I swallow and turn to face her. “I know.”
“You were here for me when my mom was dying. You talked me through one of the hardest nights of my life. I won’t ever forget what you did for me.”
“Dre—” I reach out and pull her into a hug. “I’m glad I could be there for you. And I’m glad you’re here now.”
We all collect our belongings. Nat and Teri head to the bar to chat up Farrah. I skip the socializing, instead heading home alone. I’m not good company in this state, and I’ll be back at the bar to work soon enough.
The text comes as I’m walking up the steps to my apartment.
Jacks: Good show?
I can’t breathe. I let myself into the apartment and sink to the floor, my back against the door. My hands are shaking, but I can’t tell if it’s excitement or anger. Fury sweeps me, dark and sudden. I throw the phone across the room. Goddamn him.
I bite my fist, letting the pain ground me, only stopping when I taste blood. I need to reply to him. But a big part of me wants to leave him on read, let him wonder whether I care enough to answer. Spite. That’s something that has never been a part of our relationship before.
And it shouldn’t be a part of it now.
I crawl across the room and pick up my phone, thankfully sheltered from my tantrum by its case.
Ritchie: I’m mad as hell at you
Jacks: I know
Ritchie: It wasn’t the same without you
Jacks: I know
Ritchie: How’s Ade?
Jacks: Incredible. She’s teaching me how to really use Instagram and Tiktok too, so I can make the VS feeds amazing.
Ritchie: does that mean you’re coming back?
Jacks: of course I’m coming back.
I stare at the phone, still furious. There’s no of course about it. And that’s when it hits me that I don’t trust Jacks. I don’t trust him to come back. I don’t trust him to love me back. And how long has that been going on? Since he left? No, longer. Hell, since I had to break into my own bathroom to save his life.
Jacks: Ritchie???
Ritchie: I’m here.
Jacks: I miss you.
Ritchie: I can’t do this right now. Have a good time in LA.
With shaking hands, I silence notifications from his number.
Nat arrives at my apartment the next morning with a giant Starbucks drink, which she hands to me almost immediately after letting herself through the door and sitting next to me on the bed.
“All right Ritchie, we’re going to rip the Band-Aid off, and then we’re going to have a good-ass day.”
I scratch my chest and take a sip of the coffee. It’s delicious. “This is good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I texted with him last night,” I confess.
“I heard.”
“Jesus, I have no secrets anymore.”
“You have, at last count, six—mmm no seven, if you count Farrah— busy body lesbians hanging on every development in your relationship like a soap opera. You think we didn’t all know about the mean texts about three minutes after you sent them?”
“Ade needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.” I run my hands through my hair. “And they weren’t mean. I told him how I felt, and I told him I didn’t want to talk to him right then.”
“Cool. Ready to call the counselor? I did a little Googling and found a place that should be covered by your insurance.” Clearly, she would not be deterred by defining “mean.”
“Haven’t met my deductible, so that probably doesn’t matter.”
“We’ll figure that out. Ready to call?” She hands me the number.
“Were you ready when you did this?”
“Fuck no, but it’s one of the best things I ever did.”
I make the call. The receptionist asks me a bunch of impersonal questions, and then a few distinctly more personal ones. I look up at Nat, who’s watering Jacks’s plants. Hell, if she can do this, so can I. I tell them everything. That my boyfriend tried to kill himself. That I somehow managed to push him away and smother him at the same time. That I was so angry with him, it made me want to throw up or cry or both. That he dumped me, because I couldn’t get past it. That if I couldn’t figure out how to trust him again, I would lose him forever.
“We can schedule you as early as Monday morning with Chanda Nelson. We don’t have any weekend appointments available, but if that’s something you need, we can try to work you into the weekend schedule moving forward.”
“Monday is fine,” I manage, my voice raspy with unshed tears. Even admitting why I need help feels raw, and to have it parsed down to a date and time…can I do this?
“Does nine-thirty work for you?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” I can do this. If not for myself, I can do it for Jacks.
“If you go to our website, you can download the new patient forms and set up an account with our patient portal.” She rattles off instructions on filling out the forms and how to sign in when I arrive at the office. “Do you have any questions?”
“No,” I say, surprised at how easy it all seems. “That’s it?”
“Yes, sir. We’ll see you Monday at nine-thirty. Have a nice weekend.”
And that’s that. I hang up the phone and stretch out in bed. Nat puts down the measuring cup she’s been using to water the plants and sits next to me again.
“Feel better?” she asks.
I nod.
“Good. What time do you have to work tonight?”
“Not until seven.”
“Sounds like we have plenty of time then. Get dressed, I’m gonna text Teri and see if she’s awake. She said I could borrow her car today.”
I take a deep drink of the coffee, then do as I’m told. “Plenty of time for what?” I ask as I pull on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt so old, it’s long since faded to gray. “Why do we need her car?”
“When was the last time you got out of the city?” Her thumbs fly over her phone screen.
“I don’t know. Why would I leave the city?” I shrug, then scoop up my wallet and shove it into my pocket.
