Page 27 of Second Chance Vacation

I know Savannah wants to fix Jackson and me up, but I never really asked her why she thought we’d make a match. Our history out of the picture, she obviously sees something in Jackson and me that she thinks would work. As the house begins to come back into vision, the sunrise beams between the trees lining the porch. The beautiful landscaping is covered in morning dew, painting a picturesque sight.

“Look, I realize you took forever to get over him, but this could be a good thing. Plus, he’s like super hot.” She brings her tumbler to her lips as if we are talking about the weather.

It’s a beautiful morning, and I hate that I am both too wound up and too hungover to enjoy it for what it is.

The sun is steady over the horizon, painting the sky in a water-colored haze. I have officially seen two sunrises since coming to France, and I am starting to enjoy being up this early, even if it’s a habit I have no plans of bringing home with me.

“I did not take forever to get over him.” Apparently, that is what I gathered from her statement. I was the one to break things off, so it would have been counterintuitive for me to have a hard time getting over it. I thought it was the right move at the time, but the more time I spent around Jackson, the more I thought about my motivations back then. I knew I couldn’t do the distance, but I don’t remember exactly why I was so hellbent on that.

“You did. You refused to even talk to a single guy our entire freshman year. Remember that boy on our floor, Brian, or was it Brendan? I don’t know, whatever. He was super into you, and you wouldn’t even engage in a conversation with the poor guy.” The reminder makes me wince, a call back to a time in my life I don’t particularly like to think about.

“Savann—”

She cuts me off, “And didn’t you and Jackson break up a year before that? You know what? That’s okay. Young love and all that, your first heartbreak is the worst. But Gen, we’re adults. We’re not eighteen anymore, and I think it’s time to stop letting things that happened in high school stop us from doing things in our late twenties.”

“It isn’t that deep, Savannah.” I taste the lie on my lips.

“Then why are we talking about it?”

“Because…” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, “because I don’t want to make the rest of this trip weird. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“What shouldn’t have happened?”

I pause as an all-too-familiar voice skates over my ears. I know, without even looking up, that Jackson is standing on the porch with a coffee mug in hand. Apparently, this trip is somehow turning us both into early risers.

He pulls the cup to his lips, the steam billowing around his cheeks as he takes a sip. He looks disheveled, yet he somehow manages to make it look handsome. His normally perfectly laid brown shaggy hair is a mess of tendrils, indicating to me that he hasn’t even run a comb through it. I wonder what it’s like to look so good in the morning, even without trying.

What is it like to be God’s favorite?

Savannah looks back and forth between Jackson and me as we stare at each other, her head darting back and forth. Jackson’s eyes refuse to let go of my own.

“I’m going to go find Wesley.”

Coward.

Savannah jogs up the steps with a sense of urgency, running into the house and leaving me with nothing but the look of confusion on Jackson’s face.

“Do you, uh, want to sit?” I say.

God, I am awkward. I know we need to talk, but why does it have to be at this moment? It is too early. Jackson stands to the side, waving me up onto the porch toward the bench swing at the very end. He waits until I am sat before he sits down next to me, keeping his attention forward.

“Last night…”

“I know. Last night was my fault. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I crossed a line.” Jackson looks uncomfortable, and I find that fact to be calming in a way. “It kinda made it hard to sleep. I fucked up. I really hope you’re not mad. I went too far. I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. It was inappropriate.” He is frantic, and I quite enjoy knowing that I am not the only one losing it. I, however, do not expect him to take the blame. We both were tossing and turning all night, but I assumed it to be discomfort from the alcohol, not his inability to sleep.

“I kissed you.”

“We were drunk, Gen. I instigated it, and I should have stopped it.” The look of regret that paints his brow reminds me of the boy he once was. The boy who asked me if I was okay every step of the way.

Time has done him well. He has the early formings of lines around his eyes, not enough to notice if you aren’t up close. Jackson now sports much fuller facial hair than he ever could grow back then, but there is still a familiarity behind it all. He is still Jackson, just older.

“Semantics.” I clear my throat, looking down before looking back up at the painted hues fading in the sky. “It can’t happen again, though.”

Silence falls over us as Jackson doesn’t respond. He just continues looking down at the porch’s planks as if he is deep in thought. I’m not sure what he is thinking, but I also am not totally sure I wanted to know. When we broke up, all I wanted was for him to stop talking and asking what happened, and at this moment, I wanted nothing more than for him to say something to break this unbearable silence.

Finally, he speaks.

“Of course.” He keeps his focus on the wood below his feet, shuffling them against the grain.

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