by Ryan, Lexi
Jake
Five years ago . . .
I rap on the door to Ava’s apartment three times and hold my breath as I wait for the sound of her steps coming toward the door. I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell my best friend how I feel about her.
The weather is a match for my mood—dark gray clouds, hard wind, and a storm that lights up the sky and rumbles through town.
I’ve been trying to find my courage for six months, but after my brother told me that her boyfriend Harrison had her in tears again last night, I’m determined to say something. I’m sick of Harrison taking her for granted and making her feel like shit every time something better comes up and he cancels their plans. I’m sick of him finding ways to push me out of her life. And I’m sick of pretending that I don’t die a little inside every day I have to watch her fall madly in love with someone else.
I’m going to do this, and I’m going to do it now.
When the door swings open and she smiles at me, I shove my hands into my pockets.
“Jake! What are you doing here?” she asks as she steps back to let me in.
As soon as I’m in the door, I relax. This is one of my favorite places to be. Ava has made the apartment her own. She has artificial flowers in vases on her counter, stacks of books on her shelves, and cozy furniture with throw pillows and fuzzy blankets. It’s different than the apartments of other people our age, and to me it feels like home. But maybe that’s just because she lives here.
“Is everything okay?” She grins even as she asks.
Last night’s tears are gone, replaced with a good mood that radiates off her. She’s back to cheerful Ava in an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of soft jeans. Her dark hair is down but mussed in the back, and there’s a romance novel laid open on the arm of the couch. I must have interrupted her while she was reading.
Everything in my chest is coiled into one tight ball. I’m terrified, a fucking coward. Ava’s been my best friend since we were ten, and I’m an idiot because, until she started dating Harrison, I never realized my feelings for her extended beyond friendship. She came home from her first date with him all rosy-cheeked and giddy. “I think he could be the one, Jake.”
Jealousy hit me so hard and fast that I felt like I’d been knocked over.
I tried denying my feelings. Tried waiting them out. Tried dating every beautiful woman within a fifty-mile radius of Jackson Harbor. Nothing worked. Every day, I accepted more and more that my feelings for Ava weren’t going anywhere. And every day she fell harder for the asshole junior lawyer her father set her up with.
“Can we talk?” I ask in a croak.
“Of course.” She shuts the door. “I actually needed to talk to you too. I’m glad you came over.”
“Can I go first?” I have to get this off my chest before I turn into the chicken shit I’ve been for months.
“Sure.” She shrugs and attempts another smile, but now concern is etched into the lines between her brows. My nerves must be obvious. Her brown eyes go soft when they look at me—reminding me that Ava and I have been together in our own way far longer than she and Harrison. The thought gives me the last bit of courage I need.
I open my mouth to speak, but the speech I mentally recited in the car has fled. I don’t want to fumble over the words I need to say. I don’t want to risk her misunderstanding for even a second what I’m here to tell her.
Between one heartbeat and the next, I change my plan. I step toward her, and before she can react, I cup her face in my hands and lower my mouth to hers. I breathe in her scent of flowers. I memorize the heat of the skin at the back of her neck. I take the kiss I’ve imagined for longer than I can remember.
She gasps under me. Her whole body stiffens then relaxes, and for a beat—the sweetest fucking beat in the history of time—she kisses me back. Her hands fist into my shirt, and her lips part. Fuck yes.
The moment is gone as quickly as it came. She releases my shirt and pushes me away. “Jake, stop. What are you doing?”
I search her eyes and see panic and confusion there. “I’m in love with you,” I say. Now, with the taste of her on my lips, the words are easier to find. “I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you.”
She swallows and shakes her head. Her brow creases and her lips part and close again and again, as if she’s speaking but has been muted. “I’m with Harrison,” she finally manages.
“He made you cry last night.” My whole body stiffens. She should be with someone who makes her smile and laugh. Not someone who makes her feel insecure and sad.
“What? Who told you that?”
“Levi saw you two out at Jordan’s Inn. You deserve better than someone who hurts you, Ava. Let me be the better that you deserve.”
She shakes her head again. “Harrison didn’t hurt me. I wasn’t sad. I was happy.” She waits, as if giving me a moment to make sense of that. “He asked me to marry him.”
For a beat, I think she’s lying, concocting an outrageous story to explain away the behavior of a man who’s never been worthy of her.
But then I see the truth on her face and I feel like I disappear. I hear the cars on the street outside the apartment, the stereo playing in the apartment next door. I hold my breath—daring to hope she declined his proposal—but I already know. Even before she pulls up the too-long sleeve of her sweatshirt to show me her sparkling diamond, I already know she said yes.
I stare at the ring. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes. I love Harrison.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Jake?”
I tear my gaze off the ring to meet her eyes.
“I care about you very much. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you.”
The words are an icepick to my heart. I don’t want to lose her either. But I think I already have. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry him. I can’t do this anymore if you marry him.”
“Do what?” She tilts her head to the side and studies me. “What are you saying?”
