One Week
Part Two
A/N: Since this story's set in the future, I estimated Mark to be around the age of 43. This story also takes place in a week, hence the title "One Week". Thanks to all my reviewers. You guys rock. 3
Monday-
Mark's POV—
*//
The door…"DAD! Door!"
I sat in my office for a minute, editing scripts as usual, when my thirteen-year-old daughter Nicole started hollering from the other room. Did she just say door? We rarely had visitors anymore, besides Maureen and Joanne, and it wasn't Thursday. They always stopped over for dinner on Thursdays to basically check up on me and find out how Nicole was doing with school.
"Nic, don't shout, you're gonna wake up Roger," I yelled back. After a slight pause, I heard him shuffling around in the other room.
"Too late," I heard him groan. Sighing, I shoved the scripts to the side and walked over in the direction of the door. Whoever it was could wait as long as it took for my ass to get to them. I heard Roger's light snores drone out the sound of the music Nicole was listening to as I flung the door open.
"Yea?" I questioned, squinting down at the young girl standing in front of me. She looked familiar, with her dark curly hair complimenting her crystal blue eyes. It was definitely a strange combination.
"Hi, um…are you Mark Cohen?" she asked. She was about my height, possibly a few inches shorter. I nodded, impatiently staring at her in the dim hallway light.
"That's me—"
"I know you probably don't remember me, or if you do, you um, don't? God, I'm so bad at this. I'm Jaylynn—" she said, her sentences jumbling together. I didn't answer for a few minutes. We both kind of, I don't know, mutually stared at each other. Trying to remember. Trying to forget. This couldn't be the Jaylynn that Roger and Mimi brought into the world together, nor could it be the Jaylynn that eventually ended up with Roger's mom in Scarsdale when Roger became a junkie again after Mimi died fifteen years ago. Could it? I blinked a few times before she cleared her throat.
"Davis?" she tried. I could see she was desperately hoping that I could help her in some way. When I didn't answer, she started chewing on her lip and shifting from foot to foot. "Maybe…I thought…maybe I have the wrong person," she added.
"No! No, I'm Mark. Shit, I'm sorry; you must think I'm an asshole. I just, it's been awhile, you know?" I replied. I could immediately see some of the color come back into her face as she stepped into my loft. Roger's loft. Our loft. Whatever.
"Yeah, it has," she answered, setting her bag down by the door.
"So, um, how have you been?" I was so bad at this initiating conversation crap.
*//
Jaylynn's POVI barely knew him. I mean, he was practically a stranger, but he was a stranger that was asking me how I had been. That had to mean something, didn't it? Sure Mark, for the past fourteen years of my life I've grown up without a mother, father, or any close family besides my grandparents. Oh yeah, and there's the little secret that never goes away, no matter how many people I can tell or how many doctors I go to. I was born HIV positive because both my parents were drug addicts. Great life story, huh? It's a lovely feeling when the only thing you know about your parents were that they were junkies.
"I've been okay. Surviving, I guess," I lied.
"Make yourself at home. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" he asked, heading towards the kitchen. I shook my head, although I was starving. I just wanted to get this over with as fast as humanly possible. He nodded and sat down, his eyes darting back and forth to a room across from the couch.
"Look, I don't want to bother you anymore than I already have, but I came all the way from DC to basically ask you some questions. Find out some answers about my parents. I know I probably don't have that much time left, but I feel like I owe it to myself to know and cope with everything then to die wishing I had tracked you down," I started, noticing Mark contently listening. He probably had been preparing himself for this, for me, for a while now. I heard a door open and close softly, and Mark quickly looked over his shoulder. A girl in her teens, dressed fully in a leotard and sweatpants was standing off to the side, staring at me with a confused look on her face.
"Dad? Who are you talking to?" she questioned. She plopped down on the couch next to him, still staring at me. Jesus, why do people feel the need to stare at me all the time?
"Nicole, this is Jaylynn. She's an old friend," he added.
"Hi," I smiled. Nicole smiled back.
"You're pretty. I don't mean to stare, but you have a dancer's body. Great turnout. Do you dance?"
"Thank you, and yes, I actually used to dance, ballet," I replied. At least she had an explanation for the staring. Most people didn't. A knock on the door sounded a few seconds later, and I jumped slightly in the worn out chair I was sitting in. Nicole bounced over to answer it. I looked over and noticed a woman in her late thirties standing in the doorway, dressed in a white strapless dress and matching stilettos. She looked important, almost as if she continually had somewhere important to go. Her light blonde hair was twisted into a knot at the back of her head, and a smile adorned her face. At least she looked approachable.
