of stone, so tired my eyes are flitting shut as I work to keep them open. He leans in and kisses my forehead. There’s a somber look in his eyes. He must be tired too. I try to ask, “Where have you been? I missed you.” I’m not sure if I’ve successfully vocalized these words or if they remain a question in my head. Either way, his answer eludes me as I fall back into slumber.
When I wake again, the light from the morning sun fills the room. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I look around and realize, to my dismay, that I must’ve fallen asleep in the living room while watching TV. But I don’t remember shutting the TV off any more than I recall covering myself with this blanket. Unless … the dream I had with Jason staring down at me, wasn’t a dream at all.
Suddenly, a burst of energy jolts through me and I’m off the couch, practically running into my bedroom, all the while feeling my heart shed the weight that kept it down. Jason’s back! I immediately notice the comforter turned down on Jason’s side of the bed, and from the bathroom, I can hear water running from the sink and the whir of an electric razor. I quietly push the bathroom door open and tip toe behind Jason, wrapping my arms around his chest as he shaves his face. Jason smiles into the mirror and continues to shave.
“You were gone for too long. I missed you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, likely drowned out by the buzz of Jason’s razor. “When I saw you last night, I thought it was a dream. The way you looked at me, your eyes were so sad. I thought you were just tired. But I look at you today and see the same sadness. Am I dreaming now?”
Jason stops shaving, placing the razor on the counter by the sink, he turns around to face me and in doing so, breaks my hold on him. “You aren’t dreaming.”
As I study Jason’s face, I detect a hardness that, until this moment, I would never have thought possible from him. “If this isn’t a dream then why is there so much distance between us?”
Jason’s eyes soften, and he wraps his arms around me. “There’s no distance. I’m right here.”
I lean into his chest, closing my eyes, breathing in the scent of his freshly showered body. I forget that I’m upset with him for disappearing more than a day, and not calling or texting. None of that matters. I only care that he’s home with me, where he belongs.
“Do you want me to drive you to work?” He asks, his tone quiet and soothing.
“Yes, please. Just give me 30 minutes to get ready.”
I can hear Jason shaving as I shower. As the water trickles onto my face and shoulders, all the anxiety from the previous night washes away, and I am happy once again. Now that everything is back to normal I can finally tell Jason about what I have planned so far for our trip to France. I was thinking of going mid-July — after Susan’s wedding. If I try to go before, and miss her day of glory, she’ll kill me. And just as I become lost in reverie, planning our dream vacation, I am abruptly brought to the present by the sound of the front door closing.
I immediately turn the water off before jumping out of the shower. With a sense of urgency, I towel myself off before throwing on a robe and making my way to the living area of my apartment. It’s just as I’d feared; Jason is nowhere to be found. On the kitchen counter I see a note next to a bowl of oatmeal.
I have to run.
I made you breakfast.
We’ll talk later.
Love You.
He’s probably late for a meeting. As I plop myself into one of my barstools and begin spooning oatmeal into my mouth, I examine the note once again. Jason can always be relied upon for his brevity. I’m sure he’ll explain his evasive behavior later today. Then it hits me; I guess this means I’ll be taking the streetcar to work, which means I’ll need to walk to the station. Oh well, there couldn’t be a more beautiful day for a walk in the sun.
21
Survival Instinct
The moment I arrive at work I make it a priority to check-in on Jason. To my surprise, not only is he not in his office, the lights are off, and the entire room appears vacated. I gently push the door open and walk in for a better look. Jason isn’t the type to overly personalize his workspace, but the few posters and pictures he had are gone. And his trash is overflowing with all of the awards and trophies he’s accumulated during his tenure at the agency.
Did Jason move offices? If he did then why didn’t he take his awards? Not knowing what to make of the situation, I head over to my desk and log into my computer. I’m not exactly worried. It would be silly for me to obsess over his empty office. Jason is one of the executives at the agency. He closes millions of dollars worth of clients. He’s probably around here somewhere. I’m sure I’ll see him later today, and set to rest all the mystery surrounding his vacant office.
It doesn’t take long for Susan to spot me and make her way over to my desk. “How are you?” she asks.
“Fine?” I reply, as I try to make sense of her consoling tone. “Are you okay?”
Susan furrows her brows in confusion
. “Haven’t you heard? I thought he would have told you.”
“What are you talking about? You thought who would tell me what?” I ask, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I already know what she’s referring to. Something tells me this is about Jason. He didn’t simply move offices.
Susan leans in, “About Jason,” she whispers. “He got sacked.”
“What? No, that can’t be, I was with him this morning. He would have told me,” I say, frowning as my thoughts are suddenly bombarded with the memory of Jason’s lachrymose eyes from the night before, and again this morning. Then there was the coldness I felt between us. I don’t have to verify what Susan is telling me. I know it’s true.
“I’m sorry Bridge, it happened.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. Do you know why?”
“After he completely blew off a meeting with a major client, then got into an argument with the VP of marketing, it was kind of inevitable.”
“He what?” I look away from Susan. Is this happening? Why would Jason not tell me? Why did he miss an important meeting with a client? That doesn't sound like him.
“Where are you going?” Susan asks, as I get up to leave.
“I have to talk to Jason,” I reply, absently.
“But your presentation, Bridget, you can’t leave.”
That’s right, my presentation to the marketing managers — the one I was supposed to prepare for with Jason, yesterday. I’m torn between wanting to find Jason to console him, and the realization that if I miss the upcoming meeting, I’ll be the next on the chopping block.
Unlike Jason, I’m not pulling in close to a half million per year. I just got my Seattle apartment and spent a small fortune on new furniture. Without this job, I’ll be destitute in a few months, or worse, forced to rely on Jason, which I would never do. It would feel too much like submission; but not from a place of strength. He would be my keeper, and we would no longer be equals. Such a pathetic display of feebleness takes my mind into the darkest place, which I never thought I’d see or know with Jason. A place where I’m a second thought, someone to use as he pleases — disposable. No, that can never be me. I can’t allow myself to be disposable. And just as my compassion for Jason threatens to seep in and overtake reason, it is immediately cast out by my most basic instinct, to survive.
Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1) Page 15