“Ava, I want more. I tried to let this be enough, but . . . I can’t anymore.”
“Why are you doing this?” She shakes her head, and a lock of hair falls across one eye. I want to sweep it away. I want to pull her into my chest and beg her to listen to my heart. “You’re not . . .” She lifts her chin and studies the ceiling for a beat before leveling me with her hard gaze. “I know you hate Harrison, but this is too far.”
I step back—one step, then another—the sweet taste of her mouth still on my lips. “You don’t feel this at all?”
“I’m sorry. You’re my best friend.”
Those words hurt. Fuck. “I need to go.” My gaze snags on her ring again.
She’s really going to marry him.
And maybe if he were a more obvious asshole, a loser, or a cheat, I’d stand a chance at talking her out of it. But he’s a young lawyer, fresh out of law school, her father adores him, and he does something for her that I’ve never done.
I’m just Jake. The boy who grew up next door and put a snake in her bedroom when she was eight years old, the one she raced down the sledding hill with at ten, and mud-wrestled with at thirteen.
“We’re still good, right?” Panic curls the edges of her words.
“Why would I be good if you’re marrying him?”
“Because you’re my friend? Because you want me to be happy?”
“I’m in love with you.”
“No, you’re not,” she snaps. “We love each other because we’ve been friends forever. You’re not in love with me. I’m not even your type.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel.” Rage flares in my gut. I need her to hear me. To fucking believe me.
“You like busty blond girls who know the difference between Gucci and Versace.”
I can only shake my head. Busty blond girls. It’s true. I’ve gravitated toward women who are Ava’s polar opposite. If she gave it any thought at all, she’d know it’s because I was trying to get over her. Dating
anyone too much like Ava made me compare them, whether I wanted to or not, and any woman I compared to Ava came up short.
“Don’t let my engagement freak you out,” she whispers. “Nothing has to change between us.”
“Don’t settle for someone who’s not worthy of you just because you’re scared your father will never love you.” I regret the words as soon as I say them, and more when she flinches as if I’ve slapped her, but I can’t take them back. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she needs to know what I see when I look at her and Harrison.
“I want you to leave,” she says softly.
“Bye, Ava.” I reach around her to open the door and storm out into the rain, my body numb, my heart somewhere back in her apartment, shattered under her feet.
Ava
Present day . . .
Dad asked me to come by his office on Monday, so even though I usually hang with my theater students in the drama classroom during my lunch hour, I let them know I wouldn’t be around today and walked the two blocks from the high school to Dad’s office.
If I had my way, I probably wouldn’t ever come here. Harrison works for my father, and whereas one time walking in these doors made me feel like a proud daughter and wife, now it just makes me feel like a failure. Another good reason why a girl shouldn’t weigh her worth by the man she’s with. I believed I was valuable because Harrison wanted me, and when Harrison left me, I had to grapple for the remaining shreds of my identity. It made me question everything—my relationships, my talents, even my job. I had to fight to rebuild my self-confidence.
Today, when I walk through the doors of McKinley, Morton, and Zimmerman, it’s just as it has been the last two years: a reminder of where I fell short. Harrison’s still here, his last name, Zimmerman, added to the door just a few months ago when he became partner, but I’m no longer in Harrison’s life. Not only was I not good enough for Harrison, turns out I’m not good enough for my father either.
I head past reception and down the hall to Dad’s office and am greeted by the sight of my stepmom at her desk. Unfortunately, Dad is that much of a cliché. He left my mother for his secretary.
Jill beams at me. “Hey, birthday girl! I’m sorry we didn’t get together this weekend.” She stands and walks around the desk to hug me. “Your dad had those tickets to the Cubs game and was dead set on going. I know he was sorry to miss your special day, though.”
I give her a quick squeeze, and when I release her, I return her smile and wonder if she believes the crap she’s shoveling. My father probably didn’t think twice about missing my birthday. “Jill, don’t worry about it. I was busy all weekend.”
Her shoulders sag in relief. “You are the sweetest girl. So understanding and always putting others before yourself.”
My stepmother doesn’t fit her end of the cliché. While I have no trouble thinking of my father as an asshole, I can’t think of Jill as a bitch or a floozy or any other match that would suit him. Maybe I wanted to believe the worst of Jill when Dad first left, but I was too young and too enamored by her beauty and sense of style to question if her kindness was genuine. Luckily, it was.
“Your daddy’s expecting you,” she says. “Can you stay? Maybe I could cancel his one o’clock and we could sneak out and take you to lunch?”
I shake my head. “I’ve gotta get back for fourth period.”
“Another time, then.” She smiles and leads the way to Dad’s office door, then knocks softly on the frame before cracking it. “Nelson, Ava’s here to see you.” She opens it the rest of the way and waves me in.
“Hi, Dad,” I say as I head toward him.
“Ava!” He stands, pushing himself up on the desk. My father must have some Dorian Gray thing going on, because I swear he hasn’t aged a day since I was a kid. At fifty-nine, he still has a full head of dark hair and the body of an athlete. Since I know he values his appearance, I’m glad he’s aged so well, but his good fortune means I’ve had to endure years of hearing my girlfriends talk about how they’re hot for my dad. That I could do without. “Did you have a happy birthday?”
