Page 39 of When Stars Collide
“Hi,” he answered quietly.
“What are you still doing awake? Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head. “No, I was, but then I woke up thirsty and came in here to get a glass of water.”
“You know what? How about I get it for you.”
He smiled, nodding his head.
I took a few short steps into the kitchen and began searching for the drinking glasses. “Now, if I were a glass,” I began, opening the silverware drawer, “where would I be?” I followed that up by cracking open the stove, much to Jackson’s amusement.
“On the shelf,” he giggled.
“Oh, that’s right.” I threw my hands up into the air. “This shelf?” I asked, opening the pantry door.
“No,” he laughed, pointing to the shelf next to the sink, “that one.”
Following his instruction, I opened the door, revealing Peter’s drinking glass inventory. “Would you look at that? This is certainly an odd place to keep glasses.” With a shake of my head, I plucked two plastic cups from the bottom shelf and filled them each with water from the refrigerator’s water supply.
“You’re funny,” Jackson observed, taking the cup from me.
“You’re all right yourself.”
“I know.” He plopped down on the couch in the living room with his glass of water.
Nope, certainly not Peter’s kid at all.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
He shook his head, patting the seat next to him. “Did you find your wedding dress?”
The water in my throat began to make its way back up, but then abruptly became fixated in my esophagus, creating a choking sound that blossomed into quite the coughing fit. Jackson stared at me, horrified.
“Are you dying?”
I cleared my throat, nodding my head. “Just about. Did you think I was looking for a wedding dress for myself?”
“Sure, you’re going to be in a wedding, aren’t you?”
“Ah, I see your logic. Yes, you’re absolutely right, I am going to be in a wedding. Elle and Luke’s wedding.”
“Yeah, duh, that’s what I meant.”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
“You looked really scared.”
“That’s because I was.”
“I get scared sometimes, too, but I deal with it.”
“Oh?” I asked, setting my glass on a coaster on Peter’s coffee table. “What do you do to help you not feel so scared?”
“I find some place to hide where I can be by myself. My nana has a tree house in her backyard. I go there. It’s up high and no one ever thinks to look there.”
“And what makes you scared?”
“I don’t know—clowns, heights.”
