John didn’t remember ever being this nervous before. But then again, he had never felt such a burning desire to make another person happy for the sole purpose of seeing them smile.
He waited for the out of control feeling to come, but it didn’t. It felt like a freedom he had never experienced before. It was ironic, finding freedom in getting tied up in a relationship—freedom to be himself, even if that wasn’t a claimer or flirt or a cupcake.
Augusta doesn’t need me to slap her ass and kiss her silly in front of everyone, as long I do behind closed doors, she’ll know she is loved. The realization that love didn’t have to look like gooey-eyed Hugh Grant on the big screen was a relief. If Augusta was right for him, and he thought just maybe she was, he would be enough.
They had been friends for what seemed like a lifetime. Augusta knew him better than everyone alive except Stacy. And, now, she’d said she loved him, even after he made love to her, so it’s not like she doesn’t know who he is as a lover, too.
A sliver of doubt crept in. Maybe she didn’t really know what she was in for. He had dialed his desires back because of her pregnancy. Would his intensity in the bedroom scare her? A knock at the door derailed his train of thought.
“I’ll get it.” January bounced to the door, humming an infectious tune the whole way. John had heard it before but couldn’t put his finger on it. He started humming it too, hoping it would come to him eventually. It would drive him nuts until he grasped it.
His light mood didn’t last long. The voice at the door grated on his nerves. Jimmy or Jerry or something. “Hi, I’m Jesse.”
Jesse, that was it.
“I know Augusta isn’t home yet, I’m actually on my way to drop off some paperwork to her. Anyway, here.” John heard him rambling and wanted to see what “here” meant. Maybe, just maybe, a bit of him was a claimer. Because he also wanted to let Jesse know his “here” wasn’t needed.
“Oh,” he heard January say, like he had handed her a twenty-pound bag of potatoes. John came around the open door to find the biggest vase of flowers he had ever seen. Poor January struggled under the weight.
“Those are for Augusta.” The uh sound died on his lips when John hoisted the monstrosity from January, and Jesse noticed him. He swallowed so hard, John had to wonder if he sucked back a few of his molars. John puffed up. January backhanded his chest. Good, if she noticed, so did Jesse.
John was stunned and a little ashamed of his own behavior. Here he was, acting like a chump and trying to intimidate a kid half his age. Properly scolded, by himself and Augusta’s little sister, he turned and took the flowers to the counter. They were obnoxious; the kid must have spent three hundred dollars or more. The card caught John’s eye. Glancing toward the door and seeing January still chatting with the little asshole, John made a choice—one he would have never expected to make in a million years. He snatched the card from the spike and pulled it from the miniature envelope.
Dearest Augusta,
I had a lovely evening with you, and when you’re ready, I anxiously await the pleasure of your company.
Spending time with you is my newest obsession…but not in a creeper way.
Yours,
Jesse
January came up behind him tsking. “Well, look at that.” John spun, trying to hide the card like she didn’t already know. “What do you have there, big guy?” Her arms were folded and eyebrows raised.
Screw it, he brandished the card her way. “Who writes like this? What year does that punk think this is?” He was flustered, so before he could ask any more stupid questions, he settled on the one he really needed an answer to. “Is this what Augusta wants? A guy who sends her a half a week’s pay of flowers? Who writes sappy shit on a card? Borderline creepy, but sappy.”
Resolved, John returned the card to its envelope and to the spike in the center of the arrangement. He turned back and spoke from a place of defeat. “I can’t be like him, January. I don’t do syrupy cards or flowery words. She’ll never get a metric ass-ton of petals or sonnets about her beauty from me.” John glanced at the refrigerator where the bouquet he got her sat. It was nowhere near as big and consisted of pineapple and strawberries and other fruits that she liked.
“What she’ll get from me is a private pilot who lives paycheck to paycheck. Who isn’t big on public displays. A man who is a hell of a lot older than that guy and way more jaded. What if that’s not enough? Augusta deserves to be with someone who will do that for her, and that’s not me.”
For someone who was riding high earlier, he sure felt low now. Like a Frank Sinatra song. He needed to think and couldn’t do that looking at Jesse’s flowers, taunting him with everything he’s not. More than anything, he hated the insecurity; it went hand and hand with control.
