Chasing Fate

by Rachael Brownell

  "You?"

  "Yeah. I hit my breaking point. She pushed me as far as I could go, and that smirk was the tipping point."

  "Wow! I can't believe someone managed to push you over the edge. She must have been awful. I've seen you angry but never full of rage."

  "It wasn't about her; it was the way she was treating me. No one deserves to be treated like that. Our waitress probably felt like you were rude to her. That's why I'm telling you this story. Be mindful of how other people feel, especially those that deal with people all day long. You might push them over the edge, even if someone else gave them a shove first."

  Nodding his head, Jackson waves over our waitress. She scurries over, stopping at a table to fill their drinks on the way. When she arrives, Jackson apologizes for his behavior and the look on her face is priceless. I know what she's feeling right now. I wish someone had been my saving grace that day. Aside from a few horrible people, I actually enjoyed that job for the little while I was there.

  We drink wine, listen to the music, and enjoy each other’s company. Before I know it, it's been almost two hours, and we're on our third bottle of wine. I'm happy, relaxed, and wasn't thinking about how death is knocking at my door until now. Now I'm thinking about how these moments need to be cherished because, unlike the couple next to us that are more than likely in their late seventies, Jackson and I won't ever see the day when we realize we’ve grown old together.

  Not that I was thinking about being with Jackson for the next forty years, but none the less. If we had planned that, if we were married, we wouldn't see that day.

  More than anything, it makes me sad. I'm being cheated out of so much that life has to offer. There's still so much I want to do, to accomplish, aside from my list. Sure, traveling the world has been amazing. When it's over, there will still be things left undone, places I haven't been. That list will never end, no matter if I have two more months or ten more years.

  Shaking my head, I direct my attention back to Jackson. He doesn't seem to have noticed that I zoned out again. It's not the first time it's happened recently, and I'm certain it won't be the last. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's him enjoying himself and letting loose a little, but he didn't catch it this time.

  "Dance with me," he says, standing and extending his hand to me.

  "I don't know, Jackson. No one else is dancing." The plaza has emptied out. The people who were dancing when we arrived have gone.

  "Who cares?"

  I hesitate, but only for a moment. He's right. I shouldn't care about what other people think. I have bigger things to worry about.

  Twirling me into his arms, we sway back and forth. Pulling me in a little closer, I rest my head against Jackson's chest and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. My feet normally feel heavy when I dance as if they're going to stop moving at any moment and I'll trip over my own two feet. Not tonight. Tonight, I feel as light as air.

  The streets are nearly empty as we walk back to the hotel. Up ahead, I can see a gondolier guiding his gondola down the narrow channel, a young couple cuddling under a blanket seated in front of him. Waiting on the peak of the bridge, I listen as the gondolier sings, belting out the words to a song I don't know but enjoy until they are far enough away that I can no longer make out the words.

  "Shall we?" Jackson asks, motioning to a waiting gondola on the other side of the bridge.

  "We took a ride earlier. We can walk back."

  "Why walk when we can ride? Plus, it's more romantic at night," he points out.

  He would notice that.

  As we climb in, Jackson has a hushed conversation with our gondolier. I don't bother to try and listen. If he's attempting to keep something from me, it'll come out eventually. Most of the time sooner rather than later.

  "Who's keeping secrets from whom now?" I ask as he takes his seat next to me.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replies, his voice filled with shock as he fakes his innocence.

  "Sure," I say, drawing the word out a little as I roll my eyes at him. It’s too dark for him to notice, but I do it anyway.

  As we push away from the dock, I wait for the singing to begin. When it doesn't come, I'm surprised. I was almost certain that was what Jackson was talking to him about.

  "So, I know things are a little... up in the air right now," he begins, "but I want to make sure I'm clear about one thing."

  "What are you talking about?" I ask as I turn slightly to face him.

  "If you stop interrupting me, I'll tell you." Shaking his head, Jackson pauses.

  I'm not sure he's going to continue at first, then he shifts quickly, causing the boat to rock. I reach for the side to steady myself, and when I look back, my jaw hits the floor.

  "What are you doing?" I shriek.

  "If you stop interrupting me, you'll find out."

  "But I can see–"

  "Jessa! I want to do this right. Can you please let me?"

  Afraid he'll change his mind if I say anything, I nod my head.

  "I love you, more than you know. I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. I let you believe it was whatever you wanted it to be, but for me, it was always more. You've always meant more. Now, I'd like it to be more for you, too.

  "Before you answer me, I want to be very clear about what I'm asking here. I want you to be my wife, for the rest of my life, not the rest of yours. Part of that means we make decisions together. It's about us now, not you or me, us. It means you give yourself to me completely, mind, body, and soul. It also means that you fight for us, for this, for our forever."

  His words have literally brought me to tears. I'm not sure when they started, but I know there's no way I can stop them. I'm not sure that I even want to try. Moments like this are meant to be emotional, and tears are meant to be shed. Happy tears. The best kind.

  Taking my hand, he places the ring at the tip of my finger. "Will you, Jessa Kline, marry me? Become my wife? Live happily ever after with me?"

