Page 21 of And Now, Back to You

They skipped seventh grade because they were both reading at an advanced level and got bored in their classes. They’re smart and kind, and wildly funny. They both made the volleyball team, though I think Adeline is more interested in hiding in the library. But she didn’t want Penelope to be alone at tryouts so they did it together. They still do everything together.

You would know this if you really did care, I almost say. You would know this if you stuck around.

But I don’t, because she doesn’t deserve to know.

“Fifteen,” my mother repeats.

“Yes.”

“That’s . . .” Her voice drifts. “That’s incredible. I bet they’re fun. Are they fun?”

I stay quiet.

“Don’t tell me they’re little pencil pushers like you.” She laughs and it slithers beneath my rib cage. Twists into something harsh and ugly that pinches and prods. “I swear, Jackson. You were the most serious little boy. You would write your schedule down in your school notebook and tape it to the refrigerator. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember.” I glance at the file cabinet in the corner of my office and the habit I never figured out how to kick. The days of the week are labeled in neat, color-coded dry-erase maker.

I feel a hot flush of embarrassment.

“You’ve gotta make sure you’re giving those girls fun, Jackson. Teenage girls need fun.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, Jack. Don’t be a stuffed shirt. You’ve got to live every once in a while. You don’t want your sisters to end up like you, do you?” A laugh bursts out of her, prickling at my skin. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

I am this way because of you, I want to snap. I want to twist my words like knives until they hurt. You made me this way. Utterly reliant on systems and routines and habits so I can fucking breathe.

Instead, I say, “Thanks for the advice. I’ll take it under consideration. I’m hanging up now.”

And then I do. I hang up on my mother and place my phone carefully to the left of my keyboard, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Again. Again.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call and I pick it up.

“What is it now?”

Silence fills the line. Then, “Is that how you always answer the phone?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This fucking day.

“Not usually, no.” I dig a knuckle into my eye, then adjust my glasses. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“A jilted lover? A loan shark? Who inspires that level of venom from Jackson Clark?”

I slump back in my chair. “How did you get this number?”

“Your loan shark,” Delilah answers, light and breezy.

“Is this loan shark named Maggie?”

She snickers. “This loan shark is named Aiden Valentine, and he left your phone number taped to my car window.”

“Of course he did,” I sigh. Asshole.

“I thought the note thing was your move.”

“Apparently, not just mine.” I pick up the dry-cleaning bill I found stuck to my window this morning and a reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. Some of the tight feeling in my chest disappears. If nothing else, Delilah is an excellent distraction. “What can I do for you, Delilah?”

“You and I . . . we need to talk.”