John had always been a self-assured person, some might have gone as far as to call him cocky, but right now, he felt neither of those things, and he hated it. He hated questioning what Augusta needed, and he hated himself a bit too. This is exactly why control is important. People in control do not act untried, unsure…unmanly. “Oh, my Lord, now I’m questioning ridiculous shit.”
“Excuse me?” Thank the stars she hadn’t heard him at the most indecisive moment in his life.
“I’ll just finish up here, then head next door to get everything flowing. After that, well, I think I’ll let Augusta settle in tonight. Maybe call her tomorrow.”
January seemed genuinely shocked. “Wow, after everything Augusta told me, I never expected that. Then after meeting you, I damn sure didn’t, but here you are, running away. The stoic and quietly commanding John, afraid of some roses and a kid who still remembers what his mom’s snatch smells like.”
“It’s not like that. It’s just…I want Augusta to have what she wants, who she deserves. She should have a man who will look at her like she outshines the stars then put that into words and proclaim it to the heavens because she does. She needs—”
“Okay, let me just stop you right there. You sound like an expert on what she wants.”
“Maybe I am.” Was that response childish? Yes, it was. Did he give a shit? No, he didn’t.
“Then by your own admission, wouldn’t an expert be the right choice for the job, hmm?” It was getting increasingly hard to argue about it.
“Just because I know, doesn’t mean I can be.”
“Oh really, so if I could prove to you what she wanted was in fact you, warts and all, or plain words and fruit bouquets, would you stop acting younger than that Jesse fella? Give my sister a chance at happiness, with you?”
John simply shrugged an agreement.
“All right then, come with me.” She led him to her bedroom and opened her laptop. When John followed her unspoken command to sit, she logged on to her social media site and entered a group. He noticed Augusta’s face with the play triangle in front of it.
January scrawled something on a sticky note and handed it to him. “I suggest you start with these six videos. If you want to watch the others, you can, but I think these will make my point. I’ll work on dinner while you do that.”
Five minutes or more passed as he sat staring at the triangle in front of her smiling face. It felt a little like invasion to push play, but he reasoned with himself since these were online, it wasn’t like they were private.
Once he could rationalize it, he pushed play on the video. Her voice buoyed his heart, and her face lit up the room. There was a subtle sadness to her at first, but when she spoke of their date, even as crappy as it had ended, the sadness lifted. Her eyes sparkled with what he could only call love.
She described their dinner as if it was the most magical night of her life. She spoke of how she knew the date would end badly between them, but she savored the steps from the car to the house. Questions and comments popped up with times beside them, and Augusta answered. Her voice was puzzlingly sad and upbeat, and while he could tell her heart was bruised, she encouraged others to chase love.
She is too good for me.
He pushed play on the next one on the list and so on and so on. Each video was more honest than the last. Augusta was unbent, unbroken through it all. Not only that, she was worried more about helping others than herself.
When she spoke of him, it was like she saw through to parts of him he had convinced himself no one noticed, no one knew.
No one could love…or desire.
John was not a man to cry, but he most certainly had something in his eyes right about now
He was more convinced than ever that she was too good for him, but he was also more determined not to give a shit.
After signing off January’s account, he closed her laptop and sought her out on the kitchen. Not only was he looking at himself and Augusta differently, he saw January a little differently too. She was basically a shorter—if that were even possible—less snarky Stacy. From this day forward, she was his little sister, too.
A loner by nature had just gained a new family practically overnight. The tiny blonde he sought was stirring a bubbling pot on the stove. It smelled like jambalaya. When she took a step back, John caught her in an embrace and swung her around the kitchen, just like he used to do with Stacy, and just like Stacy, she squirmed. “Put me down, you big galoot.”
When he complied, she returned to cooking. “So, I take it I’ve made my point, or rather, Augusta did.”
“Yes, and I thank you.”
“You can thank me with the new summer Coach beach tote, if you really wanted to show your appreciation.”
John had a great laugh. “You will fit in just fine around here. I better get to work”
After he finished up with what needed to be done at Augusta’s, he headed next door to tweak the fine details.