He walks around the desk and wraps me in a hug, and I’m ten years old again—a little girl who believed her father left because she wasn’t good enough, and who cherished the moments he gave her any reason to believe she might be. I may wish I didn’t want his approval, but I still seek it out.
“It was a great birthday, Dad.” Pulling out of his arms, I look up at him and smile. “Did you and Jill have a nice trip to Chicago?”
“We did, and luckily for you, I ran into my old law school buddy while we were there. I don’t know if you remember meeting Vern and Martha Stone.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. The names don’t ring a bell, but maybe I’d recognize them if I saw them.”
“Well, I met Vern in law school and they’re dear friends, and now probably the best thing that ever happened to you.”
I frown. “How do you figure?”
He rubs his hands together, as if he’s hatching a great plan. “I heard about the layoffs, Ava, but lucky for you, Vern’s wife is an administrator for a school system down in Florida. I’d just read the news about the cuts that morning and found it rather serendipitous running into him. I gave him a heads-up that you’d be looking and reminded him that he owes me a few favors.” He chuckles like this is the funniest joke, but I don’t feel amused in the slightest.
My father assumes I’ll be one of the teachers let go. Way to have faith in me, Pops.
“We don’t know yet how many people are going to be laid off,” I say, trying to sound more patient than I feel. “I don’t have any reason to assume I’ll be one of them.”
Dad gives me a tight smile. “Let’s not be foolish by failing to cover our bases.” He arches a brow. “If we have an opportunity in Florida, then we’re going to make sure we nurture that opportunity in case we need it.”
“Yeah, but even if I do lose my job, I’m not even sure I’d want to—”
“Always so defiant.” His tight smile turns into a wrinkled expression of disapproval. “Perhaps you need to take a moment to reflect on the best words to say right now.”
If I were a flower, that sentence would have me withered and brown. Once again, I’m ten—the chastised child who isn’t showing the proper gratitude to her father for including her at Sunday dinner with his new family. I’m seventeen and living with my father’s perfect family and falling short with every other step. I’m twenty-eight and being lectured about why I should be more sympathetic toward my cheating husband.
I swallow hard and shake my head. I hate that my response disappointed him almost as much as I hate that I care. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Dad.”
His posture softens. “You’ll want to prepare yourself for their call. Martha was very enthusiastic when I told her how much experience you’ve had at the local children’s theater.”
Prepare myself for their call? That seems premature—and, I pray, unnecessary. But there’s only one appropriate response for my father. “I’ll prepare. Thanks for the lead, Dad.”
“You’re welcome. Now, can Jill and I take you to lunch?”
I shake my head. “I have to get back.” After all these years, he still doesn’t understand that I can’t just take a long lunch break on a whim. Then again, my father doesn’t make much of an effort to understand anyone’s world but his own.
He leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Happy birthday, then. Jill will walk you out.” He walks around his desk and presses the button by his phone to signal to Jill that we’re done.
She dutifully appears at the door, and my father’s attention is fixated on the computer screen in front of him, as if I’m already gone. “Have a good day, Dad,” I say as I exit the office with Jill.
I’m perfectly capable of finding my way out of the building without Jill leading me, but she always walks me anyway. I wonder if she’s just being polite or if she knows how uncomfortable I am here, always afraid
I’m going to run into Harrison in the hallway.
When we reach the front and push through the gleaming glass doors, the sun is shining, and the air is warm.
“It feels like summer is coming,” she says, tilting her face to the sky.
I smile. “I can’t wait.” Most people assume that summer means a three-month vacation for all school teachers, but I’ve never used it as such. Because of my position with the local children’s theater, I work as many hours during the summer as I do during the school year, helping with theater camps and directing our biggest production of the year. Local youth, aged five to eighteen, work on it all summer and perform right before they return to school. It’s my favorite time of the year. I spend my days hanging out with kids who are passionate about theater, my nights working extra shifts at Jackson Brews, and I even take the occasional weekend with the Jacksons at their family cabin.
“Guess what?” Jill says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Molly is coming home in a couple weeks.”
Oh, my stepsister. Ellie and I call Molly “Mother Teresa” because she’s always doing something to make the world a better place—an awesome quality in theory, but when it belongs to the person you’re always measured against, it’s a little hard to swallow. “That’s great. How’s she doing?”
“She’s good, but you can ask her yourself. She said she needed to talk to us about something important, so I think she has big news.”
“That’s great!” I force a smile.
Molly moved away for college—she went to a fancy liberal arts school where a year’s tuition costs more than my house. She left and only came home as the rare exception. Unlike me. I stayed as close to Jackson Harbor for college as I could. I had no interest in putting roots down in a new place. But when Molly started her degree four years after me, she was always getting this new internship or that new fellowship. I have no doubt that her big news is more of the same.
