Chapter 21
Davis
The punching bag swings wildly after my final hit. I’ve been pummeling it for the last hour, but as I unwrap my hands, zip up my sweatshirt, and leave the gym, I feel as if I’m the one who’s been pummeled.
I’ve somehow made it through the day though, and each one that follows will be easier. I return to my loft, strip off my gym clothes and take a long, hot shower, washing away the remains of the day.
I pull on jeans and a casual button down, but don’t tuck it in, then find my phone and dial the nearby Chinese takeout. I place an order, but when I hang up something feels eerily familiar and I can’t quite place it. I furrow my brow, trying to pull the memory to the surface. Then it’s there as I flash back to a few nights ago. When Jill said Chinese takeout was her favorite food. When she also said she thought about us so much it scared her. Then I remember last night on the dance floor when she very nearly told me how she felt.
“Do you think everyone knows?”
“Knows what?”
“How we feel.”
Those words echo loudly, clanging in my head, reverberating around my whole apartment. Like neon lights blaring on. Like a goddamn marquee in Times Square. The sign that was in front of me the whole time, but I didn’t see it until now.
We.
How we feel.
I rewind the night once more to be sure, replaying every moment with her, every word, every second. Then further, back to the diner when she told me she wasn’t going to spend time with Patrick anymore, then to the restaurant when she told me about the last guy she was with.
How she hurt him.
I’ve always sensed she’s hiding something, hiding her true self. I’ve always believed she wants to be seen, wants to be understood, wants to be known. And now, twenty-four hours after she ran away from me, my gut is finally talking to me and it’s telling me loud and clear there’s something else going on.
I’ve always known when she’s acting. She wasn’t acting with me.
Jill wasn’t using me, I was never a career move for her, and Michele’s advice isn’t the reason she took off last night. When she bolted it wasn’t about me, or us, or what’s been happening over the last several weeks. It was something that goes back much further for her. It’s about her, and it’s about why she hasn’t been close to anyone in a long time.
Whatever it is, I’m not walking away without understanding her.
I reach for my wallet, slip on a pair of shoes and grab a jacket. Then I leave, and hail a cab. On the way, I call the Chinese takeout and cancel my order. I don’t call Jill because I don’t want to talk to her on the phone. I want to see her in person.
Soon, the taxi pulls up to her building in Chelsea, and I’m at the door in seconds, pressing the buzzer.
“Hello?”
It’s not Jill’s voice.
“Hi. I’m looking for Jill. This is Davis –”
But I don’t even finish. I’m already buzzed up as a voice calls out through the speaker, “Second floor.” I head up the concrete steps, my shoes echoing in the stairwell. I reach the second floor, and I realize I don’t know the number of her apartment, but I don’t need it. There’s a woman with light brown hair holding open a yellow door.
“I’m Kat,” she says and extends a hand, and it’s weird that we’re shaking hands at a time like this. But formalities still exist even when the woman you love is running from the world.
“Davis Milo,” I say. “But you knew that, evidently.”
“I had a feeling you might be coming. Come in.” She ushers me inside and it’s strange to get a glimpse of Jill’s life and where she lives, and immediately I survey the living room with its old beaten up couch, a coffee table with a silver laptop on it, several necklaces, and a vase of flowers. There are framed posters on the wall of Paris and a photograph of the first woman to run the Boston Marathon.
“She’s kind of a wreck right now,” Kat adds, then gestures for me to follow her down the hall. “She didn’t really feel like talking to me. But I have a feeling she probably wants to see you.”
I stop walking. “Really?”
Kat nods. “She likes you. A lot. And I’ve never seen her like this. She’s usually the happiest person in the world.”
I nod, but say nothing. Because she can be the happiest person, and she can also be the saddest.
Kat knocks on the door to Jill’s room, and I wait, more nervous than I’ve ever been. Because I don’t know what to expect.
“Come in.” Her voice is empty, devoid of any emotion.
Kat opens the door, lets me in, and closes it behind me, leaving us alone.
Jill’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail and her face is scrubbed free of makeup. She’s clutching a letter in one hand and her phone in the other as she watches a video. Next to her on the red comforter is a brown box that’s been opened and looks to hold mementos, photos and letters.
“You’re here,” she says in a monotone.
“I’m here,” I say, and I have no idea if she wants me to stay or to go.
“My brother’s coming to town tomorrow,” she says in the same dead voice.
“Yeah?”
I lean against the closed door. I haven’t been invited in technically so I don’t want to sit next to her, even though all I want is to be with her.
She nods, staring at the screen on the phone. “Have you seen this video?” She doesn’t look up at me.
“What’s the video?” I ask, playing along, even though I really want to ask what the f**k is wrong, and why she ran out, and when’s she going to tell me what the hell is going on in her head. But the moment is a delicate one, and she’s not even truly present. She’s someplace else, and I have to find a way to bring her back.
“My brother. Well, his girlfriend. She was on the Helen show a couple months ago.” Then she plays the video on the phone and I hear the talk show host saying in an affable, friendly voice, “I can’t imagine you’ve had any trouble finding takers though. So where do we stand in your quest? You’ve been dating JP and Craig and this guy Chris, but we never saw the video from that date. Are you really going to go through with this? Are you going to walk down the aisle?”
There’s silence from the woman in the green shirt sitting next to Helen, so the host continues. “What I really want to say is can I help you pick out your dress? Maybe help you get a tiara for your hair, a little princess crown or something? And maybe we can schedule your wedding to the Trophy Husband winner to air on TV too?”