by Haley Jenner
A soft tapping echoes at the front door, and I scurry forward, pausing my emotional roller coaster to rush and collect my pizza. Tequila bottle still clutched at my chest, I pull the door open, eyes averted in search of my wallet in the collection of things scattered across the entry table. "Sorry, just let me find your cash," I mumble, more to myself, locating it with a triumphant yell and wide smile, twisting on my heel and coming face to face with Jake.
Stumbling slightly, I lean against the open door to steady myself and save not only myself but my tequila from tumbling to the floor. "J-Baby."
Jake's bright blues eyes dart across my appearance in a worried fashion, skittish and concerned. "Strawb'ries, what the fuck happened?" Stepping over the threshold of my house, his hands cup my elbows.
"You're not the pizza guy," I announce unnecessarily. "I thought you were the pizza guy." Complete brilliance on my part. My brain is obviously firing on all fronts right now. Insert eye roll.
"Not what I meant. Why are you crying and hugging a half empty tequila bottle to your chest like it's your life support?"
I widen my eyes in a lift of my chin. "Oh. I'm watching 'P.S. I Love You'."
"I have no idea what that means," he narrows his eyes. "I thought you had dinner plans."
Stepping from his grasp, I sigh loudly. "Jake, you can't be surprised he canned on me."
"I’d hoped otherwise. But, I assumed something like this would happen. That's why I'm here," he admits angrily, leaning forward to pull the tequila from my tight grip. I struggle against his pull, not caring to hand my birthday date over.
Raising his eyebrows in challenge, he yanks hard on the neck, and I let go, regretfully and reluctantly on a dirty look. "Why didn't you call us? We would've all been here as soon as we could. It's your birthday, Aubrey."
Eyeing my bottle of tequila longingly, I shrug off-handedly. "You're right Jake, but it’s my birthday, and I couldn't stomach your pity. Not tonight."
"We wouldn't have pitied you," he defends, and I hug my arms around my chest, giving up of the notion of my tequila being returned.
"Of course you would've, Jake. No one would have meant to, but you all would've looked at me with sympathy in your eyes, and that’s the last thing I wanted. That's not what a birthday should be about."
"It shouldn't be about spending it alone, drinking yourself into oblivion either."
"Says who?" I challenge, angered by his intrusion into my pity party.
"Says me." He stabs a finger to his chest. "I, fucking say so. You love birthdays, Aubrey. You shouldn't be spending yours alone."
"I know that, Jake, but unfortunately, those were the circumstances I've been dealt. I'd made the decision to accept this as a write-off. It's just one year. Sure, I'm disappointed and yes, I'm angry, but where does that get me?" I throw my hands out in front of me, waving off his questions.
"That guy is such a fucking…. dick," he spits at his feet, his face contorted with anger, lowered so I can't see him fully. "Strawb'ries," he starts but I reach out to touch his forearm.
"Please don't. Not tonight." My eyes bore into his and I watch the battle in his shaded irises. His breathing comes harder, through his nostrils, his lips set in a thin line. Eventually his eyes close on a sigh and I exhale on a whistle of relief.
Thank you, I mouth as his eyes focus back on my face and he grins. It's not happy, more defeated, definitely no dimple and it comes nowhere near close enough to reach his eyes.
A thought hits me, and I tilt my head to consider him. "Have you really never seen 'P.S I Love You'?"
"I assume it's a film." I nod, and he shakes his head. "Can't say I'm hankering to see it after finding you in the state I did."
I laugh. It's real. It's rich, and I want to launch myself at him in appreciation for turning my whole day around with a simple sentence. "Oh, J-Baby, you have no idea. It's brilliant. It's heart-wrenching and you feel as though you've personally lost something when you watch it. Every time."
"You've seen it more than once?"
"Damn straight I have. I cry like this," I motion to my blotchy face in a circular spin of my finger. "Every. Single. Time."
His eyebrows drop heavily over his eyes and he looks stunned. "I am so confused as to why anyone would ever put themselves through something so miserable."
