Ava
Five years ago . . .
Jake Jackson kissed me last night.
I keep waiting for those words to jar me. For it to feel weird. Because it should feel weird when your best friend kisses you.
Instead, I can’t stop thinking about the way he slid his hand in my hair, the graze of his thumb along my jaw, and the heat in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to mine. I can’t stop thinking about how easy it was to open under him and how, when his tongue touched mine, my heart wanted to climb out of my chest and into his.
I’m in love with Harrison, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to have found someone who’s such a good match for me. I’ve never been the girl with a steady line of boyfriends, and I’ve never found it easy to connect with the guys who asked me out. But Harrison and I work. I’m excited about the life we’re going to have together, and when he asked me to marry him, I didn’t hesitate a single beat.
Then Jake showed up at my door and kissed me. That kiss unlocked feelings I’ve stored away for years, and now the ring on my finger feels like a lie.
I had such a painful crush on him when we were in high school. Maybe before that, too. But during our senior year, he was the rock that kept me sane when living with my dad and feeling like I didn’t belong made me want to run away.
That year, I spent hours agonizing about how I could tell him that my feelings for him had grown into something more than friendship. I’d catch myself staring at him when we were hanging out at his house. When he and his brothers would play football in the backyard, I’d watch the way his body moved under his clothes. He was tall and lanky then, nothing like the man he grew into, but in my eyes, he was perfect. When he’d steal the ball from his brother, he’d look my way and wink as if he’d done it for me, and my heart would pound wildly. I’d think, Someday Jake and I are going to end up together. I believed it, and instead of finding the courage to tell him how I felt, I waited for the day that he might feel it too.
When we started college, I was still waiting, but Jake didn’t seem to be in any rush to change our relationship. We both dated other people, and sometimes I’d lie to myself and pretend I wasn’t madly in love with my best friend. Sometimes I’d even believe the lie.
Then he had this girlfriend, Erica, who didn’t like that he spent so much time with me. She wasn’t the first to make that complaint, but she was the first girl he tried to change things for. One night I went up to Jake’s apartment over the bar to hang out, and I heard them in there together. I heard my name. I heard him laugh.
Erica said she felt like the other woman because he spent so much time with me, and he said he didn’t see me that way. He told her he spent so much time with me because he was a family guy, and I was like his sister.
In that moment, I realized I was waiting for a guy who’d never want me. He always went after the curvy girls, the blondes who looked like fifties pin-ups, whereas I was rocking the body of a 1920s flapper—my curves barely there, my breasts too small.
That night, I stood outside his apartment, vaguely aware of the cacophony of the busy bar below me while the sound of Erica’s laughter cut through me like a scalpel. Standing there, sliced open and raw, I gave him up. I let him go. I took all my girlish fantasies of us as a couple and locked them away somewhere deep inside myself, somewhere I could pretend they never existed.
Then yesterday, he kissed me.
He kissed me and told me he was in love with me, and this morning I can’t stop thinking about it.
I have to tell Harrison. I can’t keep this a secret. Jake kissed me, and his touch was so intense that I’m sure when Harrison looks at me this morning he’ll see it on my skin, see thoughts of Jake in my eyes. Harrison needs to know that this ring feels too heavy on my finger, that I’m having second thoughts. Maybe we should back up a few steps and slow down.
A woman shouldn’t plan her wedding while thinking of another man’s kiss.
Ava
Present day . . .
The best way I can describe how badly I want a child is to say I’ve always seen myself as a mother. A lot of girls do, but it wasn’t just that I thought having children was something I was supposed to do or something I might like. It was part of my identity before I was old enough to understand how it all worked. Like every other little girl who plans to be a mommy, I grew up believing that my ability to bear children was a foregone conclusion. I was so sure that once Harrison and I started trying, we’d be able to get pregnant. After all, if I’d spent years before putting a lot of effort into trying not to get pregnant, getting pregnant should be easy, right?
In reality, it wasn’t so simple, and month after month, motherhood was a dream kept just beyond my reach. When my body wouldn’t cooperate, my heart felt raw with the effort of wanting. Try after try left me with an empty nursery and empty arms, and the vacancy in my womb grew unbearable. It felt as if the more I wanted a child, the further it fell from my reach, until I was grieving the loss of a child who’d never been conceived. The magnitude of that grief built a wall between me and my husband until he was so lonely he sought comfort in another woman’s arms.
And look how happy they are now. Harrison’s chest is puffed with pride, and his wife is glowing. She’s the picture-perfect expectant mother today, wearing a light pink chiffon dress with a big bow at the top of her baby bump. And I hate her desperately.
