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I didn’t expect the arctic front. I’ve thought about it every which way, anything to avoid bruising my fragile feelings. I grabbed his hand, and he held it briefly, the only reason I didn’t burst into tears in the bathroom.
His family watched his every move, so the haircut meant something to them. Jackson may be pulling out of a multi-year-grief period. He looks better, he interacts more.
I notice how he’s coping, though.
The several glasses of bourbon. The avoidance. Drifting through his loved ones’ conversations like a ghost.
I refused to let Jackson’s behavior ruin my night. I talked with Whitney and Papa; I talked to Tara, the owner of Gold Roast, and her friend, Owen, who have a similarly complicated friendship like Jackson and I have.
At least Owen is willing to admit he’s friends with her, ready to face the inquiries. I know Tara wants to, but Owen is hesitant. He’ll come around; I just know it.
Jackson, on the other hand…
It would be my ex all over again. At the end of the day, I want a man who wholeheartedly charges toward me without hesitation. It took Mark years of friendship to give me a chance after his ex-girlfriend dumped him. I can’t wait for another man to be ready, to decide I’m the one. The one would know immediately, and Jackson and I have been friends for a few months now. Besides one nice hug, there’s no hint I could be it.
That crushes me.
The least he could do is act like my friend, no matter what people we know say.
The day after Thanksgiving, I open the fence to leave the Holmstroms’ property with Jacques’s leash in hand to find Jackson standing there, ready to be my bodyguard. Like nothing happened.
“Hi.” He looks so handsome, with the gray in his temples and his glasses, and his Henley that hugs his chest. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he teeters on his heels.
Don’t get distracted, don’t let him off too easy.
“Hi,” I say curtly as I walk past him, the French bulldog thrilled and then immediately confused he can’t jump on him. Usually, Jackson gets in at least two hundred pets before we start walking with the squirming, grunting Jacques, but today, we ignore him.
I ignore him. Jacques keeps looking back, hoping for pets.
“Shiloh, wait,” Jackson says, taking two steps to catch up to me. Dang my little legs.
I try to smile, but I want to cry.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is sincere, and I want to crumble.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Shiloh, I was married, and I know that is a load of horseshit.”
I huff out a breath. “Why did you ignore me at Thanksgiving?”
“I got nervous. My whole family was there, and I didn’t want everyone to ask questions. You saw how everyone asked Owen a thousand times why he’s not dating Tara. I didn’t want the same thing for us.”
“We’re just friends. There’s nothing to report or to be embarrassed about. Are you embarrassed about me?”
“No,” he says. “It’s broad daylight, and I’m walking with you. Anyone can see that we’re friendly.”
“Then, why is it a big deal with your family? I just felt…ignored.”
He stops and turns me by the arm. The dog sits on its rump and looks up with us, the tongue flicking at rapid speed. He looks down at me. “It is a big deal.”
“Why?”
Jackson clams up and we start walking again, letting Jacques smell bushes. He lifts his leg every other foot and we do not talk.
“Am I your only friend?”
“I think so,” he answers.
