Good For You
Jenny jived a bit while brushing her hair. She'd discovered a new favourite song by The Script, driving to work last week, and she'd had it on repeat constantly since. She realized she was jiving, paused as she looked at her so grown up appearance in the mirror… and continued. Abby would have liked this beat, she thought, without the usual twinge of navy emotion. Hard to put a finger on it. Something between nostalgia, carefulness, and worry. Then again, those were hard to separate for her. Carefulness was who she was, born and bred that way. Worry was what she did for her job.
Correction. That was what she had done for her job. Worry about unpleasant surprises from the press, worry about workers, bosses, chiefs. Worry about whether she was conveying a sufficiently capable image without losing the feminine sweetness that could be helpful when dealing with blockheaded reporters or uptight CEO's. She had spent years worrying, and now, she was finally learning to let go.
A lot of it was due to Michael. She smiled, and added a few more twirls to her getting-ready process. She wondered what the team had thought of him, when they busted into her mansion, disrupting the wedding preparations, and saving the day as they usually did. Connor was a good chap, he'd probably have taken to Michael if they'd spent much more time together. Becker, eh, he didn't have a lot of use for non-military people who hadn't proven themselves. Jenny could say the same for Abby, taking out the military distinction. Both had been cordial when they met Michael, maybe softened a bit when they'd seen Jenny looking happy (and nervous?)
She knew they wished her the best, and always would. Whether they understood her- she guessed that wasn't a crucial issue. She hadn't cared before, had rather actively chosen not to care. It was hard getting close to people when one was used to holding them at a polite, controlled arm's length. Keeping a calm distance around Cutter had been more difficult – he believed the best of people, and she was drawn to that. Jenny had opened up a little more around him, as everyone seemed to do. And then he was gone. There was no glue to hold the team together in the while that followed, and no reason for Jenny to stay. She'd cut ties, moved on, with the rare visit with 'the team from the old days' as she firmly called it.
She checked the buttons on her blouse. And then they'd shown up at her wedding to take care of a creature incursion, and she suddenly – illogically – began to miss them. Little things she'd chosen to forget came to memory again. The way Abby tilted her head and could be quiet for so long, but Jenny knew she was listening. The way Becker hid concern behind motion. Connor's constant stream-of-conscious and openness. They were a good team, had been good friends. And now they probably all looked at her and thought, "Good for you. You have the life you wanted."
Michael wasn't the type to ruffle her feathers, and he certainly wasn't easily ruffled himself. Jenny was calmer around him, and, oddly enough, a little more crazy too. Just a touch. She was Jenny, after all; practically a euphemism for "cold-blooded control-freak ladylike public servant." Yet she danced while dressing, now. She hummed in the car (though not in the train- years of social expectations weren't that easily run over). She hated clutter, but she left an occasional sticky note on the door to Michael's study with a smiley face or heart sketched on it. He was good for her. She hoped she was as good for him.
She hoped she hadn't been bad for the others. That they didn't see her leaving as a betrayal; that they didn't think she'd forgotten them because she'd fallen in love and gotten married. If anything, being in a relationship and learning to trust, made her want to reach out to them, to reclaim what they'd had. Not one or the other, friends or husband, but both. If she drew back from connecting, it was more out of unsureness. Friends pre and mid and post major life events. How did you even begin
Abby had rung her up a time or two. She hoped that would still happen. She'd sent Abby a few emails, sent a Christmas basket to the team over the holidays, invited them all over to her house for a thank-you dinner after the crazy month of wedding , anomaly, and 632 thank-you notes was over. Her wrist ached just thinking about it. There was definitely more time to think, these days. She often had the house to herself, and could lose herself in her thoughts while strolling the grounds, working on PR reports, collecting files.
The navy and black of the old days, the underlying emotions, was gradually slipping away. For that, she was grateful. She just wasn't sure how you began a new life without the firmly held context of work relationships or life-and-death conversations. With creatures flying or prowling around, and people dying around you every week, it was hard to maintain a façade. There'd been nights when the team had gone out for drinks afterward, as much to feel each other's presence as for the relief of getting out of the ARC. Jenny had opened up now and then, and so had the others.
Beyond the quiet exchanges over drinks or dinner, there'd been other times of closeness. An afternoon or two in the ARC, there'd even been tears, from the tough anomaly followers. Jenny had come across Sarah sniffing, or Abby rubbing her eyes furiously, after a particularly rough week. The kids were always the worst, young lives wiped out or traumatized after a run-in with a creature that should never have appeared at all. Jenny had even cried a time or two, which she always felt extra bad for – she was supposed to set the example, not worsen things.
But she guessed in the end there was nothing you could do about it, and in a weird way, she missed those times. It had been a relief to just let go, trust that some one would be there for you even if you didn't understand why it hurt. And then to be there for them. She would gladly do that again, too. She just couldn't promise anything. Ironic that just as she was 'growing up' and learning to trust herself, and trust others, she was so far away from them. Emails and skype weren't the same as spending every day with people you trusted with your life, like it or not. There was a lot more she would say now if she was there.
Or maybe not. Jenny'd been teased through her teen years for being so quiet, and thought that, with her career and fine command of the English language, she'd achieved something in that area. It was a lot easier to see in hindsight, that she'd left so much unsaid while saying quite a lot. And now, when she had so much that she wished she could tell her old team, she also would be content with just being with them. Just taking a walk with Abby, or sitting in silence somewhere on the A1 with Becker and a surveillance team.
Michael was the type to not point out that she ever talked too much, or not enough, which sometimes annoyed her. She was very comfortable with people who said what they thought when they thought it. At the same time, she'd learned to be comfortable with silence around him, and that had been a gift. Good for her, she thought with an ironic look in the mirror, tossing the last file folder in her bag and spritzing on a little of Chanel's Dune fragrance. Good for her. She'd grown up, and was ready to be a friend, just when she was farthest away from friends she'd trusted with her life. She was happy in this life, mostly, and she knew they were too. They just weren't in the same life and sharing the happy times together any more.
Good for me, she thought, and whimsically paused and blew a kiss to Michael, and one to her old team, through the window on the same staircase the prehistoric dogs had charged up. Good for you.