"Hi sweetheart, ready to go?" she asked. She poked her head in some more and smiled warmly at Mark and I. "Hi Mark," she stated. I could see the spark in her eye when she said his name, even from across the room. There had to be something there.
"Jackie," he said, trying to avoid her stare. It was a little odd, but I didn't want to think anything of it. It wasn't my place. I barely remembered the guy, let alone remembered him well enough to go prodding in his personal life.
"We'll be back around seven. Need anything from the store?"
"No, we're good, thanks," Mark answered. I kind of wished she would leave. I just wanted to get my questions answered and hopefully find a cheap hotel to stay in for the night.
"Okay. How is he?" Jackie continued, lighting a cigarette. I hated smokers.
"He's sleeping. I think this might be the last stage. He goes to the doctor's on Wednesday. I'll know for sure then," Mark stated. Jackie blew out a smoke ring and nodded.
"If there's any change, let me know, okay? Please don't hesitate Mark. I know things may not be great between us, but I love him as much as you do," Jackie motioned for Nicole to leave, and softly closed the door behind them.
"Sorry—"
"It's okay. I just want to know everything. Anything you want to tell me, at least," I added.
"Before I do that, let me ask you an honest question. What do you know about your parents?"
"I know that they were junkies and they were both HIV positive. So am I," I replied. I didn't know a whole lot. Mark nodded, almost as if trying to figure out where to begin. "I just want to know their names. Their names, and why everything happened the way it did," I added shortly after.
"Roger and Mimi. " Mark paused briefly, lost in thought.
"I know—I know there's so much I don't know, and I don't really want to bother you with everything in one day. It's just overwhelming, to me, and it must be really hard on you. I mean, I don't clearly remember living here or you, for that matter, but I just feel at peace when I'm here. It's just really comforting to me," I added. Great, now I'm making this sound like a soap opera. "I know they've both been dead for years now, and I don't want to upset you any more than I already have. I should probably go for today, I still have to find a decent hotel around here," I trailed off. Mark was staring at his hands. A dead silence filled the air, the only sound coming from the buzz of the heater.
"That's not all true," he said. I looked up at him.
"What's not true?" I questioned, confused by his tone of voice.
"Your dad, he's, well—"
"Dead? Yeah, I know," I replied. I had no idea where Mark was going with this.
"Not exactly. He's well…alive. God knows what made him hold on for this long, but he's sleeping in that bedroom," Mark pointed. My eyes followed.
"How…is that possible? I mean, the doctors—" This wasn't possible. You had ten years minimum, less if you were exposed to more diseases. Fifteen years was considered a lucky shot. You could die at the drop of the hat. The doctors tried to make their predictions, but you honestly had no way of fully knowing. You gave every day everything you had.
"We always thought Collins would be the one to last this long. Collins was our backbone after Mimi—your mother, died. He pulled Roger through a second bout of withdrawal and then one day he just stopped doing the things he loved to do. Not because he gave up, but because he physically couldn't. He was too tired to teach. He couldn't stand long enough to walk to the Life Café after another one of Maureen's shows. Your dad surprised us all. I think he's been holding on for you. He's wanted to write you, see you for years now, but he just never—he didn't think it was his place," Mark finished with a lump in his throat.
"Okay," I couldn't physically say anything else. In reality, I was pissed. Upset. Even a little distraught. Mark started rambling on and on about people and places and things that I had little to no recollection of. Come to think of it, I remembered Mark and Collins. They were the two people that stuck out in my memory the most compared to all the other names that had been floating around. I tucked my legs under myself and sat there, chewing on my lip again. I was lost in my thoughts until my stomach growled hungrily. I checked my watch. It was nearly 5 PM, and I hadn't eaten anything all day. Mark must have heard, because he laughed. If he hadn't laughed at exactly that moment, I think we both would have broke down in front of each other.
"You must be pretty hungry, plus I know it's definitely not
a good thing to take your pills on an empty stomach," he added, walking over to
the phone on the wall. "Chinese takeout okay?"
"Yeah. Can I make a phone call somewhere?" I questioned. Mark nodded and placed the order. I slipped into a room that resembled an office and shut the door behind me. I slid to the ground and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, dialing Chris' number. Everything was starting to hit me, and it was like a sledgehammer crashing down on my skull.
"Pick up dammit," I whispered, resting my head on my knees.
"Christopher Walker's summer home. Some are home, some are not," he stated goofily. I didn't answer right away. "Hello?"
"Hi," I replied meekly.
"Jay? Where are you? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Typical Chris to ask fifty questions.
"I'm here. At Mark's apartment," I started tracing circles into the hardwood floor.
"How is he?"