The baby shower is at a local winery, which seems a little thoughtless to the mother-to-be who can’t partake, but that would be consistent with Harrison’s personality. If a baby shower at a winery speaks of his social class and importance more than a baby shower somewhere else, then that’s what he’s going to want, regardless of the preferences of the mother of his child.
It’s a crisp early spring day, and the dining room doors are open to the patio. The place looks amazing—tables dressed with white cloths and pink napkins folded into little cranes at each spot. The centerpieces are made of light pink peonies and white roses, and look like something you’d see at a high-budget wedding. In fact, the whole party rivals some of the nicer wedding receptions I’ve attended. Lunch was four courses, each served with its own wine pairing, and the cake is as tall as Jake’s niece.
The baby shower probably would have made me sick to my stomach if I didn’t have Jake here by my side, quietly whispering his commentary on the food, décor, and the behavior of the parents-to-be.
We’ve just been served cake—an Ooh La La! creation and, so far, the best part of this day—and we’re sipping at our fresh cups of coffee when Harrison makes his way to the empty seat beside me. He props his elbows on the table as he takes us in.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Ava,” he says in his best salesman voice.
Jake slings his arm over the back of my chair and scoots toward me.
I smile. “Yes, I wanted to congratulate you in person.”
Jake squeezes my shoulder.
Harrison’s gaze darts between my face and Jake’s, then settles on Jake’s hand on my shoulder. “I see you’re still dragging poor Jake around.” He shakes his head. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Jake. You’re a better sport about it than I am. I don’t even like going to these things with my wife, let alone just a friend.”
Jake smiles next to me, totally unfazed by Harrison’s attempt at cruelty. “I’d go anywhere with Ava,” he says. “I mean, we can have a good time watching paint dry, so if she wants company at your baby shower, I’m happy to oblige. Besides, I get her to myself all next weekend, so I’m trying not to be too greedy.”
“Is that so?” Harrison shakes his head. “Well, you two have a good time.” He pushes back from our table and walks to the next.
I feel small. Like I’ve been caught playing a game. My ex knows better than anyone that there’s nothing between me and Jake. Harrison and I were together for years. He saw that Jake and I were the perfect example of how a man and a woman could have a truly platonic relationship.
I look down at the napkin I’ve crumpled into a ball in my lap. The happy pink taunts me. They’re having a girl.
“Hey,” Jake says. He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to his. “Don’t let that asshole get you down.”
I swallow hard. “I was foolish to think he’d care.”
“He does care, Ava. Seeing me here with you is making him crazy. I bet he’s watching us right now, isn’t he?”
I take my eyes off Jake’s to look over his shoulder. Harrison’s still at the table beside ours. He’s nodding as if he’s listening to the conversation, but I catch his gaze on us before he yanks it away.
“The only foolish thing,” Jake says, bringing my attention back to him, “is that you still want him to care.”
“I . . .” I wince and shake my head. I wish I didn’t. Harrison’s opinion of me and my life shouldn’t matter at all. “It’s immature, but I want him to feel like he lost something good when he walked away from me.”
“He might never say it, but he knows he did.” The fingers on my chin fan out, sliding over the sensitive skin under my ear before moving back up into my hair. I know what he’s doing and how this looks from Harrison’s perspective, and though it’s small and probably proves I’m petty, I’m grateful. “You wanted more than you got out of that relationship. You gave more than you received.” He strokes a thumb along my jaw. “But I promise you, there are better things coming.”
Affection swells in my chest. Sometimes people say nice things to make you feel good, but you know in your heart you don’t deserve the kindness. But when someone you’ve known this long wishes you well, when someone who knows all your flaws, shortcomings, and neuroses believes in you, it means more. “Thank you.”
He hums, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “I’m gonna kiss you now, Ava.”
I hear my quick inhale. “Now?”
His eyes remain on my lips as if he needs to catalog every millimeter he wants to taste. “Yeah. It’s not going to be the kind of kiss I want, but the kind I want will have to wait for when I have you alone.” He dips his head and sweeps his lips across mine.
Tingles radiate through my limbs. A spiral of warmth coils in my belly, and he does it again, lightly nipping at my bottom lip before pulling away. I take a fistful of his shirt, trying to keep him close. I’m so full of sensations and longing for more that I can’t breathe.
“That should do it,” he says. He slides his mouth to my ear and whispers, “He never deserved you.”
And I’m so caught up in the feeling of Jake’s lips on mine and the hot pull of desire in my belly that it takes me a beat to realize who he’s even talking about.