4 years later…
JAMIE
I'm not proud of it, but I'm following her again. I must see her, at least like this. From afar. By now I know her schedule by heart. Running on Monday and Wednesday mornings seems pretty consistent, but I didn't have the courage to follow her or anything. It would be too conspicuous, and I might scare her. I guess she'll be going to the shop around 8:30, and won't even leave the building until lunchtime. I have watched her so many times through the shop window talking to customers or employees, but I can't make myself go inside. I am almost dying to be next to her, but I'm pretty scared of the thought of what she would say. There's a good chance that she would send me to hell, but it's also possible that she would be scared to death. That's what always happened in the old days. She was polite and everything, but I always had the feeling that she was scared of me. She didn't like being around me. She was fleeing from me. Sometimes, she goes to a big office building in the city with a huge dossier under her arm. I think it's probably something related to her work. And then there are the weekend visits to Janet's and the shopping once per week. A few weeks ago, I was almost able to make myself go up to her. I planned for days what I would say to her. I was already headed for the entrance to the Floral Street shop to, I don't know, invite her to lunch or something, but then she stepped out of the door right then, and she wasn't alone. She was with Rachel. They were obviously going to have lunch. No matter how much I'm dying to meet her finally, the last thing I want is for Rachel Bowles to be present when there's a big chance that I'll make a fool of myself. So, like a loser, with my heart beating in my throat, I jumped behind the next car and waited for them to leave. Then I spent lunchtime running in Regent's Park. But today, it's not going to happen. I'm done with this shit. I don't care what happens, I'll just stand in front of her, and that's it. It's Friday evening: she's going to the grocery store today. Maybe the whole thing won't be so terrible. Maybe she won't run away screaming when she sees me. Maybe she doesn't hate me as much as before. Yes, yes! Just keep dreaming, loser!
#
HANNAH
Salad for dinner? Or rice? Pffft… whatever. The point is to make it fast. Unmotivated, I push the shopping cart in front of me in the supermarket, and pull the food items down from the shelves apathetically. I used to be happy to go grocery shopping, but nowadays I only do it if it’s really critical. Our fridge is totally bare, and our pantry supply is approaching zero too, so the situation is officially ready for action. Yesterday, Rachel seriously threatened that if I don’t make a proper shopping trip, she will order Korean penis fish from the fast food place on the corner for dinner. It worked. Not that I have anything against Korean penis fish… but it’s better to be careful.
It runs through my mind that recently we've totally gotten out of the habit of cooking. I work a ton with Rachel, and I have the Chloé fashion house too. Work takes up all of my energy, and it works this way. I have less time for thinking. Mostly we order something, but we often eat in different places with clients and business partners. I only get home-cooked meals at Gran's. Oh, that reminds me, I need to visit her this evening because I promised her… As I turn to the next aisle, the handle of the shopping cart rams into my stomach. Owww! Fuck me! I almost fall down from the collision, and, grabbing my throbbing stomach, prepare to either 1. Apologise if the other person is older than me, or 2. Send the bloody motherfucker to hell for not paying more attention, if he is younger, or a man. I look up to assess the situation, but my jaw immediately drops out of surprise. My breath catches in my chest, and my heart suddenly starts to beat double-time. I have to abandon both options, and a third one doesn’t come to mind. My brain is slowly processing the information sent by my eyes. For a single fleeting moment, I think it’s him standing in front of me. River. But no. It's definitely not him, but his twin brother, Jamie. Or, at least, a more grown up, wide-shouldered, taller, and more manly version of the Jamie who lives in my memories. I scan him thoroughly from head to toe, and I can't take my eyes off him. He's wearing black work boots with dark blue loose-fitting jeans, and a black hooded pullover. His chin is a bit bristly, but just so much that… ohhh! His short-cut dark brown hair is a bit dishevelled, and his eyes… his eyes are still that pervasive chocolate brown colour, which he always made use of for his penetrating stares. I haven't forgotten I was the only one whom he, as an Asperger's kid, made eye contact. Not only that, but he always stared at me so unscrupulously and ostentatiously that what I wanted most of all was to sink under the earth. He's changed. He doesn't give off the impression of an eccentric, misunderstood little boy anymore, nor the fearful just black-wearing teenager he once was. A confident, powerful, knee-shaking attractive man stands before me, whom women admire without fail. The only thing that hasn't changed is how he examines me. He looks me over just as I do him. The silence between us starts to feel awkward, and I'm just trying to squeeze out something sane from my mouth when he says:
“Hello, Honey.”