Grabbing his large palm in mine, I entwine our fingers, tugging him forward. "Come." We've taken two steps when I stop, pull the bottle of tequila dangling in his hand and hold it back to my chest. "We'll need this."
Two hours, six minutes later, because of course we had to start it from the beginning, Jake and I sit in complete silence. We'll not exactly silence, my hiccupped breathing echoes heavily in the room.
Turning slowly, I chance a glance toward him. His eyes slide to the side, brow furrowed. "I'm totally not down with that guy. Not cool," he declares on a snort.
Twisting my entire body, I feel personally offended. "What?!"
"Seriously, Strawb'ries, you cannot condone that guy’s behavior," he gestures toward the TV, his eyes snagging on the pizza box as he leans forward to collect the last piece. Offering it to me, I shake my head, too angry to speak. Taking a large bite, he considers me as he chews, swallowing deeply before reaching for the bottle of tequila. "Nice one, Gerry, drag her grieving out, don't let her move on. No, torture her with the memory of you, keep her waiting every single fucking day for a stupid fucking letter." His voice is loud, sarcastic and twisted with distaste.
Stealing the tequila from his hand, I drink deeply, eyes narrowed toward him over the neck of the bottle. "It's the sweetest, the most amazing gesture. EVER."
He recoils from my words on a snort of disgust. "He ain't ever coming back, Aubrey. He's dead. Holly knew he loved her. She should've been allowed to grieve in her own time, not have it drawn out, completely upturning her life while she waited for another letter."
"It was a journey, one she needed to accept and move past her grief. He helped her. He loved her."
Staring at me for a quiet second, his face breaks open into a grin, and I frown at his reaction. "Realize we're arguing about fictional characters, right?"
His smile widens, the dimple appearing and I laugh softly. Reaching up, I drag a fingertip through the indent framing his mouth and pull back on a smile.
"Thanks for completely turning my day around. This was fun. Best way to end my birthday."
"I…uh…I got you a little something," he admits quietly, reaching into his jean pocket to pull out a small box.
"J-Baby," I take the box as he hands it to me, smiling at his shy expression. "You didn’t need to do that."
"I know I don't ever need to do anything, Aubrey. I wanted to."
Pulling the bow sitting atop of the small box, I smile wide. Jake shifts restlessly beside me, radiating nerves. Opening the box, I take in the dainty chain displayed beautifully inside. "Jake," I breathe, running my finger along the gold, stopping to inspect the delicately crafted, crystal strawberry, attached. "It's beautiful." I look up at him, hoping with everything my face conveys how much I really do love it.
He smiles shyly. "You like it?"
"I love it. It's gorgeous and it means something, something really important to me. Thank you, Jake."
Pulling it from the box gently, I open the clasp. "It's an anklet," Jake advises, and I grin to myself, balancing my foot on the couch, knee to chin and I clip it around my ankle. It falls perfectly, sized ideally for me. Stretching my leg out, I twist my ankle one way and then the other, watching the soft light in the room reflect off the chain and pendant.
"Looks good," he admires, the smile evident in his voice and I turn my head to smile over at him.
I watch him for a beat and consider what it means that he’s here with me when he needn’t be. He had no obligation to travel all this way to make sure my birthday was special and not a wasted evening.
“My dad, when I was younger, really young, turning four, he forgot my birthday dinner. My mom and I wa
ited and waited and waited, but in the end, we ate without him, and I cried through the whole dinner. Broke Mom’s heart. He wasn’t home by the time I went to sleep, and I woke up the next morning to a house full of balloons and freshly baked waffles.”
I smile ruefully. “He felt guilty, and it was the first ever day that I can remember, that he took work off and he spent the whole day with me. Mom was still mad, I could tell, but I was in heaven. My dad took an entire day off work to spend with me.”
Jake grabs hold of my hand, squeezing it tight. I look at our entwined hands and rub a thumb along his knuckles. “He never forgot another birthday. But still, the day after, I always get balloons and fresh baked waffles. No matter what. I think what I really love most about birthdays is the time I get with Dad.”