“To meet your soulmate?”
“Did that once, didn’t turn out so great.”
“I believe a person can have more than one soulmate. And I promise this one will never dump you.” She holds out her phone. “Bex has a friend who volunteers with a dog rescue in Connecticut. This babe came in a few months ago. She’s house trained, crate trained, leash trained, even has some agility training. But they’re having a hard time placing her—she was pregnant when she was abandoned. They found homes for her puppies but it’s easier to place the pups than the mama dog.”
I look at the dog on the screen. A weird-looking critter of indeterminate breed, with deep brown eyes and sandy fur, one ear up and one down, stares back at me, and I could swear she’s grinning. Something in my heart gives a soft whump.
“She’s lost everyone,” I say softly, looking back up at Nat.
“Want to meet her?” she asks. “Her foster family said we can come by any time before three this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
We pick up Teri’s car and Nat drives us out of the city with some metal band she loves blasting through the speakers. I can’t believe we’re doing this. Driving to Connecticut to get a dog isn’t the kind of thing I ever imagined I would do.
“I never had a dog as a kid,” I tell Nat. “But I always wanted one.”
“We always had a few mutts running around when I was little. But that’s how life is in the dirtbag South. Bex wants to get a little dog she can carry in her purse. Lots of chihuahua mixes come through the rescue, so I’m sure she’ll find Mr. Right eventually.”
“I’m sure she will.” I pull up the rescue’s page on my phone and navigate to the dog’s picture again. “Do you think I can really take care of a dog?”
“Of course you can. You’re a natural caretaker.”
The praise makes me blush and want to deny it.
“Jacks—”
“Jacks is a grown-ass man, Ritchie. He doesn’t need you to take care of him.”
“I know. I know.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “I was just going to say Jacks might not want a dog.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t say one way or another, but I don’t see whether or not you get a dog as being any of his business.”
And it makes me laugh because it’s exactly the kind of thing Jacks would say. “You’re exactly like him.”
“Yeah, I know. We have a lot in common, you know? Fucked up childhood, getting rescued like a puppy. It leaves certain marks.”
I nod because it makes sense, and I look at the dog again.
The house where she’s being fostered is on a small rural route that twists and weaves through woods until it dead ends. It’s a tiny blue house with weathered wood shingles on the roof and an overgrown wildflower garden out front. It looks safe and homey, and I wonder if it would be right to take the dog into the city.
Nat marches right up to the door and knocks, while I hang a few steps behind. The door swings open and a sixty-ish woman with a long shag haircut and lots of beaded jewelry throws her arms wide and pulls Nat into a hug.
“Look at you, Natalie! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed. How are you?”
“Hey, Jen. I’m good. Really good. I brought Ritchie to meet the mama bear.”
“Ritchie.” She shakes my hand effusively. “I’m Jennifer. I’m so glad you could come see our little mama today. Follow me.”
“How do you know her?” I murmur under my breath to Nat.
“Thorns member. She and Bex’s mom are really good friends; they worked on a movie together in the eighties.”
Ah. Bex’s mom, Tammy Dean, is famous for her acting and notorious for her wild antics—including at Vertical Smile shows. “Any friend of Tammy’s—”
Nat snorts. “Yeah.”
We follow Jennifer through the house to a sunroom that’s filled with plants. Big and small, hanging from the ceiling and stacked on plant stands. And there in the middle of them, a little sandy dog wags her tail.
I drop to my knees, and she rushes into my arms, wagging her whole body now, and licking at my face.
“Sit, Britney,” Jennifer orders, and she immediately drops to her haunches.
“Her name’s Britney?” I ask, scratching at her face and pressing my forehead into her fur.
“Well, for now. I always nickname the fosters after famous singers. But if you adopt her, you can change it to whatever you want—she’s smart, she’ll figure it out.”
“Britney’s perfect.” I laugh as the dog licks my face. “Yes, you are, aren’t you?”
“She’s excellent on a leash—she has plenty of stamina for a long walk, but she’s pretty low maintenance as far as exercise goes. A couple of fifteen-minute walks a day, the occasional trip to a dog park, she’ll be fine.”
And I’ll get out of the apartment that still smells like Jacks.
“How much is her adoption fee?” I ask, not sure how I’ll afford it, but also absolutely certain I’m not going back to the city without Britney.
“That’s been taken care of,” Jennifer says. “Rebecca Horvath has vouched for your character and that Britney will be safe with you. She also insisted on handling the adoption fee.”
I glance at Nat, who shrugs. “It’s easier to accept Bex’s gifts than to argue over them.”
“Can she come home today?” I ask.
“She can,” Jennifer confirms.
“Then tell me everything.”
Living with Britney is a revelation on many points. The first night, I call Nat as I’m going to bed.
“Should I put her in her crate? Jennifer told me she was crate-trained.”
Nat’s husky laugh fills my ears. “You’re setting a habit for the future. If you want her to sleep in the crate, have her sleep in the crate. If you want her to sleep on a bed on the floor, have her sleep there. If you want her to sleep in your bed, let her sleep there.”
