WEDNESDAY
Yep, Nick liked predictability. Things that ran like clock work. Two plus two equaling four. Things going as expected.
And how quickly he had come to expect to awaken, somehow, to muffled clinks and scrapes and assorted sizzling noises, from the kitchen.
So he supposed it was the very quiet that woke him up, this morning. But he'd decided that he liked this new thing, this getting up to hang with his roommates in the morning, even if he just had to go back to bed after they left in order to get enough sleep to go back to work that night.
So he walked in, all blinking and fuzzy, to see Coach and Schmidt nursing bowls of cold cereal.
"Where's Jess?", they asked him.
He squinted at them. "How the heck should I know?" But after he poured a cup of coffee and took a deep smell, he remembered clearly enough to say, "She was up really late last night. Maybe she slept through her alarm."
Coach glanced at the clock. "Well you better go check, before she's late for school."
Nick gave them another grumpy look. "Since when did she become my responsibility?"
Schmidt shrugged. "Just seems like you and she have a lot in common. Horrible break-ups, total break-downs, and all that."
"I!" he pointed at them indignently, "did not! have a breakdown!"
Schmidt and Coach just looked at him pointedly, until he sighed.
"Ok, fine...I'll go check on her."
He felt incredibly awkward knocking on her door, and when he heard her muffled voice on the other side, he asked, "You up, Jess?"
Her "yes" in reply was tiny and wobbley.
"Can..." he stopped, at a loss, and looked up to the ceiling, where he found no help. "Can I...come in?"
"Yes.""
He cracked the door open slowly, and tentatively peeked in. He still wasn't used to the fact that, after all these years, a girl was living here now. Even something as simple as a flowered bedspread was still enough to catch him off guard, so the little entrapments of femininity spread around the room...the earrings on the bedside table, and the long hairs woven through the bristles of the brush laying next to them...were enough to make him feel, uneasily, that he was treading on intimate territory.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, in her flannel pajamas, holding what looked like a trench coat.
She looked up at him, and her words were a statement, but hit him under the ribs like a plea. "I was just getting out my clothes for the day, and the second I touched it, it all came back to me. All those feelings."
She said it like he should know what she was talking about. Sat there looking at him with big wet eyes, like he'd be able to help, somehow.
"I..." his voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. "I'm sorry, Jess. I know how you feel, I really do. But...ummm...are you going to work this morning? Because if you are, it's getting pretty late."
He winced at his own lack of finesse, but she seemed to snap into focus then, and it was a relief not to have those eyes fixed on him like she was expecting something from him, anymore. 'Cause he had nuttin'.
"YES, thank you, I...yes, I need to get ready." But she kept sitting there, absently stroking the coat.
"Ok, well..." Nice was feeling like he'd been spectacularly UNhelpful in whatever this crisis was, but he brightened when he thought to ask, "Hey, want me to go fix you a piece of toast or something?"
And then she was looking at him again, with those eyes that seemed to see straight through him to a place that he wasn't even aware that he kept hidden from people. "No thank you Nicholas. But that's sweet."
He wasn't sure he was comfortable yet with how intimate his given name always sounded on her lips, and he was questionably comfortable being called "sweet" while she was regarding him with that sadly serious smile. But the both combined with the fact that he was standing in the doorway to her girly bedroom while she was sitting there on her bed looking mussy and vulnerable all just made him feel itchy and decidedly UNcomfortable. So he mumbled some see-yas and took his cooling coffee back to his own room where he remembered that he had to go to work early that afternoon, set it on his nightstand, and went back to sleep.
So he never heard her door fail to open and shut that morning.
What he did hear, at about 1:00 that afternoon, was the soundtrack to Flashdance blaring from across the hall.
This time he felt decidedly less reluctant to knock on her door.
When she opened it he blinked once at the off-the-shoulder sweatshirt she was wearing, but totally ignored the spastic jog-dance she was doing. "What the hell Jess?"
Her hair was piled on top of her head, and hanging in sweaty strings around her glowing face. "Gettin' the old endorphins goin', Miller! Take your passion! Make it happen!"
She was singing now, and jigging in a circle.
"Jess...Jess...JESS!" He started to reach out and grab her to get her attention, but made a face when he couldn't see anyplace on her that wasn't currently looking damp and unsavory.