His voice is deep and purring. No one ever called me this except him.
“Hello, Jamie.” – I moan, finally, and I am immediately overcome with emotion.
Watching him, I'm flooded with memories like a tidal wave. He's so similar to him, but he's still different from River. Pictures appear in front of me of being in school when Riv supported and defended Jamie against everyone. We were an unbeatable team, the three of us. And then soon after Jamie started on his own way, which I couldn't handle. Since Ian threw him out of the house, maybe he didn't have any choice. But for me, River always meant security, and love: my rock. River was the connection, the positive power that held together the anorexic girl wrestling with self-worth disorder, and the too-late diagnosed Asperger's boy. When he died, our alliance fell apart. Or maybe even earlier. Who knows? I shake my head to get free from the torturing memories.
“I haven’t seen you in a long, long time.”
“Four years” – the precise answer comes.
“You've changed. Somehow… you grew up.” – I stutter because I'm not sure how to describe this dangerously attractive man the weird teenage boy had changed into.
“But you haven’t changed. You’re thin. Too thin. Are you eating properly?”
What? Am I eating properly? My mind is blown. I can’t believe this is the only thing he can say to me after four years. That means there are things that never change. He’s always known how to make a direct hit so insensitively.
“Are you serious?” – I ask, tilting my head, – “After everything that’s happened, and after we haven’t seen each other for four fucking years, that’s the only thing you can say to me? Am I eating properly?”
I fight against it vainly, raising my voice to an even more hysterical pitch.
“It’s important to take care of yourself. There are a lot of calories in pasta. You should eat spaghetti or lasagna.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” – I ask, raising my hands, and a hysterical laugh bursts out of me.
“Let me cook for you, Honey!”
“Man, you’re not sane.”
“Let me cook you something!”
I feel a bit of puzzlement and begging in his voice, but I’m immune to it. What he is saying is so absurd and so out of context that I’m overwhelmed by nerves. I start yelling at him, shaking:
“Fuck your diagnosis, Jamie Hailey! If it’s escaped your notice, my husband died, who was, by the way, your brother, too. Do I look like shit? Well, fuck, this is it. Let me just tell you what to do with your fucking spaghetti.”
I yank the shopping cart wildly, and rush by him in a rage. I don't look back, but I still feel his eyes almost drilling holes in my back. I go directly to the cash register, but in the car on my way home I still huff loudly. What an idiot. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. Caustic pain presses my throat, and I feel my long unseen tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. It's bloody difficult to admit, but the meeting with Jamie brought out in me all the shit I've been trying to control all these years. He reminds me of him so damn much. If I look at him, I see River, and bitter pain flows through me immediately. I suddenly change my mind and head towards Gran's. I need her now. Her wisdom and calmness. Somewhere, in the deepest parts of my mind, something palely prickling suggests that I was unjust with Jamie and reacted irrationally. But currently, it's much easier to blame him for feeling so shitty. I choose the easier way because I don't have the strength for the harder one.
#
The second blueberry cupcake has a good effect on me, and as the sugar absorbs into my bloodstream, I slowly start to calm down. She must have felt, telepathically, that I would need her today because as I walked into the kitchen crabbily, she immediately made me sit and pushed a tray in front of me. This is the only thing I can't resist, no matter how bad I feel. When I've finished my report, I lick up the sugary frosting from the edge of my mouth with a voluptuous sigh and look at Gran. She's sitting in front of me, smiling softly.
“You’re not so surprised.” – I determine, suspiciously, and she shrugs her shoulders.