I look down at the dog. She’s sitting obediently at the foot of the bed, watching me with one paw lifted off the floor. “Okay, thanks.”
“How’s she settling in?”
I have no idea how to answer that. “She likes the tennis ball. And watching me cook. She won’t go in the bathroom.”
“She’s eating okay?”
I glance at the half-full bowl next to her crate. “How do you know? She ate some of her food and left the rest.”
“She’ll eat when she gets hungry. A dog won’t starve itself.”
“Yeah.”
“How are you doing? I kinda strong-armed you into this.”
I blow out a breath. “Honestly? She’s distracted me from all my Jacks feelings. I guess it’s hard to wallow when you have someone to take care of.”
“That was the goal. Glad it’s working. I’m gonna let you go now.”
“Okay. Thanks, Natty. For everything.”
I hang up and look at Britney, still sitting with one paw raised, then the empty bed. She sets the paw down.
“Okay girl, come on up.” I pat the bed, and she immediately jumps up and curls up on Jacks’s pillow. No, not Jacks’s pillow. The other pillow. Feeling restless, I take out my bass and run my left hand along the frets, practicing the fingering for the bass line of the new song. Britney looks up and cocks her head at me.
“Yeah, girl, you live in a music house now. There’s going to be a lot of weird noises to get used to.” I play the bass line again, adding some slaps and embellishments with my right hand and humming the melody.
I lose myself in the music. The playfulness I’d originally felt from the song has deepened into something not so much playful as peaceful. I imagine playing it with Jacks, following his kick drum rhythm and adding a call and response, bringing the playfulness back.
And then, even though I can’t imagine playing it as part of a Vertical Smile set, I can imagine Drea behind the drum set. She always looks like she’s staring off into space while she plays, but I know she’s focusing so deeply on the music that her face goes soft and her eyes unfocused.
Keyboards.
We’ve never had a keyboard in the band, but I can hear it now, in this song that isn’t ours but is somehow mine: a slide down the keys, some nods to ragtime. A little flam on the drums in response.
I set the bass aside and type a few notes into my phone to talk about with Nat later. That’s when I notice the red circle over my messages app. I turned off notifications from Jacks, but he’s apparently sent me four messages since I called Nat.
* * *
Jacks: Hey
Jacks: You there? Not still at work, are you?
Jacks: Ritchie.
Jacks: This is beneath you.
* * *
I scrub a hand over my face. Always hurting each other without meaning to.
* * *
Ritchie: phone was on silent, and I was playing my bass
Jacks: Oh. Thought you were just pissed at me
Ritchie: I am. But I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose
Jacks: Nat says you got a dog.
Ritchie: Yeah. She’s cute. Her name’s Britney
Jacks: of course it is. :)
Ritchie: I should go to bed, it’s really late here.
Jacks: Okay. Can we talk tomorrow?
Ritchie: What do you want to talk about?
Jacks: I don’t know, I just miss you.
Ritchie: You’re the one who left.
Jacks: Fair. I still miss you.
Ritchie: Good night
* * *
I put the bass back in its stand and roll onto my side, facing the dog. I pet her head and she stretches and grunts before pressing her face closer into my touch. Laughing, I scratch her ears, then leave her to her sleep.
I wish it were that easy for me to fall asleep, but the short text conversation with Jacks weighs heavily on my mind. What am I supposed to do with the knowledge tha
t he misses me? It feels like salt in the raw wound he’s left in me.
Chapter Fourteen
“You know how you said you and Teri want fundamentally different things from a relationship?” I ask Farrah as we inventory the liquor in the storeroom.
“Yeah, why?”
“What would it take for her to change your mind?”
She blows out a breath and runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t think she can. You know she invited me to an art opening?”
I nod. “Said she was going to.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Go?” I suggest. “She’s really talented. She did all my good tattoos.”
Farrah smiles, though I’m not sure if it’s the acknowledgment that some of my tattoos are shitty scratch or the nod to Teri’s talent that makes her smile. “I know she’s talented. I just don’t know why she wants me there. But this isn’t about me and Teri, is it?”
I shake my head. “Jacks texted me after the show on Thursday. Then again on Friday. Said he missed me.”
“Asshole.”
My first instinct is to defend him, and that only makes me angrier. “I’m so furious with him, Farrah. And I think I have been for a long time.”
“Want to tape a picture of his face to the dartboard?”
I laugh—it’s so childish—but she’s smiling too, so I shake my head. “No. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Are you wondering what you need to do to change his mind, or what he needs to do to change yours?”
I think about the question, turning it over in my mind. Before the text conversations the week before, I would have said all he needed to do was come home. But now I don’t know if that’s enough. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe, and I say this having seen the way you two love each other for ten years now, and I don’t take that lightly, but maybe you guys don’t need to change your minds. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
The thought stops my breath. I shake my head. “Move on. Without him.”
“Yeah. I’m not saying go out and find someone new. Just—maybe find yourself again. Who are you without Jacks?”
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