She finally stopped circling, slightly dizzy, and her eyes almost crossed as she listed to the side a bit and tried to focus on him. "Yeah?"
He ran a hand down his face. Where to start.
"Ok, well...ONE...did you go to work today?"
A shadow touched her eyes, but she flipped a dismissive hand, pushed reality away again, and continued singing, "I can have it all! Now I'm dancin' through my life!"
He rolled his eyes, giving up. "Ok, then let's address the next thing that should be obvious, which is that, HELLO, I work late hours, my room is right across the hall, and I WAS trying to sleep!"
She had the grace to look genuinely mortified, and she rushed over to turn off the music. The sudden silence was loud in the room as she mumbled sheepishly, "Ooops, my bad! I'm sorry Nicholas, I forgot you were even here!"
He waved her off wearily and turned back towards his own room. "Just...nevermind, it's about time for me to get up anyway. I have to go in early." He stopped in the middle of the hall for a second, before turning back to look at her quizzically and ask, "Are you...are you ok?"
She gave him a smile that sparkled with forced brilliance, and answered merely, "Never better!"
But he saw the sadness of reality creeping in around the corners of her eyes again...and was vaguely sorry to be the one who had to make that happen.
When the texts from Coach and Schmidt started coming in, early that evening, he wasn't surprised. He'd dressed and left for work without seeing Jess or speaking to her again, but the silence behind her closed door had felt ominous, like a brewing storm.
"Jess is being Jess again."
"Seriously, I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"Is there any way you can get off work early?"
"We're at Code Orange, Nick. Code Orange."
He'd squinted and sniffed at that one, texting back, "Code Orange? Huh?"
"Oh..." Schmidt replied. "Sorry-forgot that in the past we always used Code Orange in reference to you. If that tells you anything."
It really didn't, other than that it couldn't mean anything good. Nick blew out a deep breath, made a call or two until he found someone to fill in for him, and headed home expecting the worst.
Sifting through his pockets for the key to the apartment, Nick wondered: which hour of Dirty Dancing would they be on? Five? Six? He supposed that the number of Kleenex boxes surrounding her would be an accurate indication.
Or maybe she'd turned Flashdance back on and had danced herself into a catatonic state, tarantella style.
Or maybe she'd been in the shower for four straight hours, trying to wash her sadness away. He gave his head a shake to dismiss the memory that had prompted that particular thought, swallowed the lump of dread in his throat, and walked in.
To a perfectly normal looking scene.
Coach, kicked back on the couch watching golf, didn't even look up, but just raised a finger in greeting.
Schmidt was on his laptop, looking perfectly calm and relaxed.
And Jess could be heard in the kitchen, humming a happy but quiet tune. The sweet smell of baked goods filled the apartment, and Nick failed to see how that could be a bad thing. In fact, he was starting to get more than a little pissed that he'd been called away from work, and had rushed home all worried..for this?
Schmidt looked up, and Nick held out "What the hell?" hands at him.
Schmidt just widened his eyes, and pointed towards the kitchen.
Nick started in that direction, but nearly ran smack into Jess, who was sashaying into the room carrying a plate of cupcakes.
"Oh, HEY Nick! You're home early! I was just making a snack for the guys!"
She proceeded to carry the plate to Schmidt and Coach, offering them her wares. When they refused in what Nick found to be a rude and impatient fashion, he had to stifle the urge to go smack them upside their heads.
Yeah, so Jess liked to bake. It cheered her up when she was depressed. Big deal!
He took stock of her demeanor: other than the white smudge on the tip of her nose, she looked tidy and non-manic. Her smile was serene, and her mood seemingly calm and unflappable. She offered him the plate and asked, "Cupcake, Nick?"
"Don't mind if I do!" he said a little loudly, hoping that his roommates would take note of his manners. Biting into the pink confection was like licking a cotton candy cloud, and he closed his eyes for a little blissed-out moment as he followed her back towards the kitchen.
"Why are you home early? Are you feeling ok?"
He opened his eyes to answer her, but the words froze in his throat.
Every available flat surface in the kitchen and dining area was covered. With cupcakes.
He turned in a slow circle, big-eyed, and mouth-agape, taking in the pastel explosion of every conceivable combination of icing and sprinkles, all artfully arranged .
"Oh my gaaaawd, Jess?"
