My therapist. Our daily check-in.
Jack: I ran yesterday and today. I ate three meals. I turned down a beer. Today, I’m contemplating cross stitch.
Constance: Sleep?
I love how she always ignores my attempts to engage her. It causes me to try harder.
Jack: Four hours, give or take.
Constance: Ditch the cross stitch for meditation. It’ll do more for your sleep. And stop with the give or take. We all know what your give or take means.
Jack: That’s a first.
Constance: Don’t settle in for more. Tell me you’re not alone.
Jack: I’m not.
Constance: Good. And get your ass into gear and text me at our designated time tomorrow.
Jack: It’s always a pleasure, Constance.
Josephine found Constance for me after I went through three new therapists at the beginning of my recovery. I refused to attend AA, instead relying on rehab, therapy, Ashton, and Josephine. The thing I was reminded of was that there are some shitty therapists out there. Constance then reminded me that there are some fucking great ones too. She’s been giving me hell ever since, in between helping me save myself.
I go back to watching Jessica who is now sitting at the table, madly hitting keys on her laptop. Fuck, I could sit here and watch her all day.
I’m ten minutes into doing that when she glances up and looks outside. Her eyes find mine a second later and I let my mouth curl up into the smile she always inspires. She doesn’t return the smile. She watches me for a few moments before going back to her laptop.
I fucking love her fight. And I’m settling in for a lot more of it because if there’s one thing I know about this woman, it’s that she won’t hand her heart back to me easily. I don’t want her to either.
I hurt Jessica in the worst way a person can hurt another, and I need to make amends. Whatever she needs from me to do that, I’ll do. And if the journey involves her busting my balls in all the ways she wants, I’ll give her that. Every fucking minute of the day if she needs it.
My phone buzzes again.
Mum: I’m going to come stay with you.
Jack: You don’t need to. I’m good.
Mum: Don’t argue with me, Jack. A mother is allowed to be concerned about her son.
Jack: Yes, she is, and I appreciate the hell out of it, but I’m being honest when I tell you I’m doing okay. You stay there and keep up with looking after yourself.
Mum: I can look after myself at your place.
Fuck, I’m trying not to let her know Jessica’s here because her imagination will run away with all sorts of ideas. And while they’re ideas I fully support, I don’t support any possible disappointment she may experience if things don’t go down the way she wants them to. On top of that, Mum suffers arthritis and manages it with a good routine that includes regular physical therapy. Coming here will interrupt that routine.
Jack: Jessica is here.
Mum: Why didn’t you say that? When did she arrive? How long is she staying?
Jack: She arrived yesterday for a week. Ashton is coming after that. I’m good, Mum. I’ll come see you soon.
Mum: You better, Jack.
Jack: Love you.
Mum: I love you too xx
After I landed in hospital last year, Mum was beside herself with worry and unable to fly to LA to see for herself that I was okay. I flew out to spend some time with her three months after I left the hospital, but Constance encouraged me not to stay too long because she believed it important I establish a daily routine at home and stick with it for as long as possible. A week with me wasn’t long enough for Mum, and while she hasn’t asked me to come home again, I know she’s wanted me to.
Pushing my chair back, I stand and make my way inside.
Jessica looks up from her computer when I slide the door open. She acknowledges me briefly before going straight back to her work. When she asked me earlier what my plans were for the day, I noted the tone of her voice and her body language, and knew I was in for the cold shoulder from her today. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do my best to engage her regardless.
“Are you ready for lunch?” I ask.
“I’ll make something for myself soon.”
I ignore the distance in her voice. “I’m going to make a salad. I’ll make enough for you and put it aside for when you’re ready.”
“I don’t feel like a salad today.”
I grab the chopping board. “Okay. How about a sandwich?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yoghurt and fruit salad?” Jessica used to dedicate entire meals to yoghurt and fruit salad. I always wondered how anyone could eat that much yoghurt.
“No.”
“Hmm,” I muse, running through other options in my head. “I could knock up a meat and cheese platter. We’ve got olives too if you want some.”
She finally stops tapping away on her computer and looks at me. “I’m quite capable of making my own lunch, Jack.”
“I’m well aware of the fact you’re quite capable of doing anything you put your mind to, but I’d like to make you lunch today.”
She stares at me, and I see the internal war happening. “I’m here for a week and then I’m going home. You need to know that’s all this is going to be.”
I nod. “Got it.”
Her brows pull together, and she stands. As she comes towards me, I take in the black leather pants stuck to her legs, the red blouse she’s paired them with, the jewellery, and the heels she’s wearing. Jessica is stylish as hell, even out here in the Australian bush. I’m certain she wouldn’t know how not to be stylish. I’m also certain she wouldn’t give up her heels if she lived in the bush. “I don’t think you do, Jack,” she says, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter to me. “And I’m concerned that if you continue thinking you’ve got it, your recovery will be put at risk when this is done, and I go home.”
“Sweetheart, let’s just enjoy this week, as friends, and not worry that I’m getting the wrong idea.”
“We’re not friends, though. We haven’t been for a long time.”
“I’d like to change that.”
I’m sure she misses a breath as she processes that. “I wouldn’t.”
I give her a few moments to sit with that before challenging her. “Why not?”
This time, she doesn’t miss any breaths. She inhales one long one. “You know why not.”
“What I know is that you coming here shows me how much you care about me, and that kind of care is what I believe friends show each other. So I’m a little confused here.”
Her eyes search mine for the longest time, and then she says, “I’m not sure why you’re confused. Our friendship ended the minute you ended everything else. You can’t expect me to give more than I am.” She looks down at the chopping board. “Don’t make me any lunch. I’m suddenly not hungry.”
I watch in silence as she packs her laptop up and heads into her bedroom.
I deserved that.
I more than deserved that.
And now I know what I’m working with.
I don’t care if it takes me a lifetime to earn Jessica’s friendship, it’s now my mission in life. And I don’t care if she tells me not to make her lunch, dinner, or breakfast, I’ll make them all for her. One day, she might be hungry again.