“You serious?” Chris said. “Paging Dr. Drunky—you’ve been outing angels for the past five minutes.”
Miranda’s cheeks puffed in and out and her face turned red. “Does he know? He knows, doesn’t he?” she demanded, smartly focusing her interrogation on Chris.
“I—I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
A twitch appeared just below her right eye and she took a deep breath, bobbing her head slowly. “Okay, maybe I’m getting ahead of—” Then her eyes shot open and her jaw dropped. “No! That text you sent him! You called him an angel! He knows.” Her nostrils flared and her voice lowered. “He knows.”
Jess tried to push between Chris and Dr. Bell. “Miranda, wait.”
But she was off, making straight for Quentin, and Jessica knew from experience she couldn’t catch Miranda if she tried. At least not in a sprint less than ninety feet.
“Fuuuuuck!” Jessica shouted, throwing her hands into the air.
SUR—
Don’t you dare.
She jumped up and down, trying to get Quentin’s attention to warn him before Miranda could lay into him, but he was too absorbed in conversation with Coach Rex to notice the flailing.
What now? She looked around the room. Maybe she could pull a fire alarm or smite something as a distraction. But the thought of causing any damage to the bakery she’d worked so hard to build caused her stomach to tighten, and she just couldn’t do it.
“She would’ve found out eventually,” Chris said, putting his arm around Jessica’s waist. “Better now than later?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah, he’s gonna be pissed.”
“Not as pissed as she is.”
As Miranda swooped in, grabbed Quentin, and dragged him out of the bakery, Rex and Destinee stood dumbfounded, watching the couple go before looking around. Destinee was the first to spot Jessica and Chris, and she swatted Rex’s arm to get his attention before leading him over. “What the hell was that?” Destinee said. “The wrath of God was in that girl. Saw her coming over, thought she was gonna try to tackle me again like we were back in White Light.”
“It’s a long story,” Jessica said.
“Do I need to call the cops?” asked Rex. “I just mean, to assume that women are the sole victims of domestic violence is to paint them as powerless and perpetuate the societal normalization of women as victims.”
Chris said, “I think Quentin can handle himself, Coach.”
Jessica swallowed hard. “I’m not so sure, actually. She’s got quite the throwing arm on her.”
As she looked around the room, it was clear they were officially on a downhill slide. At a two-top table in the far corner, Judith was perched on Mr. Foster’s lap, the pair perhaps a mere few minutes away from leaving together. At the NAO table, Wendy was struggling to wrest her favorite client from the arms of intoxicated women with their phones out, snapping one questionable selfie with Jameson after another. “You better not post that!” she yelled over and over again as Jameson grinned like an idiot and continued to scoot so he was at least partly visible in every picture.
Jesus and Jeremy stood by the drink fountain, leaning close while Jeremy prattled on conspiratorially—probably literally—about something that necessitated him occasionally stepping back and flinging his right arm in a large circle like a windmill while Jesus hung on to his every word. That couldn’t be good.
Mrs. Thomas brought another round of beers over to Maria and Gabrielle who chatted casually with Kate and Natalie by a nearly half-eaten platter of pigs in a blanket, and Jessica wondered if there were a way to end this whole thing immediately.
But she knew better. No matter how great something seemed to be going, everything went south eventually. This party was no different. Her relationships with these people who she cared about more than anything else were likely not exempt either.
It always comes crashing to the ground, no matter how hard I try.
“You put on one hell of a party,” Chris said to her right.
She detected no sarcasm whatsoever.
He put a strong arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him. “We ruined two couples, Chris.”
“Nuh-uh. Lies ruined two couples.”
She jerked her head around to look up at him. “Huh. I guess you’re right. That’s a damn astute observation.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. Also, you should know that I’d never lie to you. You mean too much to me.” He kissed the top of her head. “Oh, and now that I know Jesus won’t be interrupting us tonight, there’s some freaky stuff I want to try out. You down?”
