My apartment door opens, and a carefree Taylah waltzes in. I peek over my Kindle and watch her slide her black rimmed sunglasses to the top of her head, trying to keep her wind blown copper hair out of her face. Without saying a word, she hangs her body purse on the back of my door, grabs her Kindle, and curls up on the other end of my couch.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, hiding my face behind my e-reader.

“I think what you meant to say was, ‘Hey Taylah, How are you doing? It’s so nice of you to visit me instead of having breakfast with your mum.’”

“You mean you told your mum we had plans so you could avoid breakfast with her?”

Taylah and her mother have one of the healthiest but still dysfunctional relationships I’ve ever seen. Growing up with only her mum, they argue about everything, but support each other implicity.

“Tomayto, Tomatoh.”

“Well, you know the drill,” I say, pointing at her Kindle. “It’s Sunday morning and reading time. No talking.”

“Can we do something different today?”

“Absolutely not.” I shut her down instantly, reluctant to do anything but lay on my couch for the next eight hours.

“Yes.”

“You know, barging in on me wasn’t what I had in mind when I gave you the spare key to my apartment, right?”

“It wasn’t?”

“I recall words like ‘only use for emergencies’ being mentioned.”

“This is an emergency,” she cries dramatically.

I can’t help but laugh at her theatrics, even though I know she’s hurt by my choice to avoid everything and anything.

“I tried to pretend I didn’t notice or don’t care, but you’ve made me resort to speaking to Joe for information, and I need to know what the hell is going on?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I promise. “You won’t need to speak to him again.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Huh?” I act distracted by the words I’m reading, but Taylah quickly picks up on my diversion tactics and sneakily grabs my Kindle out of my hands. She raises it over head. “I’m holding this hostage till you spill.”

“There’s honestly nothing to tell.”

“Em, what is it?” Everybody has always called me Em, but now when she says it, I think and hear Jagger. I don’t want to think of him. “Honestly, it’s stupid. I just want to let myself wallow in it before I pack it up and move on.”

“Is this about your client? Jagger?” she asks with trepidation.

“He got out last week; he’s no longer my client.”

“Is that what you’re upset about?”

“No. Yes. Ugh.” Grabbing the cushion from beside me, I cover my face and groan into it.

Pulling it away from me, Taylah’s patience is wearing thin. “What is it?”

Sighing loudly, I decide to spill the beans. It’s going to sound ridiculous, may as well just bite the bullet. “It’s stupid Tay, I’m turning something into nothing.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about it.”

“I think Joe was right,” I blurt out.

“Geez, this is more serious than I thought if you’re giving dickweed some credit.”

“He said I was too invested in Jagger and his case, and I was… I am.”

“Hold up,” she interrupts. “Nobody in our office is as passionate as you are about this job. Of course you’re bloody invested.”

“Tay.” I stop her before she goes off on a tangent defending my honour. “We kissed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m assuming it wasn’t while he was inside?”

“Release Day.”

“Okay, well you’re probably never going to see him again, so don’t worry.” Unknowingly she hits the nail on the head, dismissing the very reason I’ve been sitting in my house wallowing for the last few days.

When I first laid eyes on him, there was no denying he was attractive. But it was his determination to wear his pain like a tattoo that had me intrigued. It was a cloak of shame that he used as a deterrent but all it did was pull me in.

I’d visited Goulburn numerous times, met different inmates, and facilitated release plans for people much less deserving than Jagger. And when he challenged Joe for putting his hands on me; someone he didn’t even know, his secret was out. It didn’t matter how imperfect he thought he was, his actions spoke louder than the mistakes that he let define him.

“Oh my god, look at your face.” Taylah screams. “You like this guy. Like, like him, like him.”

My cheeks flare in embarrassment, but I don’t bother hiding it from her. The sooner we talk about it, the quicker I can get over this pointless crush. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of kissing people I don’t like.”

“Tell me how it was.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m never going to see him again. I spent the week savouring it, and now I’m ready to let it go.”

I can lie all I want, but the truth is Jagger Michaels seared himself into my memory. The kiss was the icing on the cake, and I never wanted it to end. His lips, his proximity, the way he owned his vulnerability and his strength. Holding his daughter and letting their pain run wild, he entered the prison a kid, and I had the pleasure of watching him leave as a man.

“Are you though?”

“Am I what?”

“Ready to let it go?”

I run a hand over my forehead and let my head fall in resignation. “I don’t really have a choice.”

