Page 34 of Reclaim

“Whose timing? He’s fucking crazy about you.”

“He’ll get over it.” The possibility my own words could become a reality hurts my heart.

“I saw his face break when you ran to the bathroom. That man isn’t forgetting about you anytime soon.”

I can’t listen to her anymore. “I’m going,” I announce abruptly. “I’ll call you later.”

Scurrying away, I notice Hendrix staring at me, confusion and questions written all over his face. Jagger hasn’t returned, and I’m grateful for the reprieve to walk out unnoticed. It’s better this way. I’m doing the right thing, no matter how wrong it feels.

* * *

“I pickedup ice cream on my way. Cookies and Cream for you and Boysenberry for me.” Taylah walks into my apartment like she owns the place. She throws her keys and bag on my dining room table, then heads to the kitchen to put away whatever she bought for girls night.

“I see you’re getting used to using the key I gave you.”

“Stop complaining. I just stopped you from having to get your arse off that couch.” I hear her opening and closing my kitchen cupboards, her huffing an indication she can’t find what she’s looking for.

“You okay?”

“Aha, found it,” she squeals. “I’m making pancakes. How many do you want?”

“Is that a trick question? You know it’s my favourite food.”

“I know. I got a lot of your favourite things.” Pouring all the ingredients into a mixing bowl, she walks out stirring it all together. “Everything to coerce you into telling me exactly what happened with Jagger.”

“Ugh, why won’t you let that go?”

“You like this guy, the guy also happens to like you, and you’re moping like it’s an unrequited crush. It’s not, and I’m trying to get to the bottom of why you’re not pursuing it.”

“Well if you didn’t bring whipped cream, I’m not talking.”

“You underestimate me, Emerson. Sort out that shit inside your head, because I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and you need to spill.” She turns back into the kitchen, and the clanging of pans and cooking utensils can be heard as she begins to cook.

I flick on the TV and switch it over to Netflix. I have three more episodes ofSanta Clarita Dietto finish in preparation for the next season. Getting lost in some cannibalism seems like a great way to avoid the impending conversation.

We sit around my coffee table, stuffing our faces with a buffet of dessert options. I’ve got to give it to Taylah, her silence builds the anticipation. Thinking of what to say has the words at the tip of my tongue, bursting at the seams to escape.

“Is it because he has a criminal record?”

Choking on my wine, my eyes water, my vision blurring. Taylah hits my back a few times, the coughing eventually stops.

“I can’t believe you think that of me,” I say, both stunned and offended.

“I don’t, but that’s the only reason I can think of.”

“It’s not about what he did. It’s what he needs to do now that he’s out. He doesn’t need to be worrying about anything besides making up for lost time with his family,” I clarify.

“He’s had twelve years where his decisions have been made for him. I don’t think it’s fair you’re taking this one away from him too.”

Like a hammer to the heart, her comment hurts. Not once did I think of it like that. I wouldn’t ever want to take away his freedom of choice, but that doesn’t mean I think pursuing something between us is the right one. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“I’m not saying it’s intentional. I’m just giving you an objective opinion.” Picking up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, she pours us both a generous amount, fuelling for the next round of her argument.

“You don’t think it’s weird to meet someone a handful of times, and have no idea why you’re interested in them?”

“I don’t understand how you think relationships start. Boy and girl meet, they’re attracted to one another, they pursue attraction. I didn’t say you were going to marry the guy and have his damn babies, but you could at least fuck him.”

“Taylah,” I yell.

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