There's a highly annoying, incredibly persistent barrage of knocks being rained upon my apartment door, and I am beside myself wishing that whoever it is would simply vanish off the face of the earth forever.
I've spent the last week holed up in my apartment after coming back from Wisconsin. Mostly because I caught one hell of a cold that won't seem to release its grip on me, but also because I really am just not ready to be an active participant in my own life yet. Both Jake and Felicia insisted that I not spend Thanksgiving alone, but it was something I had grown used to over the years—making this one in particular hard, but not unusual for me.
Mariella has graciously given me a generous amount of time off from work, doing what she can to get as much of it to be paid as possible. Felicia has come by to see me once. She insisted on standing in the doorway, as her fear of catching colds and sickness from people overpowered her desire to comfort me in person for too long. She dropped off a new pretty green plant and some books, which is really all I could ask for.
Jake's been busy with practice and games ever since we got back, and he just drove upstate to be with his family over the holiday weekend. He's been trying his damndest to come over any chance he gets, but I keep turning him down—I most certainly didn't want to be the one who gets him sick, especially before driving up to see his family.
He got back yesterday, and he'd mentioned having practice today and then checking in with me when he was headed home to walk Huey. I hadn't planned on moving from my couch burrito position until he called, but whoever this fuckhead is pounding on my door has other plans.
With a string of colorful curses, I pick Clover up and off my chest, his disgruntled meows trailing after me as I walk around the pile of boxes from my mom's house and make my way to the door. Looking through the peephole, I let out a gasp, along with a "You little shit," as I see Jake with what looks like food containers tucked under his arm along with flowers.
Shaking my head, I fight the smile spreading across my face and attempt to look as disgruntled as possible as I crack the door and peek over the chain.
"You were given very specific instructions to not come here, Bryers."
"I tripped and fell onto your doorstep. Oops." He bends down to where my face is, and I pull back quickly before he can even think about kissing me and my gross cold.
"How the hell did you get in without buzzing?" I watch with raised brows as he draws in a huge breath, and I can tell a tale is coming.
"First off, I nearly had to fight that little old lady with the white yipper dog who has definitely seen me here a few dozen times by now. Secondly, I'm pretty sure she cussed me out in some ancient language when I snuck through the door, and I'm probably cursed now. Thirdly, if you don't open the damn door, I will be forced to take drastic measures, and we both know this door is no match for my masculine determination."
With a nice long eye roll at all of his dramatized trauma, I sigh and try to fend off the smile twitching on my lips. "Okay, okay, fine."
I close the door to get the chain unlocked, and sneak in a quick adjustment of my messy bun and do some tugging on my unintentional gray sweatsuit combo. I admit defeat in the looks department and curse under my breath as I reopen the door to my overeager golden retriever.
There he stands with a wide smile on his face, showing off his prized mustache as he steps forward to place a kiss on the top of my forehead before strutting inside with a "Merci." The faintest hint of his post-practice shower cologne makes it through my clogged sinuses as he breezes by me, and I can't help but appreciate his unexpected presence a little more.
"You know I still find it fascinating that you somehow failed to mention you're fluent in French until you just so happened to stress speak it."
He's already in the kitchen, jacket off in a short-sleeve gray tee, kitchen towel on his shoulder as he opens the containers of food he brought before rummaging for pots and pans. With his back turned as he flips on burners at the stove, I whip out my phone and get Google translate ready for what he's about to rattle off to me.
"C'est un petit secret amusant à découvrir, non?" My phone follows quickly with, "It's a fun little secret to discover, no?"
He tsk's me as he pours what looks like delicious homemade soup into a pot, followed by placing what looks to be turkey in a pan to heat up with some kind of divine smelling sauce.
"Just ask me to tutor you, Chirpy. I'm more reliable than Google."
I slide into a stool at my kitchen island, propping my chin on my hand as I watch him work.
"As soon as I kick this horrible head cold, I'll be able to tell you to fuck off fluently wihtout your assistance, monsieur."
He laughs as he starts tossing away all the old, gross takeout containers spread across my counters, tidying up all the disasters that have accumulated while I've switched between napping on my couch and sleeping in my bed. After he's stirred and adjusted the heat on everything appropriately, he turns around and leans onto the island with crossed forearms.
