JESSIE:
"Delivery!" Kelsey's cheerful voice fills the room as I struggle to concentrate on my take-home midterm.
"I'm not in the mood today, Kels. My brain is fried and I just want to get through this weekend without murdering someone." I don't bother looking up, choosing instead to ignore whatever Dean has chosen to get my attention and gain my forgiveness.
"But Jessie, these are—"
"Don't want to hear it, Kelsey!" I slam the pen down on top of the packet of papers. Yanking the elastic tie from my hair, I massage my scalp in hopes of relieving a bit of the throbbing from my tension headache.
It's Valentine's Day weekend. As if that weren't enough of a reason for me to despise the world and every pathetically happy couple in it, today is also the thirteenth. And a Friday. Not that I needed any special reason to hide under the covers all night, but spilling a full coffee on Kelsey's car seat this morning, tripping up the stairs in my lecture hall, and breaking my boot heel coming up the walkway on my way home pretty much sealed my fate as a shut-in for the weekend. The universe must be quite proud of itself.
"They're from your dad!" Kelsey yells, interrupting my internal brooding and self-pity. I blink up at her, confused. Dean has taken to sending me letters, flowers or something equally intriguing since our blowout two weeks ago. There's a pile of unopened letters shoved in the back of my closet along with a small square box I'm terrified to see inside, and a jungle of orchids, roses, lilies, and sunflowers in varying stages of death all around the apartment. So naturally, I assumed the large bouquet of assorted pink and purple flowers were from him.
"Oh. Okay, well, gimme," I say holding out my hands like a child grabbing for a toy.
"Brat." She hands over the flowers and closes the door on her way out.
Smiling at the cheerful blooms, I pull out the envelope tucked in the center that says 'Love, Dad'. Unfolding the small note, my heart aches a little from missing him and the rest of my family. Then I read his message and it aches for an entirely different reason:
Don't walk away from love.
Run toward it with everything you have.
You've fought long and hard enough.
You can breathe now.
Breathe Jessie, and follow your heart.
Wherever it leads you.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I wipe away the traitorous tear streaking a wet path down my cheek. I love my dad, but he doesn't know what I've been going through. He can't understand how much it hurts when the person you love gives up on you, then comes back to rub salt in the wound. Sniffling, I grab my cell phone and walk over to the window to watch the sun set over the hills while I wait for him to pick up.
"Hey, baby girl." His warm, familiar voice incites another round of silent tears.
"Hi daddy," I say quietly, dragging a sleeve across my eyes.
"I guess you got my Valentine's Day gift, huh kiddo?" He chuckles lightly.
I sniff loudly and sigh into the phone. "Thanks dad. The flowers are beautiful. I think you should leave the card writing to mom next time, though."
"Jessie, I just don't want to see you make the same stupid mistakes your mother and I made. We almost let them tear us apart, and then where would we be? Giving up isn't in you, just like it wasn't in your mother and me. And if I know that boy like I think I do by now, it's not in him either. Tell me he hasn't been finding some way to make sure you can't forget about him, not even for a day?"
I think about the letters, flowers… "I guess you could say that."
"I figured as much. Dean loves you so much, Jessie. And love makes men stupid. Trust me on that one. No dumber is a man than when he can't see beyond the woman he's fallen ass over end for."
I give a watery laugh and lean my forehead against the windowpane. "What do I do, daddy? He messed up, but so did I. How do we come back from it all?"
"You can't fix the past by dwelling on it, baby girl. Forgive each other, forget the mistakes, keep your sights set on the future, and have faith. It's all you can do."
A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I let his wise words sink in. "So, when did you become Relationship Yoda?"
"Oh, I'm sure your mother will have some interesting theories about that to fill you in on one day. Now go, before you let that brain of yours talk you out of it."
"Thanks dad. I love you."
"Love you more."
I tap the screen to end the call and toss it on my bed. If I'm going to get Dean back, I'm not doing it in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt.
This was such a bad idea. Such an extremely stupid, amazingly horrible idea. I'm not going. I'll stay in, order food with Jamie, and worry about fixing Dean's and my relationship tomorrow. Or, you know, Monday. Maybe in a couple of weeks when finals are over. No need to rush.
Chicken shit. Even my internal monologue thinks I'm full of it. I don't know why I'm so nervous. He wouldn't still be sending things if he didn't want to try and work things out. Then again, the last three days have been quiet. In fact, the last thing he sent was a letter. Maybe he was telling me that he's done waiting on me to stop being such a bitch and that we were over for good. Damn it, why didn't I open it before?
