Page 32 of Not Falling for the Forward
“You don’t ever have to apologise to me for having emotions,” he replies. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Yes, I do want to talk about it, but not right now. That’s not how I process these things. Right now, I need to sit in silence with my thoughts but not be alone with them. I need someone to be in my space but not need me for anything. I need them to be there for when I am ready to offer my little titbits of information and to eventually talk through the whole thing with me from start to finish. But that makes me the most selfish person on the planet and no one has everbeen able to do that for me. So, I wallow alone and lean into my hyper independence. When I lived with Chris, I would message him that it had been a rough day and he would be out of the house before I was home so I could work through ‘one of my moods’ alone.
I think about Jack seeing me like this and decide I don’t want him to, so I reply, “No.”
I hear him release a quiet sigh, but he doesn’t push, instead he asks, “Where are you?”
“Sat in my car in the car park.”
“Didn’t you finish an hour ago?”
“Yeah,” I release a small laugh, “Can’t seem to muster the energy to drive home.”
“Want me to pick you up?” he asks, and my eyes widen in shock.
“You would do that?” As soon as the question has left my lips, I know the answer. Of course he would do that. He is a good man. Dependable. The first one to offer help in a crisis. The kind of guy that sees you standing at a bus stop in the rain and offers you a ride home.
“If you needed me to,” he says it so matter-of-factly that it makes a small smile tug the corner of my mouth.
“Thank you,” I say. “But I think, I should be okay to get back. It’s not the first time I’ve driven home in tears, I doubt it’ll be the last.” I try to joke, but it falls short.
“What are you having for dinner?” he asks, probably trying to distract me.
He is not going to like my answer. “Cereal or toast, depends if I’m feeling warm or cold food when I get home,” I reply, cringing.
The last few weeks I have got to know Jack he has been very forthcoming about his passion for food. Fuelling the body is very important to an athlete and he grew up in a family where the dinner table was seen as the gathering place, where they would join every night and talkabout their days. I was the opposite. As a teenage girl it was plastered everywhere that skinny was the best way to be. Size 0 was in, and with my natural curves, size 0 was never going to happen. So, food became less about enjoyment and more about seeing how little of it I could eat without passing out. It trained me well for my busy shifts where sometimes all I have time to eat are the little packets of patient’s biscuits that no staff ever steal from the kitchen, ever.
“That better be a joke,” Jack replies, sounding fed up.
“I don’t cook after a long day, and that’s pretty much all I have in.”
“I can be at yours in 30 minutes, I’ll cook for you.”
“Jack, no, really.”
“I don’t mind, I haven’t eaten yet and I enjoy it.” He cuts me off. He doesn’t get it. He’s going to come to mine and expect me to chat and be fun and fucking smile.
“No, Jack. It’s—it’s not that…” I start.
“Then what?”
“I’m just not going to be good company tonight.” I sigh, hoping he will understand.
“Talk, don’t talk. Cry, don’t cry. Whatever. But you are eating and that’s that.” He hangs up before I have time to protest further.
I guess Jack is coming over for dinner.
***
Jack
As per her former request, I asked Emily before coming to her house. It may have been more of a demand than a request, but she needs someone. I’d like that someone to be me.
I had known something was off when she hadn’t replied to any of my messages. I don’t expect her to be constantly on her phone, but she does always manage to shoot me a quick line at least once on her break. When she still hadn’t replied nearly an hour after her shift had finished, I decided to ring her. Boy, I’m glad I did.
As soon as she answered the call my heart sank. There was none of her usual brightness in her voice, when it cracked and she started sobbing I was ready to murder whoever had made her feel that way. All I had gained from the slight detail she had given me was that she needed to go home and not be alone. I want to be the person she calls when she doesn’t want to be alone.
As soon as I had gained her permission—AKA hung up before she could decline—I had packed up the steaks and veggies that were in my fridge and set off in the hope of arriving to her house at the same time she did. I was probably speeding because I beat her here.
