Page 38 of Yours to Lose
“I’ve always wanted to be famous.” She sets down her coffee and stretches her arms above her head.
“Have you really?”
“No, not really,” she laughs. “God, can you even imagine? My particular brand of crazy is not for public consumption. Only the people who know me best get to see me let it all hang out. I don’t need anyone else’s opinions about who they think I should or shouldn’t be. I know who I am.”
“I think that’s my favorite thing about you.” It comes out before I have a chance to think about what I’m saying, and the look on her face is so surprised that I wonder if maybe I have forgotten entirely how to be a friend. How have I never told her how amazing I think she is? “You know exactly who you are, and you’re you, no matter where and no matter what.”
I’m staring out at the river, but I can see her looking at me, considering. “You don’t think you know who you are?”
I scrub my hand over my face, then focus my attention on the dark water. “I think I used to. But then Allie died, and at the risk of sounding totally morbid, I think the person I was died with her. I’ve mostly put myself back together, but I’m different now. I’ve made a kind of uncomfortable peace with it. Sometimes I think that all my friends, and maybe even my family to some extent, are just waiting for me to turn back into who I was before, but I’ll never be that person again. I know they’re just trying to be there for me, show me they care, but I guess a lot of the time, I wonder if who I am now is enough.”
Jo swings around on the bench so she’s sitting sideways, facing me. I turn so I can see her and when I do, her face is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. She lays a hand on mine and meets my gaze. “You are exactly enough, J, just the way you are. You had an earthquake in the middle of your life, and your entire foundation shifted. Of course you won’t be the same person you were before. You’re building a whole new life, and you’ve had to do it without the person you loved most. That’s an impossible thing, Jordan, and you’re doing it. I know I don’t know you as well as your family and the rest of your friends do, but for whatever it’s worth, I like the person you are now. I don’t want you to be anyone except for him.”
I take a deep breath to try and steady myself as her words sink in. A little shaken by how deeply touched I am, I turn my hand over and lace my fingers through Jo’s, liking the way our hands fit together. “It’s worth a lot, Jo. I think…” I stop and clear my throat, and she squeezes my hand like she can sense how close I am to losing it. “I think I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to say that to me.”
“Well, then I’m glad I was here to say it.”
“Me too, Hurricane. Really, really glad.” I think for a second about the other thing that’s been on my mind that I haven’t mentioned to her. I decide that if I’m ever going to ask, now’s the time. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Why me?”
Jo screws up her face in thought. “Why you what?”
“I mean, why are you doing all of this for me? I’m sure you have better things to do during your summer in New York than spending all your time with a grumpy surgeon who low key hates his job and may or may not be drowning in grief.”
Jo tilts her head to the side, studying me. “The night I saw you in Hallie and Ben’s backyard, you looked like you needed a friend. And when I found out I was going to be in New York for the summer, it felt kind of like a sign. I’m an excellent friend, J, and I really like being yours. Summer is more fun when you do it with a friend. And as for the rest of it, I think you have the job you have now because it was what you needed at the time, but it doesn’t have to be forever. And I don’t think you’re drowning in anything. I think you’re doing just fine. Like I said, I don’t want you to be anyone except for who you are. I see you, J. And I think…” Jo fidgets, wrapping the string of her hoodie around her fingers, as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen her. “I think maybe you see me too.”
I study Jo as the truth of her words sinks in. I do see her. I remember what she told me about friendships not always coming so easily to her, and I realize I’m not the only one on this bench who needed a friend. That I can be a friend to her the same way she is to me makes me happy in a way I haven’t been. Not since Allie died and Jo walked into my life. Her friendship is important to me. I want to be worthy of it.
“I see you, Hurricane. I think, maybe, we both needed a friend.”
Jo smiles and nods, shivering a little as she tugs the hood of her sweatshirt up.
“Cold?”
She shrugs and lets go of my hand, bringing her knees back up to her chest. “Kind of. Shorts seemed like a good idea for running around Manhattan all night. Less of a good idea for sitting by the water at dawn.”
“Want to head back?”
“Absolutely not. Are you kidding? The last item on the list is a sunrise picture with the Statue of Liberty in the background. We didn’t brave the five train at four in the morning to wimp out because of a little wind.”
I chuckle, and the sound is unfamiliar to my ears but not at all unwelcome, I find. I wait for Jo to say something about hearing me laugh for the first time, but she doesn’t, and it tethers me even more strongly to this moment with her. I hold my arm out. “Come here.”
Jo smiles, tucking herself into my side. I wrap my arm around her and notice for the first time that she smells like cupcakes, and having her leaning against me like this feels comfortable, like a tiny piece of myself I didn’t realize was missing fitting perfectly back into place.
We sit there like that as night turns to day, Jo’s head on my shoulder and my arm around her, the sounds of our breathing and the water of the Hudson lapping against the shore surrounding us as the sun peeks up over the horizon, bathing the Battery in a soft-orange glow.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she says, her voice quiet and tinged with exhaustion.
“It really is.” I tighten my arm around her, and she lets out a happy little sigh. I like the sound of it.
“We need a picture.”
“For sure. Can’t have you missing out on your moment of glory.”
Jo shifts, sitting up to look at me. “I’m not sending the pictures in.”
