Page 24 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

“Well, you’re welcome anytime,” Tegan says, squeezing me hard. “I’ve always wished Jackson would have more friends, and he’d be foolish to let a girl like you slip through his fingers.”

“Mom!” Jackson hisses, a pinkness dusting his cheekbones again. “I told you already, it’s not like that.”

Tegan hums disbelievingly, letting me go. “You look pretty good together to me. There’s an energy here, don’t you doubt it.”

Jackson groans again, and his mother just winks at him. I’d feel embarrassed too if I wasn’t so completely enjoying watching him getting teased. And anyway, I can totally understand where Tegan’s coming from.

We might be pretending to ourselves, but there are only so many lies we can tell when the truth is staring us in the face.

Jackson shuffles us out to the car before Tegan can say anything else. We drive in silence for a while, and I stare out of the window, watching the scenery go past, thinking about everything that’s happened, thinking about Jackson and what Tegan said.

Is it really so stupid to think that there could be something more between Jackson and me?

Even though we have been getting closer and it’s felt so easy to be friends with him, I feel like he doesn’t seem to be interested at all. I mean, I didn’t think I was either, at first. Not really. Sometimes with patients, you hit it off more than you expect, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.

In all honesty, it’s probably kind of unethical to be developing anything close to feelings for him. And yet, he hasn’t really been my patient since the very first day we met. Everything after that has been an act of kindness, of my own free will. It’s been because I’ve wanted to see him again, wanted to spend some time with him even though he’s irritating and cold and grouchy.

Despite all that, I’ve stayed, because when he tries, he can be funny and kind. When he lets go of the persona that he’s built for himself, he can be so much more than the person he pretends to be.

I want to see that side of him more. The vulnerable, true Jackson who cares with a frown. And I guess Tegan saw the same thing in us too.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, shattering my silent meditations in a way that catches me off guard. “I really wanted to make today special for you.”

“It has been,” I say. “It was certainly a surprise.”

He chuckles at that. “I should have known going to my mom’s would last ages. I don’t know why I expected that we could just run in and out again. She always has to make things difficult.”

“That’s mothers for you,” I say quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, running a flustered hand through his hair. “I forgot. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really, it’s okay. My mom was a beautiful person. I’m not afraid to remember that. It hurts that she’s gone. But that just makes spending time with people like your mother more precious.”

He lets out a quiet, contemplative hum, like he’s seeing things from an angle he hasn’t considered before. As usual, he fascinates me. How can a person who cares so much be so blind to the ways other people think?

Feeling bold, I keep going. “If you find your mom irritating or wonderful or both, I don’t really care. It doesn’t change how I feel about my mom. But I have a feeling spending more time with Tegan could change how you feel about her.”

Jackson stares firmly out of the front window, his eyebrows knotted as if in deep concentration. Again, I’m getting that kind of urge to hold his hand to comfort or support him, I’m not sure which. And honestly, maybe it’s a little bit for myself too.

“I’ll take you to dinner another time,” he says, changing the subject.

“For the record,” I say, taking a breath, still lagging behind, “I would like to go to dinner sometime too. Just because it didn’t happen today doesn’t mean it can’t happen ever.”

“Really? You’d want to? I wasn’t sure how you were going to take the idea, to be honest.”

“Sure, really. It’s good to hang out with you. I enjoy it.”

He takes a deep breath as if to steel himself for what he’s about to say, and my treacherous heart skips a beat. “You know, despite what my mother thinks, I am glad you became my friend.”

“Me too,” is all I can say.

We hardly say anything until we get back, as if everything that could possibly need to be said has already been said.

It seems to take hours to get there, but finally he pulls into his garage and turns off the engine as the doors slide shut behind us. The atmosphere in here is heavy, thick with the feelings that we’re clearly both feeling but are not quite brave enough to acknowledge.

How can this man have changed my life in such a short amount of time? How can he have gone from hating me to having this kind of spark, this kind of magnetism? How has he started to mean so much to me?

We get out of the car slowly, and Jackson goes to open the door to the house for me. As I pass him, I brush close to him, and I swear I can feel his heart pounding, beating so loudly that it makes me pause, turning to him, my mouth slightly open, my breath catching. For a second I think this is it; we’re going to kiss. We’re so close to it that nothing else can happen. It’s written in his shallow breaths and half-lidded eyes.

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