Just Jilted

by Lila James

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  If You Don’t Succeed …

  The next morning, I woke up with a healthy dose of anger. Jackson had pretty much dumped me from the article we were both assigned to (by my magazine, damn it). Who did Jackson Taylor think he was? Just because he couldn’t get over his marriage or whatever the hell happened did not give him the right to essentially fire me. If he wanted out of the article, he would have to be the one to step down. Not me. There’s one definitive thing about my personality that I’ve always been proud of: I was perseverant. I did not give up. On anything.

  In middle school, I was athletically challenged. But I really wanted to join the cheerleading squad. One of the requirements to join was flexibility, and I couldn’t even touch my toes. But I was so determined that I would continuously leap off our living room couch and attempt to land in a split. After several of these attempts one fateful evening, I successfully leaped off the couch, swinging my legs in an elegant arch midair. I landed painfully, but in a split! Now, I didn’t initially notice that the couch had begun to tip over as I leaped nor the sidesplitting pain in both my hips and legs as I landed. I only felt the momentary delight of being in a split!

  I could remember my exact thoughts: Finally, I can join the cheerleading squad and get Colby Harris (my fifth-grade crush) to notice me. Just as I had that thought, I glanced up, noticing the couch was two seconds away from landing on top of me. It ended up knocking me over and flattening me to the floor.

  As I was rushed to the emergency room with a broken knee and sprained pelvis, all I could think about was the fact that I could do a split. My perseverance had always paid off, whether I was trying to do a split, get over my ex, or show Jackson Taylor that I was not a doormat.

  I felt so justifiably angry that I called him on his cell not long after I woke up.

  “Jackson Taylor’s cell phone,” a sleepy female voice answered.

  I rolled my eyes as I recognized Just Katerina’s voice, suppressing a flare of jealousy. Annoyance, actually. I couldn’t care less that Jackson obviously had a passionate night with Katerina moments after kicking me off my own damn article.

  “May I speak to Jackson, please?” I asked.

  “Who is this?” Just Katerina demanded, now sounding very awake.

  “His other girlfriend,” I started, just as I heard a giggle and what sounded like a squeaking mattress in the background.

  “Adrian Lexley,” Jackson’s smooth voice came on the line. He sounded as if he was stifling laughter, which annoyed me even further. “To what do I owe the pleasure? It is Saturday, you know.”

  “Yes. I know. I just wanted to talk to you about the article.”

  “But it’s Saturday,” Jackson protested with a groan.

  “This can’t wait. Can you tell Just Katerina that I need to talk to you alone?”

  “Jealous?” Jackson murmured in a husky voice.

  “Of her? Never in a million years. If anything, I’d like to warn her and tell her that you are a rude, arrogant jackass.”

  “Out with it, Lexley. You don’t like me, I get it. What is it that you just had to tell me this early on a Saturday morning? Didn’t your rebound keep you up last night?”

  “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. But I did want to tell you that you can’t get rid of me so easily.”

  “What?” Jackson asked, sounding exhausted.

  “You can’t drop me from this article,” I continued.

  “I’m not. All I’m doing is what you initially suggested.”

  “No. We’re doing this article together, and we will continue working together. It will influence the tone of the article if we work separately. We’ll do the interviews together and write it together. And if you still go to Jean, I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it that way,” I said, proud of how tough I sounded.

  There was silence on the other end of the line, a silence that stretched for so long, I wondered if he’d hung up on me.

  “Jackson?”

  “Wow,” Jackson murmured. “You really can’t bear the thought of being apart from me, can you?”

  “That’s not—” I choked, fighting a rising tide of fury.

  “Kidding, kidding,” Jackson said with a chuckle. “Fine. Have it your way. We’ll continue working together until the article is complete.”

  “Good,” I said with relief and an unexpected rush of elation. “I’ll see you at the coffee shop on Monday. Same time.”

  “Great. I look forward to it. Try not to think of me too much this weekend.”

  “And try to keep from falling in love with your own reflection,” I retorted, hanging up on Jackson’s soft laughter.

  “I thought you weren’t a morning person,” Liz said, emerging from her bedroom, looking uncharacteristically grumpy. “It’s nice to know you’re awake enough at this hour to have shouting matches in the living room.”

  “I wasn’t shouting,” I said, frowning. Was I?

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Hey,” I said as I came up with an idea. “Can I interview you and Stewart for the article I’m writing with Jackson?”

  “Why?” Liz asked after a hesitant pause.

  “I want to contribute something. We’re interviewing couples who have successfully found love in the city. You and Stewart are perfect. I mean, um, are things all right with you two?” I asked.

  “Yes. Of course.” Liz said abruptly, heading to the kitchen. I trailed her, watching as she prepared a pot of coffee.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, Adrian. We’re fine. Let me just check with Stewart. You know I’ll do anything I can to help with your article.”

  “Thanks. So. Are you going to tell me what that S and M display with Stewart was all about?”

  “No. What were you yelling at Jackson about?”

  “Clever, trying to change the subject. But because we are best friends who tell each other everything, he tried to kick me off the article because he’s a jerk, and I stood up to him. Your turn.”