"That's 'va te faire foutre', so you can get a head start on practicing," he says with a wink. I flip him the bird with my middle finger pressed to the tip of my nose, and he laughs as he tugs my hand away from my face and holds it in his own on the counter.
"You're in an awfully good mood. I take it your trip upstate to see the family was good?" He brings my hand up to his lips for a kiss before reaching up to adjust his hat, which is currently backwards—my favorite position.
"Oui. Mom and dad always love having the extra help to get farm shit done, and Alice gets her power from sapping my life force with her high levels of annoyance and constant, incessant badgering." He kisses my hand again before he turns back to the stove, tending to the leftovers that are filling my small apartment with heavenly aromas.
"Speaking of which, mom insists that you come up with me for Christmas," he's quick to turn around and resume his position leaning against the island. "And before you protest, just know that she is the most determined, unyielding French Canadian woman to ever live, and she will personally come and take you from this apartment—Liam Neeson style."
Resting my chin on both hands, I screw my face into a half-hearted grimace, accepting my fate pretty willingly. "I suppose it's only fair that they finally meet the girl you've been dedicating goals to and traveling to the middle of nowhere Wisconsin for."
"Don't worry, my parents are the least of your concern. It's my rabid, half-crazed little sister you'll need to look out for," he reaches out to tuck a strand of loose hair from my bun back behind my ear. "You'll be beyond well fed and spoiled by mom and dad—just steer clear of being cornered by Alice, and you'll be golden."
Wrinkling my nose, I toss my head back and forth as I consider needing to work on some basic French, good manners, and just generally being a decent person to be around in a little less than a month. Right now, all of that feels close to impossible. After being isolated in my apartment for days on end, being presentable and likable feels like too steep of a mountain to climb.
"Let's hope my poop is more grouped in a month than it is right now." I let out a mighty sigh, suddenly wishing I'd at least brought myself to shower today.
"Ne t'inquiète pas, Gazouillant," he gives me a wink over his shoulder as he spoons hot soup into a bowl for me. "That's 'don't worry, Chirpy'. You'll be right at home with them just like you are with me. Plus, they'll be too focused on embarrassing the ever-living shit out of me to be worried about anything else."
We end up eating the insanely good leftovers at the kitchen island before Jake insists I go sit on the couch with Clover while he cleans up. I sit stroking Clover's sleepy head for a while before Jake makes his way over, plopping down and tucking his arm around me. Resting my head against his shoulder, I settle into his familiar warmth and feel the most at ease I have in quite a few days.
"Did you go through anything yet?" he asks as he strokes my arm softly. I look over to where his gaze is drawn to the pile of boxes by the front door. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I debate whether or not I feel like going down this path with him right now. It doesn't take much for me to make up my mind, considering he showed up to my apartment, made me a meal, cleaned up my depression messes and wants to sit close to me even though I'm positive I've got a distinct un-showered funk going on.
"Yeah, a little. It's mostly a lot of keepsakes from when I was a kid, family photos from her side of the family and when I was growing up." I pause, fidgeting with the fingers on Jake's hand that I swear are always permanently cut or scraped in some way. "There's also some stuff from school in there that I didn't know she kept."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" I give him a pat on the leg before I stand up and walk over the top-most box, pulling the flaps open and grabbing a stack of papers and photos that I looked at earlier this week. I hand them to him before sitting back down, curling myself back into his side.
I look on with a heavy heart as he thumbs through what I've given him. There are photos of me from when I was in high school with the kindergarten classes I used to volunteer in as often as I could. There are acceptance letters to colleges in the midwest with prestigious teaching programs. There are handwritten notes from teachers expressing how wonderful it was to have my help, and how gifted I am with teaching others.
It's a thick stack representing a dream that was single-handedly crushed by a guy who sunk his talons into my heart and wouldn't let go until he bled me dry.
"What is all this, Harper? What am I looking at?" His voice is taught with emotion, suddenly much quieter than before. I lean my head onto his shoulder again, grounding myself in his comforting warmth as I try to find a way to explain one of the most painful truths about my life.
"Growing up, I always wanted to be a teacher. I always loved helping my peers, and as I got older, I loved tutoring kids who needed extra help. A teacher of mine suggested I volunteer at the elementary school to see if I would like it, and she was right—I loved it." I watch as my fingers stroke his arm over and over again, soothing myself as I try to get this off my chest for the first time.