"He's nice. It's hard. It's really hard, Chris," I whispered, starting to cry. I tried to muffle my sobs, not wanting Mark or Roger to hear them. "My dad's not dead," I added, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.
"What? Is that possible? Have you talked to him?"
"No. He's sleeping. I don't know—I don't think he has much time left," I finished. A soft pause followed, and I could hear some ruffling on the other end. "What are you doing?"
"Packing. I'm taking the 7 PM to New York City. I should be on your doorstep by midnight latest,"
"Thank you. Just you, okay? I don't really think I could handle Michelle right now," I tried to laugh.
"I know. I'll see you in a few hours. I love you," Chris added, before I was hit with the dial tone. I took a few minutes to calm myself down and then opened the office door slowly. Mark was sitting at the island in the kitchen, scribbling something down on some sheets of paper. Not quite sure what to do with myself, I leaned against the wall. Mark noticed and smiled, tapping the barstool next to him.
"I don't bite, but I can get pretty annoying. Just ask your dad," he laughed. I smiled, twisting my thumb ring. The food should be here within the hour, that is, if they don't get lost, although they should have us on speed dial by now," he finished. Mark was a great person to be around. He just knew exactly what to do to make you feel comfortable.
"Thanks. It's just a lot for me to take in, and plus what I don't already know, which I'm assuming is a lot—well Chris, my friend, well sort of boyfriend, from DC is taking a 7 PM train to New York City to be with me—for moral support…" There I went with the babbling. Mark seemed to overlook it.
"It's not a problem. You both can stay in the office. The couch in there is an old pullout,"
"I could just go to a hotel…I mean…" I suggested, even though a part of me really wanted to stay here.
"Are you kidding? Me, put you up in a hotel? Maybe you really should have eaten something before you took your pills," he laughed, stacking his papers together. I was about to get up to drag my duffel bag to the office when I stopped and turned around, staring at him.
"Hey Mark?"
"Yea?"
"It's okay to be scared, right? I mean, scared of meeting my dad, and scared to die, right?" I questioned. I automatically felt stupid, but I admit it did feel a whole hell of a lot better to get out then keep it in.
"I'm even scared to live sometimes. And yeah, fear is a normal part of life," he responded. I nodded briefly before I walked away.
"Thanks Mark, for everything. Even everything I don't know about yet—"
*//
I spent the next hour unpacking and thinking. There was a small, empty dresser in the corner by the frosted window, so I decided that I'd claim the top two drawers and Chris could have the bottom two. I stopped checking my watch twenty minutes ago, finally realizing that midnight would come when it wanted to. A knock at the door interrupted my packing, and I realized that Mark was standing there watching me.
"Food's here, and I just wanted to let you know that you can go and see him, if you want. I mean—I understand if you need to take your time, but I know it would mean a lot to him," Mark softly walked away, his footsteps echoing on the floor. I was only a room away. I knew what I had to do. Before I could chicken out, I stepped out of the office and paused briefly. Almost as if he had sensed it, Mark pointed to the room in the middle of the loft. I turned and gripped the doorknob lightly, half expecting it to burn my hand. I opened the door slowly, ignoring the creak it made, then shutting it behind me. The room was larger than it appeared, and messy. A dusty Fender guitar sat in an adjacent corner along with a music stand and scattered sheet music. I tiptoed over to it and flipped through the sheets, pausing on "Musetta's Waltz". Absentmindedly, I started humming the notes. It was beautiful and haunting, matching the atmosphere of the room. I placed the music back down and decided to sit on the edge of his bed. Roger was pale, and thin, but his bleach blonde hair caused me to smile. He looked like he was in a light sleep, judging from the snores he emitted. I didn't know what else to do, so I figured I could talk to him for a little while before Mark came to check on me.
"Hi Dad. Wow, that sounds completely foreign. Dad, it's Jaylynn. I don't know what to say, but I want you to know that I'm here. I came back. I wish I could have met my mom, and I was hoping when you feel up to it, you could tell me about her?" I stopped then, because the tears were flowing freely down my cheeks. I placed my hand in his and kissed it lightly. I quickly left the room, closing the door. Mark was waiting outside. He handed me a tissue and gave me comforting hug.
"You did great—"
*//
After I ate and took my pills, I told Mark that I was going to go lie down for a while. He said it was fine.
"Dammit, Mark! What do you expect me to say to her? I was a shit excuse for a father and I know she forgives me but it doesn't change anything!"
"Roger, be quiet! She can hear you, you know! Why don't you say it to her instead of me? You're so goddamn stubborn sometimes!"
"Fine, then maybe I will! You're such a fucker Mark,"
My eyes drifted open briefly at the shouting. I heard the office door open slowly. I quickly shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep again. I didn't need the confrontation right now.