  “You weren’t supposed to see any of that, Adrian,” Liz said. “Stewart and I were just goofing around.”

  “Where did you find those leather chaps? Are they Stewart’s?”

  “I got them for him,” Liz said, shamefaced. “But if you insist on knowing what’s going on in my sex life …”

  “I do. That attempted guilt trip slash faux-psych evaluation won’t work. Please share.”

  “Things have gotten a bit boring between us. In the bedroom. Did that happen between you and Marcus? I mean, once you hit the one-year mark? Just … no surprises anymore?”

  “No,” I said, shutting away the painful memories of all the hours I’d happily spent in bed with Marcus. “Our wedding is the thing that halted everything for us. Sexually and otherwise. Ha ha. You can laugh. Really.”

  “Sex between us has become same old, same old. No surprises.”

  “Why are you still with him?” I demanded, unable to withhold my sympathy for poor Stewart.

  “What?”

  “All you do is complain about how boring things are between you and how you’re always fighting. You were not at all thrilled when you thought he was going to propose. Why not just tell him things aren’t working out?”

  “Because I love him,” Liz said simply.

  “Sometimes love isn’t enough. Look at me and Marcus.”

  “Oh God.” Liz moaned. “You know, your relationship with Marcus isn’t the template for every relationship.”

  “I know how it feels to be dumped. And Stewart has no clue you’re about to dump him.”

  “Whoa, Adrian. I never said anything about dumping him.”

  “What about all those eighties comparisons you made? Marcus probably felt the same way when he decided he couldn’t marry me.”

  “See, you’re doing it again. You’re making this about you and Marcus.”

  “Fine. But I think you should be honest with Stewart.”

  “I just want to spi
ce things up with him, that’s all. I love the guy, Adrian. God. I’m trying to work things out.”

  Liz gave me an imploring look. She really did seem tortured about this whole thing. I stepped forward, enfolding her in a warm embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling back and giving her an apologetic smile. “If you want me to go leather chaps shopping with you, I’ll be happy to help.”

  “Actually,” Liz said with a laugh. “I’m in the market for spiked heels, whips, and chains. I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You should have seen the look on your face.”

  “Whew,” I said, winking at her as I started to head out of the kitchen.

  “Adrian,” Liz began. I turned with a patient and expectant smile. Liz started to say something but stopped herself. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Of course,” I replied, puzzled. I got the feeling that Liz was still holding something back. “I’ll see you later. I’m having lunch with Dad and Janet.”

  “Have fun,” Liz said, but her voice was strained.

  An hour later I sat across from Dad and Janet at Thai Village Restaurant, the site of our disastrous meal mere hours after my “wedding.” The meal this time was decidedly more pleasant, probably because Mom wasn’t there to shoot daggers at Janet with her eyes or to berate Dad back into one of the many unresolved arguments they had left over from their marriage.

  “You look so much better, Adrian,” Dad said, beaming at me.

  “I looked terrible before?” I asked, only half joking.

  “It wasn’t that long after your wedding when we last saw you,” Dad said with a shrug, glancing over at Janet. “Your eyes were still puffy from crying.”

  “I’m completely over it. Things happen. Life goes on.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Dad said, unconvinced.

  “It’s good to see you in either case, Adrian. But we have to confess we have an ulterior motive for bringing you here,” Janet said, looking slyly at Dad.

  “What?” I asked, fighting off a growing sense of panic. “Is Marcus here?”

  “No. Of course not. Why would we invite him here?”

  “Because you two always liked each other. A lot,” I said, eyeing him with suspicion.

  “Marcus isn’t here,” Dad said. “We just want to tell you our news in person.”

  “What news?”

  “Janet and I are engaged,” Dad replied, grinning at Janet.

  “That’s wonderful!” I said, excited and relieved. I’d half expected Marcus to emerge from somewhere.

  “I have to admit I was hesitant to tell you at first, considering what happened with you and Marcus.”

  “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes in exaggeration. “Can I see the ring, Janet?”

  But my heart did tighten a little when I looked at Janet’s ring because it did look an awful lot like the solitaire diamond ring that Marcus had so lovingly slipped on my finger.

  “It’s beautiful. And it’s not like my father is going to jilt you at the altar, now, is he?” I asked, trying to sound breezy. Dad and Janet exchanged a nervous glance.

  “Adrian, are you OK?” Dad asked.

  “Crap,” I muttered, as a tear inexplicably fell from my eye. Where the hell did that come from? I looked at Janet and Dad’s sympathetic faces with a forced smile. “Tears of joy. Tears of joy.”

  “It’s not going to be a big wedding,” Dad insisted, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “We’re doing a quiet ceremony at city hall and then a tiny private reception. Twenty people, tops.”

  “You don’t have to do that for me,” I said, even though I was secretly thankful. The thought of going anywhere near the church where Marcus and I had our “wedding” made me feel ill.

  “We’re not. We’ve both been married before. And look how that turned out,” Dad said with a teasing smile. “If you feel uncomfortable about attending the actual ceremony, we understand.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be there.”

