by Marie Landry
“No, he remembered, I think he’s just…well…” There’s more rustling on the other end. When Gwen speaks again, her voice is even quieter than before. “Jasper’s going through something right now. He’s taken all this time off work to ‘figure some things out’, but he hasn’t opened up about any of it yet. I also think Hadley’s abrupt departure and the fact she’ll be gone for Thanksgiving has shaken him. This was going to be the Perrys first proper Thanksgiving together in years, and Jasper was really excited.”
“Poor Jasper,” I murmur. He told me last weekend he’s used to Hadley taking off without much notice. He’s happy she’s doing something she loves, and he’s used to being on his own most of the time anyway, although he enjoys having her around when she is home. I understand him being disappointed about her missing Thanksgiving, though, especially after what he told me about still feeling emotionally distanced from his siblings.
Marisol’s words from earlier pop into my head. I know how to have fun and enjoy life, yet I haven’t made space for much of it since moving back to Bellevue. Jasper, on the other hand, has all this free time, but the concepts of relaxing and having fun are still fairly foreign to him.
Marisol’s voice whispers through my mind: ‘Allow good things to happen’. Despite my best efforts, I’ve thought about Jasper a lot this week. I was looking forward to seeing him on Tuesday for our farm outing, but the opportunity to see him sooner—and have him to myself—basically just landed in my lap.
“Ask Jasper if he’d like to hang out with me tonight.”
CHAPTER TEN
I’m back to standing in my living room, looking at my work stuff spread out on the floor. The only difference from ten minutes ago when I was sitting here is now I’m wearing company-worthy lounging clothes of yoga pants (that rarely see an actual yoga mat) and Spice Girls shirt instead of the baggy sweatpants and super-comfy-but-hole-riddled sweatshirt I donned when I got home from work.
I told Gwen she could send Jasper over whenever. When I mentioned she should warn him I only had canned soup to feed him for dinner, she said she’d have him stop for pizza on his way—her treat for helping her and Evan get their much-needed alone time.
After disconnecting our call, I hopped up and flitted around my apartment, fluffing couch cushions and putting away clean dishes that hadn’t made it to the cupboard yet. Jasper has already seen the place, so he knows how small it is and he also knows to expect the crammed shelves and surfaces. I culled a lot of my belongings before moving back to Bellevue, but I couldn’t bear to part with the majority of my books and fandom-related collectibles. Even though I have fewer things now, this place is easily half the size of my Toronto apartment, so what once appeared pleasing to the eye is now all smooshed in together, making things look cluttered.
“Oh well,” I say to myself, giving the apartment one final scan. “It’s just Jasper. It’s not like I need to impress him.”
That being said, I also don’t want him to slip on one of the pens littering the floor, so I scoop everything up and deposit it on a TV tray near the far end of the couch to deal with later.
Jasper arrives bearing a bottle of wine and a cheese and mushroom pizza from Luigi’s, where we had our group dinner the other night. I had a moment of panic after he buzzed up, wondering how I should greet him. A hug? A kiss on the cheek? A fist bump? Most of the people in my circle have known each other for a long time, so we all hug and kiss. Thankfully, with Jasper’s hands full, the decision is one I can put off for now, and I greet him with a smile.
“Are you enjoying your time off work?” I ask, taking the pizza and wine from him while he removes his lightweight jacket and shoes.
“I am,” he says slowly. “It’s nice not always having to be somewhere, and yet I find myself unsure how to fill the bulk of my time. I’ve come to the rather alarming conclusion that I don’t necessarily enjoy my own company. Is that ridiculous? Equally as ridiculous as not wanting too much time to sit and think, so I sit and read, but then feel guilty if I spend too much time doing that?”
Wow, okay, we’re diving right into the deep end tonight. With my back to Jasper as I set the pizza on a small folding table in front of the couch, I allow myself the smile that’s been fighting to break through. Gwen always told me Jasper was a man of few words when it came to talking about himself, although he could talk at length about ideas, theories, art, or various other topics. The fact he’s been incredibly open with me since the beginning makes me feel good.