"Hi Jay, I know you're sleeping right now and—" he paused a little, coughing, "god, you look just like your mom and I'm sorry, I just want you to know I'm sorry for letting you go. I love you, and I never stopped. I just don't want you to hate me forever—" Roger paused, and I felt him lightly kiss the top of my forehead. The door slammed shut behind him.
This was all just fantastic. Nothing was getting solved easily. Huffing angrily, I propped myself up on one arm and stared out the window. I couldn't hate someone I barely knew, and I didn't expect to leave here with a father. I hadn't had one for a good chunk of my life, and I find it hard to believe that a week can patch things up between us. Technically, he wasn't even supposed to be alive, but…
But what?
So he beat the odds, and I should be happy, right? It's what I wanted all along, isn't it? The chance to meet him, even if for a minute, just to know he was alive.
He was alive, and so was I. No day but today, right?
Right?*//
I don't think I slept as much in one day as I slept waiting for Chris to arrive. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness, checking my watch and watching the minutes past by. At approximately half past midnight, I heard voices in the loft whispering to each other. I turned over, facing the door. It opened seconds later.
"Jay—"
"What time did you get in?" I questioned, stifling a yawn. Chris flung his duffel bag into the corner and automatically joined me on the worn in bed. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head, wrapping the comforter around us.
"Ten minutes ago. You didn't hear me talking to Mark?" he asked. I shook my head no and curled into him, resting my head finally on his chest.
"I think I fell asleep again," I added. Even in the dark, I could see his forehead scrunch up in concern.
"Do you feel okay? You're not getting sick on me are you?" he laughed.
"I'm already sick," I pointed out, playing with his blonde spiked hair.
"Let's not talk about that right now, okay? Mark said we can stay here as long as we need to," he said. I knew he was trying to change the subject. We didn't say much of anything for a good twenty minutes.
"You know what? We should get married," Chris blurted out. I glanced over at him, not knowing whether he was being completely serious or acting like a moron.
"We're sick," Hello, Chris? We're dying.
"Jaylynn Davis, cut it out with that shit okay? I'm just as sick as you are—"
"This is romantic," I laughed. Chris shrugged.
"Hey, what can I say. I'm a romantic guy?
"I'm going to sleep," I replied, flipping on to my stomach.
"Did you just turn me down?" he asked. I could feel him pout next to me.
"No—"
"Did you say yes?"
"No—"
*//
The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed and the smell of bacon. I looked down and noticed that I didn't even change out of my clothes last night. Sighing, I pulled out a hoodie and a pair of jeans and attempted to tame my curly hair. With no luck, I decided to just throw it half up and half down and traipsed into the kitchen. The whole loft was like one big room. The kitchen and living room weren't even divided. The only things that were separated were the bedrooms. From a distance, I saw Mark, Roger, and Chris sitting at the island, eating, talking, and laughing. I walked over and sat down next to Chris, who placed his hand in mine under the table.
"Morning," Mark greeted, placing a stack of pancakes and bacon in front of me. Roger was just kind of—staring at me. I felt like telling him to stop being an asshole, but I resisted the urge.
"Your mom used to wear her hair like that," he said, pushing his food around his plate.
"Oh—" I replied. My fork clattered loudly on the plate. Mark noticed the tension and cleared his throat loudly. He attempted to talk about hockey, but Chris was the only one enthusiastically contributing to the conversation.
"Maybe you should tell me about her," I shot back, more angrily than I should have. The conversation ceased. I could see Mark debating whether or not he should step in to play peacemaker.
"Maybe later—" I cut him off.
"How about now? I didn't come here to sit and pretend like everything's okay. Maybe someone could fucking tell me what the hell I've missed since my parents just ran off on me," I spat. Chris rubbed my back softly.
"You wouldn't understand!" Roger shouted, slamming his hand on the table. Mark decided to use this moment to jump in.
"Roger!" he growled, glaring at him.
"What wouldn't I understand?! Then why don't YOU tell ME so I do understand!" Roger crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at me.
"I'll tell you," Mark spoke up. I looked at him, shaking with anger.
"Fine. Since my own father doesn't have the balls to," I retorted, glaring back at Roger.
"Enough!" Mark yelled. "I guess I should start with Christmas Eve, 1996—"
*//
We begin …A/N: Well, isn't Roger the feisty one? Okay, okay, he probably should be not…alive during this time period, but for the sake of my creativity and my plot, he is. There's eventually a point to it. On a sidenote, I'm going to Richmond on Thursday, so I'll try and post another part before I leave but I can't guarantee I'll have time. I'm not even packed yet. =(