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“Kenzie also said—and I am just the messenger here—that Phoenix is not allowed to have more than two coffees today, and I am supposed to give you this instead.” He holds out the thermos. “Peppermint tea.”
I grab the tea, wishing Jared didn’t have to remind me it was peppermint, the scent I know I will always associate with Jackson, and now betrayal.
Jared glances around and asks, “Sam inside?”
Jackson’s head instantly pops up “Sam? As in your friend Becca’s husband?” A slow smile spreads before he can stop it, his shoulders dropping an inch.
Turning to Jared, he says, “And you must be Mack’s boyfriend.”
“I hate those relationship descriptors, but yes, Kenzie is my one-day future wife.” He then mutters to himself, “If I can ever get her to agree.”
Then he straightens, pushing his glasses up his nose slightly, and asks “Are you here to help move Phoenix too? Friends from work?”
“No,” I respond louder than necessary. “He is not a friend, and I don’t work there anymore.” Thanks to him, I almost add.
“It’s true,” Jackson muses, turning to look straight at me, “I don’t like that descriptor for us either. ‘Friend’ doesn’t really fit, does it, Sugar?”
He. Did. Not. “You’re right,” I force out in as sweet a voice as I can muster. “Friend is much too strong a term for what we had.”
Something flickers across Jackson’s face, gone before I can name it. He takes a couple of steps back towards his car.
“I’ll let you get back to it.” He stops, then looks at Jared. “Unless you guys need some help?”
“Yeah, man, it would go faster with another set of hands,” Jared answers, oblivious to the situation he has walked into.
“Actually, Jared, we got a lot accomplished already.” Turning to face Jackson, I say, “Your services are not required. Or needed.”
Jackson holds my gaze for one more second, then nods once. Not at me exactly, more like he is agreeing with something he has decided. Then he walks back to his car, driving away. And I realize that was the first time he has ever parked in the driveway, always somewhere hidden before today.
Jared watches him drive away and opens his mouth to say something.
“Jared,” I tell him, leaving no room for discussion.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he supplies while he removes the foil on the muffin tin and takes a large bite. “I was going to say the muffins are really good.” He takes another bite and talks with his mouth full. “Blueberry. Want one?”
Smiling, I grab it. “Come on, we have a few more things to move before the BBQ tonight.”
10
JACKSON
The door chimes, signaling my entry. I grab the red plastic basket and tick through my mental list of what I need for tonight’s barbecue. I think back to all Phoenix has told me about her friends. The way she would light up about their Zentrology nights. How she would describe their different cocktails, or the activities they participate in. My girl always pretended she went along with it for Nessa, but she looked forward to those nights more than anything else.
I grab the Humboldt Fog goat cheese that Phi mentioned Becca loves, the Pinot Grigio for Nessa, the Pinot Noir for Mack, and the Atlas Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon for Phoenix. I already picked up a growler of IPA from the local brewery for Sam, and all that is left is a hefeweizen for Jared.
Although she would never say these words out loud, these people are Phoenix’s family. The most important ones in her life, and asking me to meet them was huge for her. It was a moment I had been waiting for and secretly hoping wouldn’t come, at least not yet.
I pull up the map directions on my phone to Becca’s cabin. I haven’t been there before, but I researched it repeatedly since Phoenix’s invite. I drive slower over the dirt road, admiring the view of the winding river and ponderosa pines.
I may have grown up in Oregon all my life, but the trees here in Cascadia are different. Portland green is relentless, everything reaching for what little sun it can find. Here, the ponderosas stand far enough apart that the light actually reaches the ground.
Pulling off the road, keeping my distance from the cabin, I tell myself I was invited, and I said I was coming. As much as I haven’t proven it to Phoenix, I am a man of my word.
The sun is setting, painting the scene in a pink glow. A fire is blazing in a well-made fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs. The picnic table nearby has a large glass bowl filled with scraps of paper and pens beside it. I smile, hoping I walked into a Nessa Zentrology special.
I hear the chatter of people congregating around the property. There is a coziness to the atmosphere that doesn’t come from the fire. A feeling of a group that chose each other, and not through force or obligation. I am standing on the outside of this group with my wine-and-cheese offerings in the wrong kind of shoes.
Sam spots me first, recognition crossing his features. He bends down to a blonde woman standing near him, whispering something in her ear then kissing her cheek. The ease of this interaction hollows out my chest, but I push that aside as Sam moves deliberately toward me.