Schooling my expression, I straighten and turn to face him. The smile returns immediately, followed by a surprised laugh when my gaze snags on his socks: bright blue with a fluffy cat pattern.
“Ahh, yes,” Jasper says, following my line of sight and wiggling his toes. “These were a gift from Lina. She had them custom made for all of us. The cat is her ragdoll, Mitzy.”
“What a wonderfully weird gift.” I raise my head to meet Jasper’s eyes. My breath catches at the fond amusement in his eyes. I motion for him to sit while I answer an incoming text from Cami, and then grab plates, napkins, and wine glasses from the kitchen.
“I’m not sure if your question before was rhetorical, but I’m going to answer it anyway,” I say as we load our plates with pizza. My mouth waters as the scent of herb-filled marinara and buttery crust hits my nostrils. The owner and chef at Luigi’s—not, in fact, named Luigi, but Don—has told me he’ll let me in on his secret blend of spices if I give him my top secret recipe for my grandmother’s Welsh cakes. I’ve always wondered which of us will cave first.
“While I actually do enjoy my own company, it took me a while to get to that point,” I tell Jasper. “As for whether it’s ridiculous to feel guilty for having downtime?” I wave a hand toward the pile of notebooks nearby. “It’s Saturday night, I don’t have to work, and yet this is what I was doing before you got here. Mind you, it’s something I wanted to do, even though it’s still technically work.”
Jasper wipes his fingers on a napkin and reaches for the top notebook, pausing to ask, “May I?” At my nod, he picks it up and peruses my messily scrawled notes, then turns to the next page and the next. “Did you study marketing and public relations?”
“No. I’ve picked up a lot of tips over the years from Gwen and Ivy, and by observing what seems to work and not work for similar businesses. I’ve had a bunch of these ideas since way back when Marisol and I first started talking about owning our own bakery.”
“These are brilliant,” he says. “Very creative. Being in the Village must have its perks, but it comes with its own unique disadvantages too, I imagine.”
“Exactly! Business is largely dependent on Village traffic. You either have to be in the Village and happen to pass the café or already know it’s there. Or discover it on social media. We may be close to the main entrance, but even that’s relative since the place is enormous and it takes a few minutes just to walk in from the parking lot. We lack the advantage free-standing buildings have of people walking in off the street on their way to work or when they’re out and about, or going through a drive-thru.”
Jasper nods along as I speak, notebook in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. “It seems you have some truly ingenious ideas to draw people in, though. Like this—is this a British afternoon tea?”
I take a sip of wine, giving myself a moment to bask in his praise. “It is. I originally thought it would be fun to do around Christmastime until it dawned on me we could do them year-round, maybe once a month. I thought I could do a small one in November to see if there’s enough interest, and then offer a few leading up to Christmas since it’s the Village’s busiest time of the year.”
“Ahh, yes, Hugh was telling me all about how the Village started as Santa’s Village and was only open around the holidays,” Jasper says. “It’s incredible how he and Ivy have expanded and what they’ve been able to do with the place.”
“The whole operation blows my mind,” I tell him. “My mom, Marisol, and I went to S
anta’s Village one year before I moved to Toronto, and I thought what a shame it was for it to only be open a small fraction of the year. You’d never even know that now because it seems like all the shops and eateries have always been there.”
“Was Cravings a café before you and Marisol bought it?”
“It was, thank god.” At his questioning look, I add, “It cost way less to do renovations than we anticipated because all the necessary fixtures were already in place. We also got a good deal from the previous owner on a few things he no longer needed.”
“Amazing,” Jasper murmurs. He’s got that far away look in his eyes again. The hand holding his slice of pizza hovers halfway between his plate and his mouth. When he finally seems to remember it’s there, he sets it down and reaches for his wine instead. “To have the creativity and drive to accomplish all of this. The passion. It’s quite something, Willow.”