I contemplate my next words carefully, not wanting to ruin the moment, but unable to stop words falling from my mouth. “David often forgets my birthday, I don’t think he actually feels guilty, it’s not his nature. But, he’ll always try to buy my forgiveness with an excessive piece of jewelry or fabulous handbag. Funny, I’d never seen the similarity until now.”
Jake shakes his head, his brow creasing severely in disagreement. “I see no similarity. Joseph did it once, David continues to do it. Joseph made it up to you by giving you him, which is all you ever wanted. David tries to buy out of his selfishness, which shows he knows nothing about you.”
I nod, considering his words. “Maybe you’re right,” I agree half-heartedly. “But whatever the truth is in that, one thing I’m one hundred percent certain on is that no one has even given me something so thoughtful and as meaningful as this,” I gesture to my anklet, touching it once again before focusing back on him.
We stare at one another in silence, the weight of our feelings, of the hours we've just shared, dancing between us. I shorten the distance, his eyes closing in, I can't be sure whether it's relief or regret, as my lips connect with his. Whatever I saw, it doesn't stop him from angling his head to fit his lips to mine. Our kiss is soft, intimate, only our lips touching in a brush of skin. Pulling back and touching again.
Holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he pulls back completely, eyes scanning mine. "I should go."
Nodding softly at his words, my eyes close as his lips brush across mine once more before he moves to stand. "Are you okay to drive?"
He lifts his head once in a nod. "Yeah, only had a few swigs when Gerry really pissed me off," he smiles and I laugh, the sound kept in my throat.
"Happy birthday, Strawb'ries." He lingers at the door for a single moment before closing it softly behind him.
Falling back into the couch, I stretch my leg out once again, taking in my anklet and can't remember ever loving a gift more. He would have looked hard for this. It's personal, between us and us only. Drawing my knees into my body, I hug them tightly, my cheek pressed against them. Biting my lip, I can hardly contain the grin wanting to take over my face. Turns out this birthday was probably one of my best yet. Definitely. By a long shot.
I smile to myself as I tidy our mess, the anklet tickling my skin as I move. I wear it to bed, not giving a single second of consideration to removing it. I sleep easily that night, feeling almost as though Jake is with me.
CHAPTER NINE
Aubrey
"Why photography?" Jake asks, looking down his body toward me. A white sheet wraps loosely around his waist allowing my eyes to scan over his inked skin without a barrier. My feet are tucked under a pillow beside his head, his crossed at the ankles skimming the end of the bed. My head rests in my hand, my long hair spilled over my naked shoulder.
"I find faces fascinating. That's how it started anyway. Being able to capture this...moment of feeling. Something so deep, so unfiltered, being captured in an image. A still that can remain forever. Knowing that, that moment in time, that feeling, that...single fleeting second can be kept forever. Reflected on whenever the mood strikes, because, there it is, in print. Captured. For all of time. How amazing is that?" I smile wide, the passion I have for my career evident in my tone.
"Really fucking amazing," Jake smiles back at me, his dimple on show. My eyes drop to the rivet in his cheek for a silent moment.
"That's the way I see music," he pulls my attention back to his face, and I nod in understanding. "For me, a song, a single lyric can portray such a level, a depth, an angle of feeling in the most simplistic nature. They don't have to be long drawn out declarations. Just a line. Just a single hook, a bridge, a chorus. It can make such an impact and stay with you forever, you know?" He finishes shyly, smiling softly. I wink over at him, and his blue eyes close on a drawn-out blink only to open a shade darker, his longing boring into me from his hooded lids.
"Why," he clears his throat, dragging a large hand through his hair, already in disarray. From his constant musings, from my hands; pulling, stroking, twisting. "Why landscapes then? Why products?" He finishes his sentence.
Sighing softly, I shift to move back up the bed. Moving to lay my head on the pillow, I grab his hand, entwining my pale fingers amongst his tanned ones. "Products, marketing... I hate it. Solely income producing reasoning behind that. Landscapes, cityscapes, nature, they're... different. It took me a little while to fall in love with photographing them in the same way I do people. But I enjoy it as much nowadays. I don't know, whether it's a still, undisturbed landscape, or whether people are milling within the frame, I still find the same sense of accomplishment with a solid shot. Again just finding that right moment, that single second where perfection, or sometimes lack thereof just connects with my lens and wow... I love it," I admit, my heart swelling with the love for my job.