After an evening of worlds colliding—and no one coming out the better for it—she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do to take her mind off of reality. “Only if we have a safe word.”
“How about ‘no’?” Chris suggested.
“That makes sense.” She looked up at him, admiring the cut of his jaw, his tan skin, his blue eyes. “I’m lucky to have you, Chris.”
He nodded coolly. “I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jessica paused in the hallway at the doorstep of her condo, sleepily fumbling through her keys to find the right one. She had more keys—so many more keys—now that she was officially a business owner. There were two keys to the bakery’s front door, a separate one for the back door (the discrepancy arose from the heavy-duty locks she had installed, each of which was unique and included keys that couldn’t be duplicated without a series of useful criminal connections), one key for the cash register, another for the safe, another for the freezer …
Was she really a business owner, though? Officially? The grand opening wasn’t for another week and a half. She supposed she had all the legal paperwork to qualify, but she hadn’t consummated the thing, so to speak.
The door behind her swung open and male voices jabbered excitedly. Did Jeremy have a friend over? Did Jeremy have friends? Well, besides her.
She twisted to look over her shoulder, flashed a smile, turned back toward her door, registered who she’d just seen, then turned her entire body around. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh hello, Jessica,” Jesus said merrily, still chuckling about some joke or another. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans and a black Journey T-shirt, one Jessica was fairly sure she’d seen on Jeremy. “How are you doing on this fine spring day?”
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
Jeremy locked the door behind him—first the standard lock, then the two he’d installed himself—and joined the conversation. He donned light-wash jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt. They were dressed like two past-their-prime peas in a pod. “He’s staying with me for a while,” said Jeremy.
Her eyes jumped back and forth between the two men. “Like, a roommate?”
An inquisitive look passed between the two men, then both smiled. Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, I guess like a roommate.”
“I was living on the streets before,” Jesus explained. “I’d assumed treatment of the homeless would have improved over the last two thousand years as human consciousness evolved and so forth, but I was quite wrong. People are still big meanies to the homeless. They gave me copper coins, which, at first, seemed quite generous, but it turns out those things are worth very little.”
Jessica cleared her throat and guiltily turned her eyes up to inspect the recessed lighting along the hallway.
“Joshua is a riot, isn’t he?” Jeremy said, chuckling. “He’s the only person I’ve met who hasn’t absorbed all the governmental conditioning. He’s got a fresh take on everything!” He patted Jesus on the shoulder, and Jesus bowed his head humbly, saying, “I’m just doing my job, adding a new perspective.”
“Really?” Jessica said. “Is that why you’re here? Because I’ve been wondering about it for the last week and a half.”
“Of course. My purpose in this life is reformation.”
“Nooo …” Jessica held up a pointer finger to correct him. “That was
your purpose last time.”
Jeremy jumped in. “Oh wait, is this the Jesus thing?” He turned to Jesus. “Does she know about it?”
Jessica jerked her head back so far, she could feel the triple chin form. “Wait. Do you know about that?”
“I told him,” Jesus said casually. “I didn’t want another relationship based on a lie. So I told him.”
Jeremy grinned and nodded along, then turned to Jessica. “Don’t believe a word of it myself. Just seems a little crazy. But hey, I spent two semesters in college fairly convinced I was an angelic soldier of God, so”—he chuckled—“we all believe crazy things about ourselves sometimes. The human need to feel special is just that strong, I guess.”
Jesus guffawed and jabbed a thumb at Jeremy like, don’t you love this guy?
Jeremy shoved his keys into the pocket of his old jeans. “We’d better get going, Joshua. They fill up fast.”
As Jeremy took a step toward the parking garage exit, Jessica jumped in front of him. “Who fills up fast?”
He avoided her eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just this little tucked away kosher place for lunch. No big deal.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not trying to invite myself. I have a lot of stuff to do today.”
Jesus said, “I’ll tell you all about it when we get back, neighbor.”