“Thank you.” His words, paired with the soft, admiring tone, make my throat tight with emotion and more than a little pride. There’s also a hint of sadness in there because Jasper is clearly struggling, even if I’m not exactly certain where the root of it lies.
“Have you ever thought of leaving banking?” I ask.
“No,” he says simply. “It’s what I know, what I’m good at. What I’ve always done. I can’t imagine doing anything else, especially at this point in my life. I think it’s true what they say: you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
I’m about to argue with him—tell him forty is still young and ‘too old’ is a bullshit social construct we’ve been led to believe by an ageist society, and ask him if he’s ever read anything about neuroplasticity—when my phone rings. “What is with people calling me lately?”
I’m tempted to ignore it since we’re in the middle of a conversation, but it could be about the café. I excuse myself and jump up, grabbing my phone from the kitchen counter where I left it. My heart does a little trip when I see my mom’s name and picture flash on the screen. I texted her earlier to check in and let her know I had the night off, and she was fine then. Telling myself not to assume the worst like I did earlier with Gwen, I take a quick breath and answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart, how are you doing?” She sounds like her usual calm, content self. I immediately release the breath that had frozen in my lungs.
“I’m great, Mom, how are you?”
“Great, eh? That’s what I like to hear.” I can sense the smile in her voice, which makes my own lips tug upward. “I’m great too. Emilio and I just finished eating dinner and I got thinking you might like to join us for a glass of wine and some dessert. I’ve been wanting to get the three of us together for dinner, but it hasn’t happened yet. I thought this would be more casual, maybe less pressure?”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s a really good idea…” My gaze slides to Jasper, who’s flipping through my notebook again. “I think I’ll have to take a rain check, though, because my friend Jasper is here.”
Jasper’s brows inch up a fraction, although his gaze remains studiously on the page in front of him.
There’s a pause on Mom’s end. When she speaks, I don’t need to see her to know her smile has grown wider. “Jasper, huh? Evan’s older brother, right? Why don’t you bring him along, I’d love to meet him. Unless you two are busy at something else…”
I swallow a laugh at her less-than-subtle unspoken question. “Hold on.” I mute the phone and turn to Jasper. “My mom wonders if we’d like to go to her place for dessert with her and her boyfriend. You can absolutely say no if you don’t want to.”
“Do you not want to go?” he asks. I can’t read his expression. There’s curiosity there, along with something else. Concern maybe?
“I…do?”
“That was convincing.”
“Was that sarcasm, Jasper Perry?”
His lips twitch. “Yes, I suppose it was.”
Knowing Jasper is capable of sarcasm elevates him even more in my estimation. “I do want to go. I haven’t spent any time with my mom’s boyfriend, and I like the idea of having someone there as moral support.” Jasper’s brows draw together, so I quickly add, “I’m not worried I won’t like him or anything like that. My mom says he’s great and I believe her. Even though I’m almost thirty-five, she’s still protective of me, and has been vigilant about keeping her love life separate from our relationship, so it feels like a big deal that she’s ready for me to hang out with one of her boyfriends.”
Saying this out loud suddenly makes me feel like a little girl. For so long, it was just Mom and me. Even when I grew up and moved out, she stayed single. She was proud of that independence, and I admired her strength and confidence to live life on her own terms. I always hoped she’d find someone to love again, and I’m genuinely happy she has. Still, there’s a part of me that’s hesitant to accept it’s not just the two of us against the world anymore.
Jasper closes the notebook in his hand and turns to face me fully. His serious eyes light with the hint of a smile. “I could go for some dessert. How about you?”
My gaze stays locked on his for several long beats. Even when it goes past the length of normal eye contact, Jasper keeps his eyes on mine. His calm, patient presence makes me wish I knew what he was thinking. Is he glad to have the opportunity to step up as a friend? Is he simply being agreeable and doing what he thinks I want? Is he nervous about meeting not only my mother, but her new boyfriend as well? We’re just friends, though, so why would he? This isn’t some monumental moment, and yet it feels like one to me.