"I was so close to going to college in Minnesota for teaching. I had acceptance letters, scholarships lined up, everything. But Charlie convinced me otherwise." I swallow hard against the lump in my throat, my vision blurring as I stare down at the painful memories Jake's still holding in his hand.
"All he ever did was tell me how stupid I was for thinking I would be a good teacher. He told me I would never leave our small town, that I'd get knocked up, whether by him or someone else, and be a worn-out mom like I was meant to be." For the fucking millionth time in the past few weeks, tears fall from my eyes.
"He convinced me I was nothing, and I spent so long hearing it, that I ended up believing it. By the time my mom managed to help free me from his grip, I just wanted out. I was too afraid to stay, too afraid to try going after what I really wanted. So I came out here and settled for something that felt second best."
I watch through watery eyes as he gingerly sets down the stack of photos and papers on the coffee table in front us before shifting his body towards me. He places his finger under my chin, tipping my face up so he can see me. My face crumples as I look up at all the tenderness in his green eyes. He still has his silly mustache, the one he got just to make me smile.
"Why would you leave behind the best parts of yourself? He took them away, but you can reclaim them. Your dreams are still waiting for you. They're still yours. He dulled your shine because he had none. You don't need to be dim for anyone, Harper. You're free to be you, free to live your life. There's no reason to mute yourself anymore. I want you to believe in yourself, because I've never believed in anyone more than I do you. You're magnetic, Harper. You're electric. You can do anything, be anything. It's never too late. Ever."
All I can do is look up at him and ugly cry. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling myself into him as he squeezes me tight. I don't know what I've done in my life to deserve the adoration and unending support of this man, but it's changing me in ways I never dreamed possible. He rubs my back as I sniffle and shake, being every bit the patient man I've come to cherish over the past few months of my life.
"Have you opened the letter from your mom yet?" His words are murmured onto the top of my head into my hair, his warm breath on my scalp sending shivers down my spine.
"Not yet," I pull away from him, wiping my eyes and composing myself yet again—something that's becoming just as natural as breathing to me at this point after so much fucking practice recently. "I started going through the boxes, and after I got through a few, I just couldn't bring myself to read it yet."
He places a soft kiss on the tip of my nose before helping with some of the stray tears still on my cheeks. "That's okay, Chirpy. You take your time. It's not going anywhere."
Resting my head on the back of the couch, I smile as Jake turns his attention to Clover, who has persistently been rubbing his head on Jake's arm to get his attention. I can hear Clover's vibrating purrs as Jake scratches his head, his eyes squinting shut as he's overcome with the goodness of finally getting the love he's been demanding.
"I think the mustache is starting to grow on me," I contemplate out loud as I revel in the sheer joy of watching him croon to my sweet Clover boy. I even reach out to stroke over the thick brown hair covering his upper lip, savoring the feel of it under my fingertips.
Jake grows very concerned, going so far as to put the back of his hand against my forehead and look at me with intense worry and scrutiny.
"Êtes-vous d'accord? I think you must really be unwell." He shifts closer to me, bringing his face right in front of mine. "Here, give me a few kisses so we can make sure you mean it."
I make a very half-assed attempt of pushing him away, my hands barely pressing against his chest. "If I get you sick your coach will kill me."
"He'll understand that the power of the mustache knows no bounds, mon chéri."
Grabbing him by the chin, I lean forward to kiss him as we both smile like the two dorky idiots we are. He gives me several pecks on the lips before moving down my neck, eliciting giggles of glee from me as I cradle the back of his head.
"Now," he says as he suddenly stands up from the couch, sending Clover jumping. "Let's finish cleaning up this apartment and get you in the shower, Chirpy girl."
Before I can protest his mother-hen behavior, I find myself being hauled up and thrown over his shoulder, earning him more laughs from me as he effortlessly carries me down the hallway.
"Are you telling me I stink?" I let out a sharp squeal and laugh harder as he winds up and gives my ass a firm smack.
"I'm telling you I want you wet and naked."
He gives my ass a playful squeeze as he walks through my bedroom and into the bathroom, and I can't help but think to myself that this little life of mine might just end up being alright with a ray of sunshine like Jake around to help me through lows that would've eviscerated me on my own.