Chapter 7. It's a Process
Above Truncheon Books, in the room that had been his for such a short time, really, Jess stood in the middle of chaos. He'd found an apartment, not too much bigger than this room, actually, where he could set up housekeeping with his daughter. Now there was a frightening thought! So, he was doing his best to pack. It was slow-going, considering the fact that he couldn't seem to pack more than a few items before getting…stuck…again. The room was cluttered with a jumbled mess, and his head wasn't much better. The best he could figure, he was processing. If he was honest, he'd admit that if it wasn't for the fact that he, of necessity, was pulling himself up by his bootstraps, so to speak - he had a child to take responsibility for - he probably would have buried himself in writing and booze, or maybe just booze, backsliding in the biggest way into the life he wanted no part of. He almost certainly would've started in with the cigarettes again. Heaven knows, he needed them! But, the thought of a smoke-filled apartment with a three-year-old child rankled everything in him and sent echoes-of-Liz shivers down his spine, so that was out. So, he was processing. Whatever that meant.
He didn't have that much stuff…if you excluded books from the definition of stuff…and music. It wasn't like it could all fit in an oversized duffel bag anymore, but there wasn't a whole lot of it. How was it that there was still so much that he couldn't extricate from painful memories? He tossed three or four things from the closet into the box he was currently filling, hardly looking at them, so they couldn't do damage. When he reached down and his hand grasped something small and soft and cotton-stuffed, though, he didn't have to look down. The heavy breath dragged itself from his chest.
They walked home past the glittering carnival lights in the cool night air.
"Here," she said, holding out the white, sad-looking bear in front of his nose. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you'd won it, you weren't really going to give it to Clara, were you?"
"Um…no." His patronizing smile spoke clearly his thoughts of the youngest member of the Forrester family.
"So, since I won it, it's for you," she declared happily, expression changing suddenly to a frown as she whisked it back a split second before it was in his hand. "Although, on second thought, I'm not sure I should give it to you. You'll have to promise not to use it to smother little girls!" her eyes narrowed in teasing suspicion. He snatched it from her with a scowl.
"Well, I know you won't believe me, but murdering children isn't exactly on my bucket list," he drawled, scowl turning smirkish.
"You have a bucket list?" she mocked, clearly delighted. He leveled a glare at her. "Right, right," she giggled, "way too cool for a bucket list! …or a teddy bear." She said the last part in baby-talk, and attempted to take the bear back.
"Enough with the indian-giving!" he protested, holding it out of her reach. "It's my bear now!" Rory's eyes widened. He never would have admitted to her that the possessive reflex sprang from the time a few years back when he'd realized that the few childhood toys he'd possessed had wound up in the dumpster. It was embarrassing how much that hurt. As if he needed more proof that his mother couldn't care less. Hates me. Sure, she hadn't been herself when she'd done it, but…still.
"And only-child syndrome rears its ugly head…" Rory joked, by way of commentary.
Jess rolled his eyes. "Says Rory Gilmore," he scoffed. Yeah, he had only-child syndrome!
"Hey!" She was indignant. "I resent that!"
"You started it," he accused. She folded her arms across her chest.
"I was unaware that we were having an argument," she said tersely. "I thought this was nearing the end of a somewhat pleasant date."
"Don't you mean double-date?" he grumbled. "After all, it was more me and Clara, and you and Dean." Her mouth tightened into a sour look.
"You told me that you understood. You told me you weren't mad, and that you believed me."
"I do."
"Well, that's not what it sounds like to me! It sounds like you're really mad."
"Well, I'm not," he insisted.
"You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?" she pouted.
He knew that. He lowered his head and stopped walking. "You can have it back…doesn't matter," he said softly, not meeting her eyes…not holding out the bear…just wishing he knew how to apologize with his mouth. He hadn't meant to ruin the evening…again.
"No." She was looking at him, wanting to look him in the eye, but he still didn't look up. "I was just teasing. I gave it to you."
"I'm not mad," he reiterated softly. "I'm a jerk, but I'm not mad."
"And, you really do believe me?" he asked, her quiet voice simultaneously uneasy and hopeful. He nodded.
"END FLASHBACK," Jess told himself forcefully. He couldn't bear remembering the making up, the sweetness, how what followed was ironically one of those rare moments when all of the planets aligned and the two of them shared a world all their own, where everything made sense and everybody was happy, where the stars and the glittering snow and the twinkling lights seemed magical, and their dazzling reflection in her eyes made him lose his breath…and the ability to think unhazy thoughts, where their kisses sent shivers and warmth through him at the same time, and the soft gasps from her smiling lips clouded thickly in the cold air. Those times were forbidden from his memory now. For all the good it did. She was gone…really, truly, 100% gone, and he had to make himself believe it. Somehow.
He looked at the dilapidated bear and deliberately changed his train of thought. Midget Forrester…how old would she be now? He didn't bother with the mental math because he realized he didn't know how old she had been then. Prob'ly graduatingish. And the Jolly Green Giant - wonder what he's up to? That's right, he got hitched. Kirk's semi-accidental insults as he rang up all of the ladies' items Dean was buying still couldn't help but prompt a not-so-smothered smirk. It faded a moment later. So, what was he doing in Rory's dorm that night? AND, we're right back to the Town Princess! In nothing like record time, but we're supposed to be improving here!
Back to the bear. Back to Clara's yammering. He started to wonder how old she had been then…and how long it would be until he had one just like her. Wow, I'm gonna do just great! He shook his head angrily at the thought, irritated still further by the realization that a very large part of him still wanted to ram the stuffed animal down her little jabbering throat.
What business have I got being somebody's father? …a little girl's father…
"Look at me, Jess. I'm not a father. I was never a father. I left you because I wasn't a father. I mean it, the minute the cigar was finished, I was like, 'What do you think you're doing? You can't take care of yourself. How are you gonna take care of someone else?'"
"Great! Backpedaling already! I should've expected it."
"Shut up!" he said aloud to the Jimmy and Shane voices in his head. He wasn't taking off! He wasn't backpedaling! Didn't he deserve just a little time to absorb this? After all, most guys at least got nine months. Jimmy had nine months! Was it so unreasonable to be a little overwhelmed?
He sat down heavily on the bed, the once-white bear still in his hands. Wouldn't it be about right for a three-year-old girl? That thought came with a pang in his chest. No. How many years had he been dragging that thing around? It was gray and dingy, and probably full of all sorts of germs. Couldn't let a little girl put that in her mouth. Three-year-olds still put things in their mouths, right? He tried not to let his conscious mind chide him for his excuses…tell him that it could be washed…tell him that a three-year-old wouldn't mind that it wasn't perfect. He couldn't let those worlds collide. He couldn't let this dingy, old, piece of trash bear belong to anybody else. It belonged to…
He threw it violently into the box and strode purposely out of the room, slamming the door. Now was not the time to pack. He couldn't process any more right now.