I unmute the phone and return it to my ear. “Okay, Mom, we’re on our way.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jasper and I drive mostly in silence. I’m used to driving alone and I like the quiet, but of course my anxious brain kicks in after a few minutes. What if Jasper wants to talk and isn’t sure if I want to? Or what if his silence is a product of him second-guessing coming with me to my mom’s? Or, or, or…? Ugh.
Eventually, I employ a trick my therapist taught me: feeling outward. It’s not the easiest thing to do when you’re in control of a moving vehicle, but I give it a try. Basically, you tap into your surroundings and attempt to get a sense of how the other person is feeling. A quick glance at Jasper shows him gazing out the windshield, hands resting in his lap, and shoulders relaxed. No tightly clasped hands or fidgeting. No furtive glances. My grip loosens on the steering wheel and I allow myself to enjoy the companionable silence between us.
“Your mother lives around here?” Jasper asks when I turn into a subdivision full of older homes.
“Yeah, on Cambridge Street. Do you know it?”
He lets out a puff of air that might be a quiet laugh. My eyes dart in his direction. Sure enough, he’s wearing a slightly bewildered smile.
“I grew up on Cambridge Street,” he says. “My parents bought a house there when they got married. It was where they were living when I was born. Lina came along a couple of years later, followed by Malcolm. Shortly after he was born, my parents decided we’d outgrown the place, so we moved.”
A thrill zips over my skin, raising goosebumps on my arms. The Perrys would have been gone by the time Mom and I moved to this neighborhood, but knowing Jasper’s life began on the same street where Mom and I started our new life years later makes me smile. What a strangely small world we live in. “Which house?” I ask as I turn onto Cambridge Street.
“Number thirty-seven.” He sits straighter in his seat, peering intently out the window.
I’d been unintentionally holding my breath, waiting for him to say my house number—twenty-two—and cement this as the world’s most bizarre coincidence. I pass Mom’s place and come to a stop in front of number thirty-seven.
“Don’t tell me this is your house,” Jasper says.
“It’s not. I just thought you might like to see your old home.” I have a vague recollection of an older couple living here. There are no lights on in the house, but a small spotlight illuminates a Fo
r Sale sign on the front lawn. “Looks like they’re selling it.”
After a beat of silence, Jasper says, “I know.”
My head jerks in his direction. “You know?”
“I often drive by here when I’m in town,” he explains. “I came by last weekend and saw the realtor erecting the sign.”
His wistful expression tugs at my heart. I would have thought Jasper was far too practical to be the sentimental type. “You really loved this house, didn’t you?”
“I suppose it’s what the house represented more than the dwelling itself. Life was simple back then. Despite my recollections from those days being fuzzy, I remember a sense of love and happiness. After we moved, Evan and Hadley were born within a year of each other. I was used to being the oldest, but something changed when they came along. I felt a greater sense of responsibility, even though my parents didn’t expect any more from me. I’ve often wondered if I somehow knew I’d end up being guardian to them someday, and I took that to heart early on.”
Jasper has been looking at the house this whole time. When he shakes his head and shifts in his seat, I realize I’ve been in an almost-hypnotic state, listening to his soft voice and watching his face. The tugging in my heart turns into a pang of sorrow for all Jasper has been through. Despite being forty and all of his siblings being in their thirties, he obviously still feels a deep-seated sense of duty and obligation to them.
I want to tell him it’s time to live life for himself. To release the past and learn how to live without the weight of old responsibilities on his shoulders. I want to tell him his siblings don’t expect anything from him except for him to continue loving them. I don’t say any of those things, though. Silence stretches between us, heavy now, full of unspoken words instead of the companionable silence from before.
Finally, Jasper says, “Your mother is expecting us.”
Air rushes out of me like a deflated balloon. “Right.” I remain still for a moment longer before using the driveway of Jasper’s childhood home to turn the car around.