She suppressed a groan.
When Jeremy started off again, Jessica grabbed her half-brother’s arm to have a private word. “Hey, I’m glad you’re happy and have a friend or whatever, but, um”—she scanned him from head to toe—“if you two keep dressing the same and live together, it’s going to raise some questions.”
“Like?” he said, grinning.
“Um, just that, well, and it’s not a bad thing, but that you two are closer than friends.”
He leaned forward, his eyes wide with excitement as he whispered, “You mean best friends?”
“Eh … sort of.” Jesus wasn’t going to take the hint, and Jeremy had paused four doors down the hallway, presumably noticing that “Joshua” wasn’t following. “People will assume you’re gay. It’s not a big deal nowadays—God’s even said so—but if you aren’t, then people assuming it might not be something you want.” She held up her hands defensively. “That’s all I’m saying.”
Jesus turned his head slightly, inspecting her expression thoughtfully. “But sis, I am gay.”
She took a step back to brace herself against her front door. “Okay. Nothing wrong with that, but, um …”
Jesus threw his arms out to the side, grinning like a fool. “I’m so incredibly gay, I can hardly stand it! Ha!” He bounced up and down. “I don’t care who knows it, either! I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this gay.”
She pressed her finger to her lips. “Sh-sh-sh. That’s great. I’m incredibly happy for you, but—”
“See?” He pointed at her. “It’s contagious. Now you’re gay as well!”
She quickly scanning the hallway, making sure none of the other neighbors were around to hear. “Whoa, whoa. Rein it in, cowboy. Gay isn’t contagious. It’s— Oh.” She nodded. “You mean happy. You’re gay as in happy.”
Jesus nodded his head emphatically. “Yuh-huh!"
Jeremy made his way back and grabbed Jesus by the arm. “Yeah, this guy doesn’t have a gay bone in his body. Trust me. I’m gay, so I can tell.”
“You’re gay too?” Jesus exclaimed. “I’m so glad to hear it. Being the only gay one is no fun.”
“Agreed,” Jeremy said. “Now let’s get going.”
As soon as the two were out of sight, she decided the best course of action, at least for the time being, was to also put them out of mind.
She found the right key and strolled into her home, going down her mental checklist.
If she wasn’t mistaken, everything was ready to go for the grand opening of It is Risen Bakery. That didn’t make her any less anxious about leaving town for a week, though. Any number of things could go terribly wrong in a week. How many times had her life taken a turn for the worst in a single day? A single hour? A single second?
I still made it here, though, didn’t I? I’m living proof a person can recover.
CREDIT WHERE IT IS DUE.
No. I’m not letting you take this from me.
She parked it on a stool by the island and slipped her phone from her back pocket to check for updates.
A text from Cash included the latest stats of #itisrisen on Twitter, along with a recap of which celebrities were talking about paying her bakery a visit once it opened its doors.
Whatever. It wasn’t like she made more money from a celebrity. A croissant and coffee cost the same no matter who bought it. But it was nice to know Cash was having a fun time on the job. They had been riding high since the photos of Jameson Fractal at her grand opening began not breaking, per se, but disrupting the internet. Word had officially spread about her business plans, and the photo of Chris and Jameson each planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek, one on either side—taken at the butt end of the party, when all inhibitions had had cinderblocks tied to their ankles before being shoved in the figurative Gulf of Mexico—had started a contentious shipper debate. Jessica herself was obviously #teamchris, but Cash wouldn’t allow her to weigh in publicly.
And email update from Wendy popped up, but the subject line told Jessica all she needed to know for now: Paperwork filed.
She was officially suing Jimmy Dean. Okay. Good to know. Godspeed then, Wendy’s remaining lawyer boyfriend. Maybe in the next couple years, Jessica would be a dollar richer for it and be legally and publicly off the hook for that awful foreword. And all without giving Jimmy the pleasure of believing she did it for the money. Maybe she would frame his check for one dollar and zero cents—the total amount she was claiming in the lawsuit—and put it up on the wall in It is Risen.