  “We’re so glad to hear that. And another thing,” Dad continued, “feel free to say no. But would you consider doing a speech for us? At the reception. It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant. But we’d love it if you could say something.”

  “Of course.” I had hardly felt romantic during the past few weeks, but I figured I could throw something passable together.

  Janet excused herself to go to the bathroom some time later, right before we got the check. Once she was gone, Dad leaned forward.

  “Adrian, about your mother …” he began.

  “Have you told her?” I asked.

  “No. I was hoping you could.”

  “Dad. Come on. Does she even have to know?” I asked, only half joking.

  “Of course she does. But we can barely have a civil conversation. I’d rather she heard it from you.”

  “Dad, can’t we just not tell her? Kidding. No, I’m serious.”

  “I thought about inviting her, but I know that would be a complete disaster.”

  “God, no,” I breathed. I could only imagine Mom heckling Dad and Janet as they attempted to get through their wedding vows.

  “Just please tell her. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Fine,” I said. “And congratulations again. I mean it. I really like Janet.”

  “Yeah,” Dad said, his eyes getting a little misty as Janet approached the table. “So do I.”

  After I left the restaurant, I considered calling Mom to get it over with, but I decided against it. Sure, she was rebounding with the Zygote, but I had no idea how she’d react. And I was terrified that she’d call Dad and pick a fight. I wanted him to relish the joy he seemed to be feeling. Honestly, all my bitterness about Marcus and our “wedding” faded when I saw how happy Dad looked. Well, most of my bitterness. I was sure I’d always have a little bitterness over the whole thing. Just a little.

  In any case, Dad’s newfound happiness with Janet was inspiring. And it certainly lived up to my theory of perseverance. If Dad could find happiness after being in a twenty plus–year marriage, I could certainly find such happiness after my jilting. It made me even more determined to throw myself into my relationship—yes, I was officially calling it a relationship—with Douglas.

  I called him on the way back to Liz’s place after brunch. He sounded pleasantly surprised, but he agreed to meet me for an afternoon movie. When he arrived I greeted him with a passionate kiss. He pulled back from the kiss, looking down at me with a smile.

  “You know, we could just go back to my apartment,” he said teasingly. I swatted him on the arm, leading him into the theater.

  “Courtship phase, remember?”

  “Of course,” Douglas said, taking my arm.

  We did make out during the majority of the movie. A thrill went through me as the person next to us urged us to get a room. It was the exact type of admonishing that Marcus and I received at the beginning of our relationship.

  We left the movie theater and headed to SoHo to peruse some art galleries. At one particular gallery, we stood before an avant-garde exhibit, gazing at a sheet of paper that looked like scribble scrabble with crayon. It was accompanied by serious operatic music. The other gallery patrons stood, observing the painting with quiet awe, one woman even humming along to the operatic piece. I felt an overwhelming urge to laugh at the forced seriousness of the whole thing, and of course whenever I tried to stifle my laughter, the urge to laugh only became stronger.

  I snuck a look at Douglas out of the corner of my eye, and to my enormous relief I saw that he too was struggling with the urge to not laugh. As the operatic piece swelled, it was like a dam bursting. I began to laugh. Douglas joined in, clutching his sides as he shook with laughter. We were soon ushered out by the annoyed gallery owner.

  “That was bloody awful,” Douglas said.

  “I swear, they gave a two-year-old a crayon and just let her go loose. And then they paired it with opera music and voila! Masterpiece.”

  “Exactly. I’m so glad you
agree. Standing there and keeping quiet was painful.”

  We continued down a quaint cobblestoned street, Mercer Street, hand in hand, and I glanced up at Douglas. He was still chuckling. He raised the palm of my hand to his and kissed it. I was delighted to feel a small rush at this. I stopped in my tracks.

  “What?” he asked.

  “This,” I whispered.

  I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his. It wasn’t an explosively passionate kiss, but it felt safe. It was a good feeling to be with someone again, without the pressure of titles or weddings or engagement rings. That was the wonderful thing about moving on. The feeling of both freedom and security. Freedom from the heartbreak of my old relationship and the security of entering into a new one.

  But I should have known that once I began to feel a semblance of emotional security, that I was indeed well on the way to moving on with my life, something would happen that halted everything in its tracks. And I would instantly be plunged from my safety net right back into the danger zone.

  Because when I got back to Liz’s apartment later that night, still buzzed from Douglas’s kisses, Marcus was there. He Who Shall Not Be Named. Physically there. Sitting across from Liz and Stewart, drumming his fingers on his knees. He got to his feet as I stood frozen in the doorway.

  “Hi,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kicking the Habit

  I hadn’t seen Marcus since my run-in with him and his new supermodel girlfriend in the lobby of his office building. Before that, there was the disastrous meeting at our old apartment. And before that, the tiny little back room of the church. I knew it would never happen, but I’d hoped to eventually forget what he looked like, because that would make the pain of our breakup hurt just a little less. But there were the familiar hazel eyes I used to gaze into, the lips I used to nibble on in the mornings, the hands that tenderly slipped the engagement ring onto my finger. Just his physical presence alone was bringing back every single memory of our relationship.