Knocking a few sweaters out of the way, I reach for the small stack of envelopes tucked in the corner on the top shelf of my closet. Sitting on the bed, I hesitantly slide my finger under the flap of the first one. Inside, instead of a letter, there's just a piece of notebook paper with a hilariously bad stick figure drawing. Above the female stick figure, distinguishable by the triangular skirt, are the words 'Most Amazing Girl in the Universe'. Next to that is a male stick figure who seems to be kneeling down, sans skirt, with an arrow and the words 'Total Douche Bag Begging For Forgiveness' scrawled above his head. I laugh and tuck it back in the envelope.
There are two more similar cartoons in the other envelopes, then I finally come to one with actual writing on it, dated over a week ago. They're not Dean's words, but those of several different authors scrawled across the page, speaking of love and regret and forgiveness. From song lyrics, to poems, to lines from books, I recognize almost every one. I take care folding this page back up.
There is one letter left, and that little square box. Curiosity gets the best of me and I reach for the box first. I peel back the brown paper and toss it on the bed, hesitating over the lid. On a deep breath, I lift the lid and my gaze rests on the square picture frame. Of course the photographer would try to tug at the heartstrings with a picture. As the cool, metal frame rests in my hands, I recall the day this picture was taken. It was just after Christmas and we had a good bit of snow back in Philadelphia. Dean came over and, like a couple of kids, we spent the day making a snowman, rolling around in the mushy wet mess, and making snow angels. As we lay on our backs looking up at the sky and the fresh flurries started to fall, Dean took out a little disposable camera and snapped our picture.
I stare at the shot for a long time and remember how happy we were, just over a month ago. So much has changed. I bring the frame closer so that I can see the engraving along the top:
A love worth fighting for…always.
My hand travels to the chain around my neck and the gloves hanging from it. Through all the drama, I never took it off. I flip it over and read the inscription on the back, mirroring his message on the picture almost exactly. With a deep breath, I set the photo aside and pick up the last envelope. Foolishly, I hope it's another silly cartoon. Somewhere deep down I think I know it won't be. This is the last thing thing he sent, and that was days ago. With shaky hands, I open the single sheet of paper and read the few lines penned there:
Dear Jessie,
I'm sorry. You win. I won't bother you again.
Love,
Dean
What? But...I don't want to win. Not if winning means I lose him. He's just…giving up? I knew I waited too long. I just never imagined he would give up on me. Always, huh? I guess always means different things to different people.
Feeling stupid and heartbroken all over again, I tuck everything into an empty shoebox and shove it into the bowels of my closet. Dragging my feet, I leave my room and plop down on the couch. All dressed up, literally, with nowhere to go.
Jamie comes out of his room and hops over the back of the couch, landing next to me. "Why so melancholy, sis?" He slings an arm over my shoulder and tugs me closer to him.
"It's over," I tell him in a vacant, detached voice.
"What's that?" he asks, not following my unspoken train of thought.
"Me and Dean. It's really over. His last letter…he threw in the towel. It's done. We're done." Too empty to cry. Too tired to fight. I continue to stare at the blank TV screen while Jamie shifts beside me.
"You know what you need?" he asks after a moment.
"Nope. But I'm guessing you're going to tell me."
"First Szechuan. I know how you love their hot and sour soup. I just put in an order for us about five minutes ago. Do you mind grabbing it? I'm waiting on my Drafting professor to post grades and I don't want to miss mine."
Perplexed, I look at Jamie to see if he's serious. He cocks an eyebrow and hands me a couple of bills. "Um, sure. Don't mind my emotional devastation. As long as you get your Moo Shu pork, all is right in the world."
"That's why I love you J. You get me."
I grumble about him being an insensitive jerk, but snatch the money and Kelsey's keys from the bowl by the door anyway. Maybe the fresh air will help to clear my head and I'll be able to think of something other than curling up in the fetal position until this wretched weekend is over. Plus…soup.
The drive to First Szechuan is not nearly long enough. At least you don't look as bad as you feel, I think as I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Before I went through Dean's mail, I had gotten ready with the intention of telling him that enough was enough and we needed to start fresh. People know I mean business when the flatiron comes out. The knee high boots and high-waist black skirt that flares out mid-thigh might be a little much for Chinese food pickup though. I tug the hem of the dove gray cropped sweater down over my stomach as I walk into the restaurant, feeling more than slightly overdressed and exposed.
"I'm picking up an order, please. It's under 'Jamie'," I tell the woman behind the counter. She speaks to the other person at the register before telling me there is no order under that name. Confused, I step away and call Jamie on my cell.
"Hey, I'm at the restaurant but they don't have your order. You sure you called it in to the right place?" I ask in a hushed voice.
"Oh, you know what? I forgot. I asked someone else to pick up the order before you and I talked."