"Hmmmm?" she tilted her head and gave him a look that was completely innocent of the insanity insinuated by the scene surrounding them.
"What the...are you getting ready for a bake sale or something?" Please God, let there be a bake sale afoot.
"Hmmm? No, just felt like doing a little baking this afternoon." She lowered her voice and pointed covertly towards the livingroom. "I don't think Coach and Schmidt care much for sweets. They've only had ten each." She offered him another plate, this one filled with blue-swirled mini-cakes that smelled like raspberry coconut snowcones.
He was still holding the half-eaten pink one, but absently accepted the blue with his other hand. "Jess, are you...is this..." NORMAL? he wanted to ask. But of course, this wasn't normal behavior, for normal people. What he really needed to ask was if it was JESS-normal, and he couldn't figure out how to do that without it sounding like an insult. And this time it probably really was.
Thankfully, she seemed to have her mind on other things, as she untied the coy vintage-style apron that was covering her jeans and tshirt. "Well anyway, help yourself Nick. I'm going to take some over to Cece and her model friends. I hope they taste as good coming back up as they do going down." She rolled her eyes and grimaced at the grossness of her own joke, grabbed a plate, and headed out the door.
After staring around himself in disbelief a few more seconds, Nick walked heavily over to the couch, sat next to the guys, carefully balanced a cupcake on each knee, and then crossed his arms in conspicuous silence.
When he finally spoke, the sarcasm was palpable. "So. I'm really glad you guys called me home from work so I could watch golf and eat cupcakes with you."
"Dude, I'm sorry, we didn't know she was about to leave. We didn't know what else to do...she kept sending us out for more eggs and powdered sugar...and she was starting to talk brownies!"
Coach rubbed his stomach and groaned, "I don't even want to crunch the numbers on how many extra workouts I'm going to have to do, to make up for this."
"Okay, but what I want to know is...what makes you guys think I can do anything about it? I barely even know the girl!"
"Yeah but dude, you've been there, right?"
"Yeah," Schmidt jumped in, "King of Post-Breakup Crazies...Queen of Post-Breakup Crazies...it's like the universe has put you together. Some horrible, cruel universe that apparently really has it in for me and Coach, the innocent by-standers in all of this."
He and Coach exchanged silent fist-bumps in mutual empathy.
"Guys, please! I was NEVER that bad!"
Again, they just leveled him with looks of unspoken significance, and he jumped up, "Ok, you know what, I guess I'll just go enjoy the rest of this unexpected evening off. If you need me, I'll be in my room...EATING CUPCAKES."
"OOOO, try the yellow one!"
"Yeah man, and the one that smells like mojitos. It's the bombdiggity."
-
Nick woke up from his sugar-coma to hear Irene Cara wafting over from across the hall again, this time at acceptable levels of roommate-consideration.
But he found himself knocking on her door anyway.
"Come in."
Nick peeked in to see Jess ready for bed again, pj-ed up, and face shining cleanly from a fresh scrub. "Flashdance again, huh?"
She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled a tiny smile. "It was a feel-good classic about a can-do girl with a dream."
He leaned against the doorframe. "Thanks for the cupcakes."
She squenched up her face sheeplishly. "Yeah...um...sorry about that. Guess I went a little over-board."
"Did it make you feel better?"
"Yeah."
"Then no problem."
Jess smiled her thanks up at him, her blue eyes tired but at peace behind her heavy glass frames.
"Ok, well...just wanted to check on you one last time." He rapped twice on her doorframe, before turning away to leave.
"Nick..."
"Yeah?"
"Um...thanks for coming home from work...you know...just to check on me."
He really didn't know what to say. It wasn't his idea, and he'd been pissed about it all night. But right now, with her smiling that shy smile at him, wild horses couldn't have made him admit that.
"Sure. But...Jess?"
"Yeah?"
"You're going to work tomorrow." He pointed at her with a mock fatherly air of bossiness.
"Yes sir!" She smiled and saluted.
"And you're not baking another cupcake!"
She laughed. "Absolutely not!"
"Alright then! Take your passion and make it happen...and...all that."
She didn't answer, but the happy way she crinkled her nose up at him made him glad that somehow this horrible universe had seen fit to throw them together.
Even if Schmidt and Coach really didn't deserve it.