"I'm glad," he shares, gliding a thumb along the skin of my palm. "You're talented, Strawb'ries. Epically so. Your photos, your captured moments are phenomenal. I'm blown away every time I see your work," he praises, and his words are genuine, thoughtful, and my throat burns a little at his compliment. David never admires my work, even when I gush over a frame, a certain still he nods in disinterest and replies with some generic, unfeeling flattery that is so... deflating.
"What about you?" I deflect from the awful thoughts in my mind. "Why cars and not music full-time?" I ask, pulling his hand to my mouth, skating my lips across the soft skin.
"I don't know. People ask that so often and I don't really have a solid answer. I love music. Live for playing my guitar, to feel the strings beneath my fingers. I guess I've always wanted to keep it as something I do to relax me, to bring peace into my life. I never wanted it to become a chore, a must, something that had to be forced. I enjoy playing when I want. When the mood hits," he reveals, eyes unfocused. Shaking his head, he brings himself back to the moment, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. "I love the cars too. The mechanics of it all. Working with my hands. I can't really explain it," he shrugs, and I smile at him.
Moving my hand to his chest, I trace the tattoo sitting close to his heart. It’s comic book illustrated. A worn guitar, a human heart breaking through the strings, the pulmonary arteries and veins finished with glowing spark plugs. It's an amazing piece of art. Well crafted, the drawing perfected and the ink adding a beautiful completion to the work. "Toby," Jake explains, and I raise my eyebrows, impressed at Toby's talent. "We worked on it a long time," he acknowledges. "But he smashed it outta the park. I love it. It encompasses everything that's important to me. Mechanics and music make my heart beat," he confesses shyly, dropping his head to avoid my eyes as a small blush colors his cheeks.
"I think it's perfect," I gush, using a finger to lift his chin so he can see the sincerity in my eyes. Dropping a kiss to his chest over the tattoo, our moment is broken by the shrill ring of my cell through the quiet room.
"Ignore it," he advises, moving to touch his lips to mine. I let myself get lost in his languid kiss, the taste of his mouth, the softness of his full lips.
The sound of my cell echoes through the room again, and I pull away to pick it up. The disappointment clear in J
ake's eyes cuts into me and I duck my head to hide the guilt on my face.
"Hi, Daddy," I whisper into the phone. My dad’s deep voice reaches my ears, and I move into the bathroom, closing the door.
"I can’t really talk now," I mumble, feeling warring emotions of sickness at shutting myself away from Jake and guilt for lying to my dad.
"Are you okay? It’s late, Aubrey, you’re acting strange.” I close my eyes in irritation and pull a steadying breath through my nostrils.
"Just out to coffee with a friend," I lie, leaning against the door frame.
"Oh. No need to whisper then,” Dad chuckles. “Who? Do I know them?" he questions, and my throat closes over in needless panic.
Swallowing deeply, I stumble across a few syllables before coughing to clear my throat, speaking fractionally louder for him. "Ummm... ah, no, no one you know. Just someone I met through work. No one important," I stutter out, my hands shaking slightly. An awkward silence ensues for a drawn-out moment before I mutter my apologies, ending the call.
Dropping my cell heavily on the first available surface, I take a large steadying breath in an attempt to stop trembling.
Shaking my hands, I steel my composure and take a step forward just as I hear the hotel room door slam shut. Shocked, my feet move quickly out of the bathroom searching for Jake. The room is empty and his clothes that had only moments prior decorated the floor, are missing. Grabbing a robe from the bathroom, I yank open the door to see him pulling a shirt over his head, as he hurries away.
“Jake,” I yell to his retreating back. His muscles are bunched, tense as he stalks away. The concrete is cold on my bare feet, causing an ache to stretch up my legs as I move fast to catch him.