Seriously? I really don't need this right now. "How do you forget that? And I have Kelsey's car, so who the hell did you have pick it up?"
"Picking up an order under 'Jamie' please?"
Oh please no. He wouldn't. He didn't. I turn my head slightly and look over my shoulder trying to find the source of the voice, thought it's pointless since I would recognize it in my sleep. I see the back of his head and whip mine around again before he can catch me.
"Jamie, I'm going to dismember you and dump your parts in the L.A. River!" I hiss into the phone.
"In case you didn't catch on yet, there's no order. Have fun figuring your shit out! You can thank me later."
The line goes dead and I stare at the phone in shock. The little traitor. I look around for another exit but know that the only way out is to slip behind him and out the glass doors leading to the parking lot. He seems to be engaging in the same bewildered conversation I just had with the ladies behind the counter, so I take my chance and slide along the wall trying not to make a sound. My hand finds the door handle just as Dean turns in frustration. Our eyes lock and my heart leaps behind my ribcage like the disloyal organ that it is. I blink once, twice, three times and then he takes a step forward. Adrenaline finally surges through my veins and I flee like the coward that I am.
Halfway across the parking lot, I slip on a wet plastic bag and these damn boots. I land on my ass, hard. Trying to stand up while keeping the skirt covering all of my unmentionables proves harder than you would think. A hand reaches down to help me and, closing my eyes in defeat, I take it and do my best to ignore the surge of warmth that races up my arm at the contact.
"You okay?" he asks, looking me over for any serious damage.
"I'm fine," I reply quietly, trying to tamp down on the embarrassment. The heat I feel creeping into my cheeks alerts me that my attempts have been fruitless.
"Date?" His voice holds the slightest hint of bite.
"Huh?" Not sure what he's referring to, I finally allow my eyes to look at his face. It's like a punch in the stomach, the way the air leaves my body. He looks…bad. I mean, he's still beautiful, don't get me wrong. But his facial hair has grown out to very un-Dean-like lengths, and there are deeply etched bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. There's a vaguely gaunt look to his face and I wonder if he's been eating regularly.
"You look amazing," his voice softens, seeming to respond to my unspoken inventory of his face. "Seeing how it's Valentine's Day weekend and all, I figured maybe you were heading out on a date."
The flutter in my chest is smothered by sadness when I realize his words drive home what he said in his letter. He thinks I'm going out with someone else, because it's really over.
"No, no date. I thought I was picking up food for Jamie, but apparently the jerk set us up. Sorry he dragged you out here on a Friday night. You've probably got plans you need to get to."
This night could not get more awkward, and I could not seem more pathetic. Brushing off the back of my skirt I take a step in the direction of Kelsey's car when his hand closes gently around my wrist.
"We're already here. It'd be a shame not to at least grab something to eat, right?"
Trying to tell my body not to react to the small smirk on his face is futile. The scruffy look actually makes his features seem sharper, more intense. Sexy. Totally aware that he hasn't bothered to release my arm, I nod and he moves from my wrist to my hand. With our hands wrapped around one another, we walk back to the restaurant entrance and the connection gives my confidence a boost. Forgetting his words in the letter, I take a chance.
"I didn't get dressed up to come pick up food for Jamie."
"I was wondering about that…" That smirk again. Oh lord.
When we're seated across from each other next to the darkened windows, I swallow the hesitation and spit my words out in a rush. "I was coming to see you."
"Excuse me?" He looks up from the menu and I swear his eyes could melt glass.
We're interrupted when the waiter comes to take our order. After handing off our menus, Dean gives me a look, urging me to continue the conversation.
"I wanted to talk to you. To see if we could… well, yeah, anyway. I was going to come see you, then ended up reading your last letter. I-I realized I was too late. That's about when Jamie kicked me out to pick up food. Now, here we are."
Dean sips his drink but says nothing, a contemplative look on his face. Our food comes out and in my head I thank the chef for quick service so that I have something to shove in my mouth to keep it from moving anymore. An awkward silence lingers as we chew, sip, chew. Just when I can't take it anymore and am about to make small talk about the weather, Dean finally opens his mouth.
"Do you want to take a walk with me before you head home?"
Not sure why he wants to drag out the awkwardness, I'm about to decline so I can go home and nurse my dented pride.
"Please?" Oh that face. Why did he have to use THAT face? The one he knows I can't resist. The one that makes even my firmest resolve melt away to nothing.
"Sure. Let's go for a walk."
A/N: Last update from my apartment! Just made settlement on a house, hence another delay. I swear, guys, once I'm settled in my new house I will do my best to get back to the weekly updates. Until then... 3 -SAM