“I knew Jamie was in town. Rose told me at least a year ago.”
“A year ago?”
“Around. And before you pierce through me with that gaze of yours: no, he hasn’t been here, and I haven’t even seen him. I just know from Rose that he transferred his company seat to London, and he’s renting a flat here too.”
My jaw lands on the ground.
“Is this for real?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” – She looks at me with wide, innocent eyes.
“Well, maybe because we’re talking about Jamie.”
“You are quite mistaken, my girl. It turns out that little Jamie is a genius businessman. Moreover, his heart is in the right place,” – she sighs, and standing up, goes to the kitchen sink to start drying the dishes.
Hoho, Mrs Janet Logan. Do you think you'll get away with just that much? I step next to her, take the rag from her hand, and look at her expectantly. She looks at me obliquely, tilting her head.
“I think you’ve fallen behind on certain things recently.”
I shrug my shoulders. She’s right. The last few years I’ve spent in my snail shell, immune to the outside world, and almost totally disinterested in the people living around me. An unpleasant feeling comes over me. I didn’t even think about it until now how hard it must have been to live with me recently.
“Then please, enlighten me!” – I say, and I sit Gran down in the nearest chair.
“Of course I don’t know all the details…”
“Gran,” – I say to her, hands on my hips.
“... but I’m sure Jamie sold his company to Apple and made a huge profit.”
Ok. Now I’ve definitely hit the floor.
“Apple bought Jamie’s company? But how is it possible? And why haven’t I heard about it?”
“As far as I know, he started it around the time of your wedding. But don’t ask me exactly what it’s about, because I have no idea. Some soft… thing making company.”
“Software developing.”
“That’s it.”
Shocked, I shake my head. Where the hell have I even been the last four years? Then I suddenly remember my conversation with River when I stupidly assumed that Rose was secretly bankrolling Jamie. I didn't believe it, but Riv knew already then that his brother would be very successful one day. He knew him completely and knew exactly how talented he is. Most people just saw the problematic eccentricity in him, but he predicted his success already back then. He never doubted him. As I think about that evening, a chill runs down my spine. But luckily, I don't have too much time to think about it, because Gran continues:
“I assume that he’s making out really well with this business. Sometimes Rose lets me know the kinds of things he buys for her.”
“But you just said before that he transferred his company’s seat to London.”
"Yes, his new company's. It's also some kind of computer thing, but now he employs Asperger's sufferers exclusively."
“Oh my god,” – bursts out from me.
“Exactly as you say, darling. I’m sure no one else can understand better than him how hard it is for people who are somehow out of step to integrate into a ‘normal’ workplace. You see, this is how he solved the situation.”
I can't even speak from the shock. It means River was right. Jamie did it, sure enough. My stomach tightens at the thought of what an asshole I was in the supermarket. By way of excuse, it was like a big blow to my gut that he suddenly appeared, and all the stupidities about food he blabbered on about closed the door for me. I lost it. I knead the rag nervously in my hand and crash down on the chair next to Gran. Rubbing my throbbing forehead, I try to excuse myself when actually no one is blaming me. I feel Gran's fingers in my hair as she strokes me softly.
“But in the store… when we just met, he acted like such an idiot. Why the hell would he tell me those stupid things after so much time?”
“You didn’t think about the fact that maybe he was embarrassed too?”
“Jamie?” – I stare at her doubtfully.
"Why not, darling? Just imagine what kind of feeling it could be for him to meet you after so much time. You know that he was very close with River. Don't you think you remind him of him a lot too? I think it was difficult for him to face you, just as much as it was for you."
No. I didn’t think about it for a minute. Shit! I’m an unfeeling bitch. I know how close they were and I don’t even doubt for a minute that Jamie has suffered cruelly over losing his brother. I sigh deeply because of my own stupidity. But this thing with the spaghetti… – I keep thinking, but the answer to my unsaid doubts just arrives.
