Chapter 10 – Suggestion

 

The weeks crawled by. Tilly continued to date Anton but her heart wasn’t truly in it – even Kay saw and commented. Five weeks after their initial date, she met him in a café and broke the news. He seemed sad, but not overly so. He kissed her hand and wished her well. Tilly watched his retreating back, wondering if she’d thrown over a man who could have gone the distance with her.

A week after that, after no word from Jack, she finally gave in and called him. After fifteen rings, the voicemail cut in. Hi, you’ve reached Jack Brogan. Sorry I can’t come to phone right now. Leave a message.

She hesitated. “Hi Jack, it’s me. Just called to talk. Give me a ring when you can.” She pressed the little red “end call” button. She stared at the LCD screen for a moment, then tossed her phone down on the bed and went to take her frustrations out on canvas.

Two hours later, she had three angry red, yellow and orange paintings, almost violent in their passion. She also had no messages from Jack. Maybe he was punishing her for not calling him in almost two weeks. But hey, she’d texted, right? And wasn’t that almost the same as talking to someone?

Another hour, after she’d washed and dried her hair – not an enviable task with locks as long as thick as hers – she gave in to her churning stomach and dialled him again. This time, he picked up.

“Hey stranger.”

Just hearing his voice made her heart flip in her chest, batting against her rib cage. “Hi. I tried to call you earlier.”

“Did you?” His tone held genuine surprise. “I must not have heard it. Sometimes, after work, I forget to switch my phone off silent mode.”

Silence threaded down the line for a moment. Tilly swallowed, her free hand fussing with the hem of the skirt she wore. “So, what’re you up to?”

“Lying on the couch.”

“And?”

He chuckled. “And that isn’t enough? All right, I was reading, but then you called, and now I’m talking to you.”

Tilly pictured him stretched out on his couch, long legs hooked over one end, one arm behind his head, as New York bustled outside. The image was so warm and welcoming that for a second, she fervently wished she could be there.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just finished some paintings.” She looked across the room at them. Oh boy, she’d taken her feelings out on her art, and in a big way. “They’re…. works in progress.”

Jack laughed. “I know what that means. You were in a bad mood and attacked your canvases. You should get one of those punching bags, you know, that boxers train with.”

Tilly scowled, and wished he didn’t know her so well. “I’ll keep that in mind. How’re things with you?”

She heard a soft creak as he shifted on the couch. “Okay. Work’s pretty busy right now. But a friend from work’s having a birthday shindig this weekend. You want to come along and hang off my arm? It’d make me look good.”

“Oh, thanks,” Tilly groaned, but inwardly her heart sang at being asked to go somewhere with him. “Will you buy the drinks?”

“I don’t even have to,” he said, and Tilly heard his grin down the phone line. “It’s a barbeque at his place. He lives on the bottom floor of one of those huge brownstones, you know, the kind where as soon as you visit you think about murdering him and stealing the place for yourself.”

Tilly smiled. “I love old houses. All right, I’ll see you on Saturday morning.”

“Why not Friday night? I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

Tilly hesitated. On the one hand, she should limit the time she spent with him until she knew what she truly wanted. On the other hand, Jack had been her best friend for years. She’d be a fool to say no – cutting off her nose to spite her face.

“Okay,” she gave in. “Friday night. But you’re buying the Chinese takeout.”

“Deal.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

I really like you. I think I’m in love with you. What about if we went on a date?

On the flight over, Tilly squirmed in her seat, trying to find a way to broach her feelings with Jack. How to tell him how she felt without ruining things?

Was potentially losing their friendship worth the risk if it led to something amazing? She clenched her hands in her lap, her short nails digging into the flesh of her palms. I just don’t know. If there was one thing she hated, it was not being sure of herself. She’d always been of the opinion that people who beat around the bush lacked strength of character. Now she had to reconsider.

Maybe people who feel unsure just have a lot to lose.

The flight, short as it was, seemed to drag. So did the subway ride to the centre of New York. Tilly shouldered her overnight bag and took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow down. It’s just Jack. So why did she feel as if what happened today could shape the rest of her life?

Don’t be so melodramatic. Whatever happened today, or whatever didn’t happen, life would carry on. Ultimately, even if she and Jack dated and then parted ways, they’d both get on with their lives.

But it won’t be the same, Tilly thought miserably. Aragh! She wished she could turn her brain off sometimes. If only she could find the switch.

She hopped off the subway, squeezing through the pull and press and bodies, and gasping in a breath when she could finally taste the air outside. New York always somehow seemed magical to her, despite the never-ending traffic, despite the smog and the crowds and the yell of gruff taxi drivers. Maybe that was Hollywood’s fault. Or maybe she just loved New York because Jack lived there.

By the time she pressed the buzzer on his apartment, dusk had started to descend. Not that in made much difference in the city that never slept – lights still flashed neon, cars screeched and hummed.

“Come on up,” Jack’s deep voice flowed through the speaker.

The door clicked. Tilly took the stairs again – it was better for her, or at least that was what she told herself – and when she reached Jack’s apartment he stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, his long legs clad in fog-grey jeans, wearing a loose black t-shirt that shouldn’t have drawn her eyes to his torso.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his dark hair curled haphazardly around his face. Tilly wanted to reach out and smooth it for him. “Hey,” she said instead.

“Hey. I got your text. The Chinese will be here in ten minutes.”

Tilly gave him a hello-hug. “My hero.”

Some time later, they’d demolished six cartons of Chinese food. Tilly swallowed another bite of Mongolian beef before she declared herself stuffed. “No more. Oh God, no more. Let’s put this away before I explode.”

After, they slumped on Jack’s couch and watched some of his Futurama boxset. Exhausted, Tilly set a pillow on Jack’s lap and rested her head on it, her legs stretched out on the large couch. The apartment smelled of Chinese food, and the scent of Jack’s aftershave curled around her like a familiar caress.

She sighed, content for now. Jack lifted a hand and started to run his fingers through her hair; something he often did to comfort her when she was feeling sad. Tilly resisted the urge to rub against his touch like a purring kitten.

When his fingers strayed to her face, stroking her cheek, she turned her head, brushing her lips against the heel of his hand.

“Jack,” she murmured.

He paused the DVD. “Hmmm?” 

She sat up, pushing her mussed hair from her face. “I’m… not imagining this, am I?”

For a moment she thought he might take some sort of crack, but his expression was calm, as still as a lake. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

Her breath eeked out, half-sigh, half frustrated growl. “What do you want to do about it?

Now he did smile. “I was sort of hoping that it might go away if I ignored it. You know, the manly decision rules and all that.”

Tilly playfully punched him, but then her smile faded. “Actually, I sort of wanted to suggest something to you.”

Jack grinned wolfishly. “A night of no-strings, hot and heavy passion to get it out of our systems?”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Finally Tilly said, “Well, yeah, sort of.”

Surprise stole the smile from Jack’s face.

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