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I want to go back in time and take back everything I said to her in our argument. I want to apologize for being so judgmental, but it’s not the time, and I don’t want to take away from this moment. Jade is trusting me with these stories; with this glance into her life. It’s something I don’t want to take lightly.
“Is she only like this after a relationship? Is it always so unpredictable?” I ask.
“Yes. Well, there’s some patterns within the unpredictability. My mom called me two weeks ago worried that Rob was going to break up with her, and I missed it for what it was. That’s probably when she stocked up on alcohol. We’ve been able to avoid some post-breakup damage by recognizing the pattern. The breakup is never out of the blue. She isn’t a healthy person, so she can’t maintain a healthy relationship. She’ll get into one, and it will go well for a certain length of time, and then, when it starts to disintegrate, so does she. And from there, it’s a slow downward spiral until the breakup, and then she becomes the person you saw today. Although usually not as reckless.”
“What’s she like when she’s in a relationship?” I ask. I’m curious, but I also want to give Jade the space to talk about this with someone in a way that I don’t think she ever has.
“Oh god, she’s, like, the best. She’s present and fun and spontaneous in a good way. She’s silly, and she bakes. She’ll cook a month’s worth of food in a day. Our freezer is always bursting with meals when she’s in a relationship, and thank god, because when she gets dumped—and she always gets left, she doesn’t leave—she doesn’t cook a thing. She barely eats. We have to remind her to eat. She becomes a child.”
“And you become the parent.”
She nods—a movement I feel rather than see. The room is too dark for me to see much. A sliver of light from a lone streetlamp peeks in through the window. I’m glad there isn’t more light, because my heart is on my sleeve right now, and if she could see me, she’d see how I’m cracked into a million pieces for her.
“And when she’s single?” I ask.
“She’s so . . . normal. She isn’t on an upswing or a downswing. And she’s never single for a long time, but when she is, it’s like there’s this . . . clarity about her. I feel like when she’ssingle she sees me. And the rest of the time she just sees her partner or herself.”
“I’m so sorry, Jade.”
She sighs—a heavy sigh that seems to come from the deepest parts of her soul. I imagine laced in her exhale is some of the weight she’s been carrying, like she’s able to let go of some of it, knowing I’m holding some of it now too. I plant a kiss against the spot where her neck and shoulder meet.
“It took me years to feel safe enough to leave my mom at home after a breakup. I almost didn’t go to college, but my grandma insisted. I had more options for schools, but this was the closest. I’m only two hours from home, so I can get home easily enough if I need to.” She pauses like she’s gathering the courage to say what she wants to say next. “Thanks to you, tonight I did.”
I want to tell her it was an honor to drive her home, to be here with her, that I’m glad she didn’t have to be here alone, but all those words feel too small; too light for the gravity of it all. So I kiss that spot again, and then her shoulder. It’s still not enough, but she squeezes my hand, understanding passing between us.
“What will you do when you graduate?” I ask. I know she wants to bounce around between theater gigs, do some traveling. But if she had trouble going to college, how was she going to get around traveling hundreds of miles away?
Jade makes a scoffing noise. A bitter laugh. “I try not to think about it.”
I know this isn’t the right time to tell her that she’s going to have to deal with it soon, because the slow march to graduation won’t stop for her refusal to make a decision. I’m not going to swoop in and tell her how to deal with something she’s been dealing with her whole life when I’ve seen just a handful of hours of it.
“Then let’s not think about it,” I say, because that seems like the only right thing to say right now. I nuzzle into her neck, pressing one more kiss to her shoulder, wishing it were enough to solve all her problems and take away her stress.
It doesn’t, but she makes a noise of contentment and then sighs so deeply my arm moves up and down with the expansion and deflation of her ribs. It’s enough for tonight.
“Thank you, Jade,” I say, hoping I caught her before she fell asleep.
“For what?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep.
“For trusting me. For telling me all this. For letting me in.”
She makes another noise—something to acknowledge my words. I’m not expecting a response, and when her breathing evens, growing deeper, I untangle my hand from hers and rub my eyes.
I’m relieved Jade is asleep, but I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight or tomorrow or anytime in the near future. My heart is irreparably shattered for her in a way that I don’t think can be fixed. Her story haunts me. Her childhood and how she became the person she is today. I understand why she doesn’t believe in marriage or love, really. In her shoes, I don’t think I would either.
My throat feels clogged, and tears are waiting just behind my eyes. I want to help her. I want to change her circumstances.
I want to take care of her.
Because no one has ever taken care of Jade McKinney.
But that’s going to change after tonight.
18
JADE
“For you, in my respect, are all the world.