Eh … seemed a little petty.
But awesome.
Another email notification popped up. Wendy again. The subject line was, News Clip Links.
That would be Maria’s exposé. Maybe also the local coverage, courtesy of Magda Masterson and Steve Solstice, but mostly courtesy of Jeremy Archer, who’d exerted his terrifying power over the media as a sign of good faith to Jessica. Aw, how sweet.
Then she remembered he was living with Jesus.
She shook her head to clear it. That was definitely a “later” problem to deal with.
The sound of a toilet flushing within her home made Jessica drop her phone on the counter and jump up from her seat. Shitballs. She’d completely forgotten.
She pressed a hand to her chest as Destinee emerged from the bathroom, wiping her hands on her jeans. “You’re almost out of TP.”
“How? I just put some in there.”
Destinee held out her arms like, and? “Ain’t never walked so much, drank so much coffee, and ate so many damn tacos in a single twenty-four hours. What do you want me to say?”
Jessica cringed but conceded with a tilt of her head. “Yeah, my first week here was a little like that, too. Your body will adjust.”
“Doesn’t your flight leave soon, baby?”
“Oh, right!” She turned in a tight circle, scanning for where she put the bag of new wintery clothes she’d picked up the day before. While Chicago might not be frigid in April, that didn’t mean it would be comfortable without gloves, layers, and a scarf.
“You nervous about flying?” Destinee asked.
“No. God won’t let me die in a plane crash.” She found the bag over by the couch, but it was empty. That was right, she took out the accessories to try them on …
“You definitely seem anxious about something, though. Is it the bakery?”
“A little bit.”
“The Draft?”
“A little bit.”
“Miranda?”
Jessica peaked out from her bedroom where she’d gone to grab her suitcase. “No. I already told you. She’ll come around.”
Thoug
h honestly, Jessica had her doubts. Miranda might never come around. That’d be understandable, really. The three people she trusted the most had all lied to her, schemed behind her back.
Shit. Why did we do that? Why didn’t we just tell her?
And now Jessica was short one best friend for life and Quentin was short one girlfriend and flush one expensive engagement ring. She hadn’t properly apologized to him, but she’d lost sleep over the past week and a half brainstorming the best way to do that while they were both up in Chicago.
She pulled up the checklist on her phone and went through the inventory. Everything except her scarf. Where had she put the damn scarf?
Only after three passes through the condo did she remember: her feet. They’d been cold the night before while she and her mother sat on the couch binge watching that true crime documentary series. The throw blanket they shared wasn’t enough, so she’d gone to look for socks. All her socks had been either packed or dirty, so she’d had to improvise.
Which meant the scarf was probably between the couch cushions.
She slipped a flat hand in the crevice, feeling around blindly. Her fingertips hit something hard and slick. Not a scarf, obviously. She grunted and maneuvered the object free.
Dammit. Why do I still have this thing?
She tossed the copy of Railed to the Cross onto the other end of the couch and dove back into the cushions until her hand found the scarf. As she shook it out, Destinee said, “You ever finish that thing?”
“Hell no. I had better things to do.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Destinee strolled over to the living room and flopped down onto the stiff couch a moment before kicking her feet onto the armrest. She held the book in her hands and stared at the cover. “You ever think about writing a memoir, baby?” She grinned up at her daughter, who stood rolling the scarf into a tight spiral. “I bet you could write one hell of a memoir.”
“Again,” Jessica said, “I have better things to do.”
As she packed the scarf away in her suitcase, she remembered Wendy’s warning. Well, to say she remembered it implied that she at some point forgot it, and while it was rarely front and center of her attention, it was always just out of sight, active in the part of her brain where she stored all fear, an instant away from setting off a fight or flight response should it be shaken loose.
It is Risen Page 28