* * *

Cleaning up my desk, I file all the day’s paperwork and write up my list of things to do for tomorrow. Arriving at work today, I dealt with an influx of emails and voicemail messages that needed to be responded to.

I included Jagger’s file in my clean-up, deciding it was a good time to close that door. There are plenty of moments in my life that didn’t eventuate into anything, yet the memory was significant all the same. I’ve accepted my time with Jagger is exactly that.

It’s six pm, and my desk phone rings, startling me. I ignore it, because anything past five can wait till tomorrow. The call ends, only to start up again.

“Hello,” I huff.

“Emerson honey, is that you?” My mum’s voice comes through, surprising me.

“Mum, why are you calling me at work?”

“If you answered your mobile we wouldn’t have to,” my dad intercepts.

“Do you two really have to both be on the phone at the same time.” I open my top drawer to grab my phone and see I’ve missed a few of their calls.

My parents are the only people in the world who still use landlines. What’s worse is their need to both speak to me at the same time. Usually lounging around in the living room, a cordless phone in each of their hands, they call and pry as best they know how.

Being an only child means a lot of their time is focused on me, and while I don’t always like it, I don’t really know any different.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, we just wanted to know if you were feeling better this week.” Last week’s lie trickled into every aspect of my life. Peopling just wasn’t something I wanted to do. “Will we be able to catch up for dinner?”

“Yes, I’m much better. I think I was just a little run down.”

“Of course you’re run down,” my dad exclaims. “Look at the hours you’re putting in at the office. Your job doesn’t pay overtime, Emerson.” It’s been years and there’s not a conversation that goes by where his disdain for my place of employment doesn’t seep through.   

“It’s not overtime Dad, I’m just catching up on work from last week.”

“You know there’s always room for you with me.”

“I know Dad, and if I need a change, I promise you’ll be the first to know.” His constant need to remind me of what he’d rather I do used to bother me. Now I’m secure enough to know I can be successful, even if it isn’t by his standards. “So, what night of the week are we catching up?” I question, deciding it’s the quickest way to pacify them both.

“Can we make it a Friday night?” my mum chimes in.

“Yep, Friday is fine. I’ll come over after work.”

“That sounds lovely, Em. We can order in your your favourite food from Abby’s.”

“Locked it in, Mum.” Shutting down my computer, I grab my bag, phone, and keys, ready to leave. “I’m going to head off home now, I’ll see you guys on Friday.”

“Okay, honey. See you then.”

“And answer your phone when we call please.”

“Got it, Dad. Night.”

Putting the receiver back on the console, I quickly scan my desk and make sure everything is in order for tomorrow.

Standing in the lobby, I slide through my Facebook feed as I wait for the elevator to come. Distracted by my notifications, I don’t notice anyone around me until the familiar ping, and a voice I recognise comes from inside.

“Emerson.” It’s Joe.

I close my eyes and silently beg the floor to swallow me whole. I haven’t spoken to him since our altercation. At this time of night the building is a ghost town. There’s no way to avoid the confrontation. No other distractions, no other people.

“Joe.”

“You’re working late.” There’s a slight slur in his voice, and as he steps off and toward me a whiff of beer and cigarettes surrounds us.

“Yeah. I had a few things to catch up on. What are you doing back here?”

“I just had a few drinks with some friends.”

Walking around him, I get into the cart and lean over to press the button that will take me to the ground level. “That sounds great. I’ll see you later.” The doors begin to slide closed and Joe sticks his foot in between, having them automatically retreat. “What are you doing?”

I just wanted to-” He shakes his head in annoyance. “I figured since we’re both still here we could go for a drink.”

“Didn’t you just come back from drinks?”

“Yes, but-” He lowers his face and scratches his forehead.

Please don’t let this be going where I think it’s going.

“What I meant is we should go out some time.”

“Like in a group, with other people from work?” I suggest.

“I guess.” His face reddens, embarrassment spreading like wildfire. “I was thinking more me and you.”

“We can barely tolerate each other.” I’ve never seen this side of Joe, and I want to punch myself in the face for having empathy towards him right now.

“I’m guessing the last seven weeks didn’t help?”

I shake my head, unable to say anything else.

“Let’s blame this on the alcohol and forget it ever happened, yeah?”

“Sure. I can definitely do that.”

For the last time I press the ground floor button, and beg for the doors to close faster. After Joe disappears from my view, I lean on the back wall and pull out my phone to text Taylah.

What the fuck just happened?