  My head bobs up and down as I stare into Jackson's eyes.

  "I need to hear you say the words, Jessa. Say you'll make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me."

  "Yes, Jackson. Yes! Yes! Yes!"

  Sliding the ring into place, Jackson grabs my face in his hands and pulls my mouth to his. This kiss is unlike all the others we've shared. I can feel the love passing between our bodies. There's a sense of hope in his kiss that I try and hold on to. I'm going to need it soon.

  Our plans for our final days in Venice are put on hold. Jackson wants to come back here for our honeymoon. So instead of visiting the last few places on our list, we stay in our room, naked and happy, until we realize that our time is up and we need to pack.

  As we land in Detroit my senses go on high alert. Somehow, Jackson has talked me into meeting his family. It must be the ring. Or when he called me his fiancée for the first time. It definitely wasn't when he referred to me as his future baby mama. That got him slapped on the back of the head.

  Staring down at my hand, I admire the simple diamond and band he picked out for me. Most girls hope for something with a lot of bling, something that will outshine every other ring on the planet. The bigger the better. Not me, and somehow, he knew that. I guess he knows me better than I thought.

  Although the diamond itself is large, I don't feel like I'm going to blind someone if I turn my hand just right. I had a friend who tried to do that to people on purpose when we were in college. As we would walk from class to class, she would see how many people she could get with the reflection. One day she was so busy staring at the reflection of light, she walked into a pillar. All I could do was laugh at her. I vowed then and there to never be obsessed with something that flashy.

  And I've never let Amber live that moment down. It was the highlight of my junior year.

  The pilot comes over the speaker, announcing our descent, and my stomach cramps up. There's a churning sensation going on. I know it's just nerves, but I still
feel like puking is a possibility.

  "Calm down. They're going to love you."

  "You don't know that. Just because you love me doesn't mean they'll even like me."

  "Well, if they don't like you, then we won't invite them to the wedding."

  He keeps talking about the wedding as if it's happening next month or something. I haven't even broken the news to my parents yet. I wasn't going to tell Amber, but she called just as we were walking back inside the hotel and I was still riding the high. She knew something was up and wouldn't let me off the phone until I confessed. She screamed so loudly into the phone that it echoed off the walls of the elevator.

  Amber in surround, screaming, is not my favorite sound.

  "So, before we go planning our wedding, I need to tell my parents about you," I confess.

  "I thought you did that yesterday when you called them."

  "I chickened out."

  "Jessa, you need to tell them soon. Today. We're going to be there in a week, and I don't want to meet them for the first time as your fiancé when they've never even heard of me."

  "They've heard of you, they just don't know much about you. Not for lack of trying on my mom's part either."

  "It's not your mom I'm worried about. You're an only child. I'm stealing daddy's little girl. His only little girl. I'm not sure he's going to be okay with this."

  "They'll be fine. Especially after I tell them..." I let the words drift off, unable to bring myself to say them out loud. I think about saying them all the time but try not to as much as possible. It makes it real, and right now, I want to ride the high I still feel from Jackson's proposal.

  "Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe we should wait until after we get a second opinion," he suggests.

  We've talked about this over and over again. For him, I'll do it, but I still don't understand the point of it all. The last thing I want is for him to get his hopes up for a miracle that probably won't happen.

  Exiting the plane, I momentarily forget what I'm about to walk into. That is, until Jackson waves at a slightly older version of himself leaning against a pillar. The look on his face screams irritation, but his smile is the exact opposite. It's warm and friendly, and he looks genuinely happy to see his brother. When his eyes meet mine, they soften. It’s almost as if he already knows.

  He promised he wouldn't tell his family. I don't want them to be nice to me or like me because I'm sick. I don't want them to pity me. Most of all, I don't want them to think that he's marrying me because I'm dying. That thought has already crossed my mind, and when I asked Jackson, he got really pissed.

  "Thomas!"

  They do the man-hug thing, as I like to call it, pulling each other in for a half-hug as they pat the other person on the back. It lasts only a mere second before they both step back as if the other person is on fire. It's hilarious. I've seen other men do it before, but watching Jackson with his brother makes me want to giggle.

  "This is Jessa," Jackson says, pulling me into his side as he wraps his arms around my shoulder. He's claiming me, plain and simple, and I like it.

  "Nice to meet you. Mom is going to be happy as hell you finally found someone," Thomas says as we all turn and head toward baggage claim.

  "I'm sure she is."

  "Sorry to hear about Nell." Jackson stiffens for a moment, but Thomas doesn't notice. "When I found out, I called Nate to make sure it was true. I can't believe she committed suicide, can you?"

  Looking up at Jackson, I can see his anger growing with each word his brother says. When he unwraps his arm from around me, I realize things are about to get ugly. I try to hold him back, but he's much stronger than I am. Thomas hits the floor, Jackson jumping on top of him.

  "Take it back Tommy. Take it back!" he screams between punches. Thomas is doing the best he can to defend himself from his little brother, but it's no use. Jackson is in a rage. Nothing is going to stop him except hearing the words.

