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Chapter Twenty-Three
Jesse
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” George doesn’t even bother to knock. The door slams against the wall and he lets it hang open, bringing the drone of a neighbor’s lawn mower in with him. “What the hell, Jesse?”
Betty ran from her perch on top of my chest at his intrusion but my heart rate hasn’t slowed yet. “You scared the crap out of me.” I sit up, facing him on the couch.
He stands in the doorway, judging the mess that is my house with the same distaste he had the last time he showed up unannounced and stared down at my sweaty chest.
“It’s been forty-eight hours. Why are you not on her doorstep groveling?”
I flop back down on the couch. “I tried that,” I mutter. “I fucked that up.”
He makes a disgusted sound. “Figures.”
“What the hell, George.”
The door closes and I follow the sound of his footsteps to me. His face comes into view over the back of the couch, looming and grumpy-looking.
“Grump Face,” I say.
“What?”
I sigh. “Nothing.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
I shrug. “Why?”
He taps hard on his phone. “Just scheduling the intervention.”
“No more meddling, George. You promised.” I feel punch drunk, except the person who punched me is me.
He launches himself over the back of my couch, plops down beside me. “That was before you...” He leans over, sticking his nose directly into the armpit of my favorite T-shirt. “Smelled like that. When was the last time you showered?”
With Lulu. “My stomach hurts,” I say.
He grumbles in a way that sounds like “serves you right.” My stomach hurts, my skin feels too tight. I’ve had a tension headache for the last two days and I called in sick to work last night. “This was supposed to help,” I say.
“What was?” George looks at me like I’m very much the dumbass that I feel like right now.
I shrug again, leaning on my old crutch: silence.
“Indulge me for a moment,” he says. “I’m getting this PhD and all. When confronted with the reality ofmorewith Lulu, something real and not just some secret from your other friends, all you could think about was being alone.” I rub at my chest, leaning more of my weight against him. “And you decided not to risk losing her.”
I open my mouth to argue but he holds up his finger to silence me. “You decided not to risk losing more of yourself.” He looks at me, with far more compassion than I probably deserve right now. “You were so scared of being lonely, you tried to protect yourself. But now...”
“I’m alone.” The words catch in my throat.
“Oh, Jesse.” George opens his arms and I fall into them, my head on his chest, his heart beating in my ear.
“I don’t want to be alone again, George. I can’t be alone.”
He pets my hair, pressing his mouth to the top of my head in a prolonged kiss, benevolent and protective. “Oh, Jess,” he says again. His voice is soft, tender. I miss her, madly, but in this moment, between this breath and the next, I don’t feel so alone.
“You won’t be alone, Jess. You’re only as alone as you force yourself to be.”
“I don’t.” I sniffle. “I don’t really know what that means.”
