"Nick!" Jess whisper-shouted, tangling violently under the sheets, the smell of eggs and orange juice filling the air. Her mind was slowly emerging from a hazy dreamland, of fragmented words and events. Finally, she remembered the previous night's events. She flopped girlishly on the bed and clutched her flowery pillow to her chest. She heard people talking in the kitchen, laughter, and the sound of the frying pan, all rolling into a montage of routine, of the mornings Jess was used to. Her room smelled of vanilla and raspberries, the faint scent of her perfume she hadn't washed away the night before. In fact, when she arrived home from dropping Nick off, she just threw on a crumpled up pair of red flannel pajamas that had sat in a lump on her bedroom floor. She had been too tired and worn out to shower, as the day had sucked the life out of her. But now, Nick was in the kitchen, probably hunched over a newspaper, grumpily, and was going to stay. He was going to keep living with her in the same stupid loft with the same stupid roommates. The thought alone made her giddy.
Impulsively, she swung her long legs off the bed and ran towards the door. Her fingers were about to turn the knob as a single thought entered her mind: shower. She had forgotten to shower. There was no way she was going to run into Nick's arms beach-style smelling of body odor and faint, drying perfume. Then again, Nick wasn't a hugging person…
No, Jess thought. Shower first, greeting second.
She rummaged through her drawers and found her favorite soap and shampoo-conditioner set. She sleepily threw all her supplies in a tiny pink bag and crept quietly from her room, making sure she was not heard by the guys. She shut the bathroom door and folded her towel over her rack, her head spinning as she slipped into the shower and removed her clothes. Just as she was about to throw them outside the curtain and turn on the shower nozzle, the door slid open. Gasping, she slid back and pressed her body against the end of the shower, listening to the sound of her roommates shuffling in.
Just as she was about to announce her presence, Schmidt said, "Hey Nick, I think Jeeeessssss is awake."
Oh my God.
"Shut up, Schmidt," Nick replied in his gruff, morning voice, squirting toothpaste on his old brush. "Jess and I are friends. Nothing more," he argued, and Jess could smell the Old Spice lingering off his tee shirt.
"Sure, man," Schmidt shrugged, clearly not convinced, rummaging around the bathroom shelf for a bottle of sculpting chutney. Jess almost rolled her eyes as she thought about the way her roommate pronounced "chutney." It brought her back to a memory where Julia had stayed overnight, and she covered her full pink lips with her hand in order to stifle a groan.
Truthfully, the whole conversation was rubbing Jess the wrong way, and she felt a sharp pang as Nick waved away Schmidt's accusations, which was ridiculous. If Jess were part of the conversation, God forbid, she would have taken Nick's side. Then again, didn't Jess always take Nick's side? But the bathroom was cramped and smelled of alcohol and hair gel and her heart was hammering and she felt sick to her stomach, so she quickly pulled her phone out of her pajama's pocket and texted Cece.
"Cece… call Nick and tell him to go check the TV. I'll explain later."
I hope she's not sleeping, Jess thought as she rolled her toes on the marble floor, sucking in her breath. The thought of them finding her in here, naked, ears listening to this conversation, was so embarrassing she would probably have to throw herself off a cliff. Also, Nick's words were rumbling under her porcelain skin and boiling her blood, and all a sudden she felt a big space expanding in her chest. Great, she was going to cry. That was what she needed in a time like this.
She heard the phone ring in the living room and she sighed as Schmidt and Nick both ran out to get it. Once she heard them click on the TV, she shut the bathroom door and turned on the shower. Then, under the safety of the drizzling hot water and the shut door and the TV blaring loudly in the living room, she allowed herself to cry. Her fingers rested softly on the center of her stomach as the tears fell and her eyes burned red. Crying in the shower was so different than normal crying, she thought, her big blue eyes strained on the pale yellow fluorescent lights and her senses focused on the spot underneath her eyelashes that had collected no dry tears. Her pain was washing away, along with the soapy remains of the shampoo she rinsed out of her hair, and she watched as they slowly swirled down the drain. Once she felt the achiness subside, she stumbled out of the shower, wrapped the towel around her body, and felt around for her pajamas. Her pajamas lay soaking wet at the foot of her shower. Perfect, she thought sarcastically, her teeth chattering just as she looked at them. Just fucking perfect.
She took the wet clothes and cradled them in her arms as she got out of the shower. For some reason, she felt exposed as she braved the long hallways only sporting a fluffy pink towel she had bought at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, which was ridiculous because that was always part of the morning routine, the routine she liked, the routine she had spent a good chunk of her morning reminiscing, spread out happily over her sheets. But Nick's words were still making her skin crawl and her eyes sting and her heart hurt, so she softly slammed her bedroom door and curled up into fetal position. She wouldn't cry though, because she didn't have the hot shower water to cover up the evidence.
Sighing, she threw on her favorite dress, a number with black quarter-length sleeves and a floral yellow skirt. She slipped into her favorite ballet flats and found herself at the door, again, this time her courage wavering. She knew they would suspect something was up if she waited any longer, so she turned the knob and forced herself to move into the kitchen.
Schmidt, Winston, and Nick all sat in a circle at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and laughing over some story that happened at the bar. Winston coughed and gestured Jess, who had been awkwardly standing in the doorway, her fingertips toying with the bottom of her shirt. She gulped as all the guys looked at her. She felt hot. Why was it so hot?
"You guys okay?" she asked, feeling unsteady.
"Yeah Jess, we're fine. Are you okay?" Winston asked, and suddenly Jess realized that she was the one acting out of the place, not them. Jess smiled her toothiest smile and her eyes accidentally met Nick's. Nick jumped out of his chair and hugged her, tighter than usual, and she closed her eyes and tried to remember this moment: Old Spice, coffee, and something else, his stubble rubbing up against the side of her face.
"Get a room!" Schmidt yelled. "This is not a barbaric household. We do not act this way in front of each other. We save tight hugs for private spaces."
"I'll keep that in mind next time you frado kiss me," Nick rebutted, stepping back from Jess. "Hey," he said, just as usual, his smile mirroring hers. Nothing was different. Why did everything feel so different?
Jess smiled back, her lips feeling forced, and her eyes flitted over to Schmidt. "Jar," she proclaimed, grabbing tea mix from the pantry. She started boiling the water and found her mug from the cupboard, a cute purple one that read: "Jessica Day's Classroom Presents: High School Musical, Middle School Edition." She prepared her drink and listened to the guys relax into their regular chit-chat.
All a sudden, after yet another bar story was dissected, Jess turned around. "Nick, why did you come back?"
The straightforward question took him back a little. He laughed, sounding just as guyish as always, and drank his coffee, which was surely now cold. "She was a bitch," he said, bluntly. "I should have listened to you guys."
The whole time he spoke, Jess couldn't help but feel the words were directed solely at her.