  "Okay. I'm sorry," Tommy yells back.

  Stopping his assault, Jackson takes his time getting up. Returning to my side, he apologizes to me before pulling me through the crowd of onlookers toward baggage claim. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as Thomas wipes the blood from his lips. Expecting to see a look of anger on his face, I'm surprised when all I see is pity. I hate that look.

  The ride to the house is quiet. Neither of them has spoken a word to each other since the fight, and I'm pretty sure they don't plan to. I want to break the silence, but I'm afraid I'll make things worse. So, I keep my lips sealed in the back seat and watch as we make our way down street after street, moving from an industrial area to the city and finally to streets lined with tall trees.

  When we pull in the driveway of Jackson's parents’ house, Thomas jumps out, reaches back to grab our bags and walks away without a word. This is my chance, probably my only chance, to talk to him alone.

  "You should apologize. He wasn't trying to rip open the wound. He was giving his condolences."

  "I know. I'll talk to him later. I just snapped. I'm sorry you had to see that."

  "I'm not worried about me."

  Forcing a smile, Jackson takes my hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Ready?"

  "No, but I guess I have to be."

  "Yep. My mother is waiting for us on the front porch."

  Turning, I see an older woman maybe in her early sixties, wearing an apron and shaking her head in our direction. She looks pissed. I have a feeling my presence isn't going to keep her from giving Jackson a piece of her mind.

  I like her already.

  Chapter 15

  I'm not surprised his parents are amazing. His mother Gail greets me with a warm hug before she smacks Jackson across the back of the head. I can't help but laugh under my breath. He deserved it for punching Thomas. His father Mitch is quiet, but you can feel his presence. Jackson straightens his shoulders a little when he greets his dad. I, on the other hand, hug him tight before I learn he's not a hugger.

  It's awkward to sleep next to Jackson when his parents are in the room across the hall. It's not like he's trying anything, but if he were, I feel like it would be wrong on so many levels. I will say, sharing a full-size bed is fun, though. You have no choice but to sleep as close as possible. The lack of space doesn't allow for anything else.

  His childhood bedroom is telling of who Jackson has become. I imagined there would be posters of football players or rock bands on his walls. Instead, he has real artwork. His interest and appreciation for the arts must have started at a young age.

  Now, on our second morning here, Jackson is frustrating me. His brothers are frustrating him. His sisters are pushing all his buttons. If this is what it's like to have more than one kid, no thank you. I'm not sure how his parents survived their teenage years.

  Nell isn't brought up again, thankfully. I thought at one point his oldest sister was going to say something, but Thomas silenced her before she could get the words out. We all knew where she was headed with the conversation. Thankfully, it never got there. I would hate to see Jackson hurt like that again, even if it would have been unintentional.

  Today is all about checking things off the list, starting with a trip to the salon for the both of us. Jackson needs his hair cut, and I need to deal with my own mess. After that, we're headed to the tattoo parlor. A friend of Jackson's from high school runs his own shop.

  Convincing Jackson to drop me off is hard. His hair cut will take minutes; mine is going to take hours. He finally agrees, promising to bring lunch back with him shortly. Hopefully, he'll be gone long enough for me to explain my situation to the stylist and ask her to keep things hush-hush.

  # 6 Dye my hair pink

  "Pink?" she asks.

  There's a look of disbelief, or maybe shock, on her face. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not in my early twenties. Maybe it's the fact that I'm dressed a little too preppy and not punk. Either way, it's going to happen. Pink is what I want.

  "Yeah. I've always wanted pink hair, and I figure, why no
t now?"

  I was blunt with her. I told her everything that was going on, how I was sick and my hair was starting to fall out. She cried. I remained unemotional. It was easy telling my problems to a stranger. Telling my friends and family is another story.

  "If that's what you want, I'll do it. Can I make a suggestion, though?"

  "Of course. You're the one who knows about hair, not me."

  "How about we do an ombre instead of a full dye?"

  After she explained what an ombre is, I excitedly agreed. My hair will fade from light pink on top to a deep, rich pink at the ends. It's going to look kick ass once it's done. She's also going to give me a trim, layers, and thin out my hair. Since its starting to thin on its own, she promises this will help with my excessive “shedding” problem for a few weeks.

  Just as she puts me under the dryer that's going to set my color, Jackson walks back, shaking a bag of burgers and fries. I wave him over, and he confiscates the seat next to me while we eat. Just as I'm shoving the last few fries in my mouth, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Amber.

  We haven't talked as much since I told her. I've called a few times, and so has she, but it's been days since our last real conversation. It feels like she's trying to pull away from me, and I can't blame her. Maybe if I let her, she'll hurt less when it's over. Whatever she decides to do, I'll support her wishes. After all, I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces.

  "Want me to answer it?" Jackson mouths to me.

  Giving him the thumbs up, I hand him my phone, and he walks away. I watch as he paces back and forth in front of the salon window as he talks to Amber. My stylist comes over and checks my color, turning off the dryer. My phone lands in my lap while she's washing out the color.

  "You need to call her back," Jackson says, clearly irritated.