“And that, what he said, is not relevant, Hannah. Jamie was always special. He always expressed himself differently as a kid too. But what's undeniable is that he was really worried about you, from already at school. Don't you remember how many times he lectured you because you weren't eating enough and you were too skinny? So many times he wanted to stuff his own snack into you because he thought he was doing a good thing for you. How many times was he getting into fights in school because of you? He always wanted to protect you to the extreme if you ask me.”
I smile bitterly. Shit, I remember. How could I not remember?
“That’s how he expresses his concern for you. Maybe not quite in a gentlemanly way, but at least he expresses it clearly. As I hear, he’s still developed a bit throughout the years. At least this time he didn’t try to force a sandwich down your throat, but he rather asked you to let him cook something for you. If you ask me, it’s obviously an improving trend,”
I laugh, and Gran starts to giggle too. I lean down in my chair and bury my face in my arms. Fuck. I royally screwed it up. Let’s admit, I was a jerk!
“Oh, Gran, I think I screwed it up. I was really a jerk with him.”
"It happens, darling. Jamie will understand if you apologise to him,” – she answers, convinced, and I peer out through my fingers.
“If I apologise?”
She doesn’t answer, just grabs the rag, stands up, and goes to the sink. She starts to croon with ease, like someone who doesn’t even care, but she can’t fool me. I know she always loved Jamie, and I’m sure that she would be really happy for a reunion.
Tilting my head, I stare at her back and say quietly:
“Maybe… we could invite him for a lasagna. He just mentioned it. I just don’t know if I’m able to make something edible after so much time. I’m really out of practice.”
She turns around slowly, and the satisfied grin on her face betrays that she’s pretty delighted with my answer.
“We’ll figure something out, it won’t be a problem!”
She blinks at me and is already going enthusiastically to the shelf where she stores her cookbooks. She pulls her reading glasses up to her eyes and tries to search for something amongst the papers.
“There's a recipe somewhere which I've wanted to try for awhile,” – she chirps, and I know that from here the culinary part is on track.
There’s just the get-yourself-together-Hannah-put-the-fucking-phone-in-your-hand-and-call-him part left.
#
JAMIE
I stare at the phone, confused, even minutes after we said goodbye. She called me. She invited me to her place. Me! I think she just wants to chastise me thoroughly one more time because of my stupidity last time. I behaved ridiculously, and now it’s also clear that I hurt her deeply, even if it was the last thing I intended. When she left me, yelling, in the market, I was sure she’d never talk to me again. And now, this phone call. I rub my forehead, dispirited. I don’t understand the situation. Of course, I know right now I will go, even if I can’t count on it to be something good. I planned our reunion for months, and then when I was standing in front of her, every sane thought, every plan and decision just flew out of my mind. She was finally standing in front of me. Pale, but beautiful. Thin, but so desirable and thrilling that I didn’t even have a chance. She has had this influence on me since our childhood. She was practically the only one, except River, who had an influence on me. That’s mainly why I avoided her so long. I wasn’t sure I would be able to hold myself back around her. She inspired me, confused me, drove me crazy, invigorated me, and continuously caused wet dreams. I hoped now, after so much self-knowledge and emotion control therapy, I’d be able to act normal when we meet. I wanted to show her that I’ve changed. She doesn’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not that psycho she tried to disassociate herself from in those days. Instead of that, I thoroughly screwed up the whole thing. I haven’t really been going to my old therapist recently. Actually, I’ve only gone if there’s a big issue. If I’m about to explode or something. Well, this last loser scene with Honey in the supermarket was exactly like that. I felt I needed to talk to someone or I would go crazy. The doc was nice. He took me back almost immediately. I sketched the broad strokes of the situation for him, and it turned out that I reached deep into the middle of the shit – as he puts it. I'm an unfeeling asshole. The doctor didn't say that; I figured it out for myself. Women are very touchy if someone mentions their weight. It doesn't matter if people say that they are too thin or overweight. They just don't want to hear any of that shit. It's an especially touchy subject, best to avoid, even for guys not diagnosed with Asperger's, and even more for a halfwit like me. What's more, the most absurd thing is that Honey is the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She's sinfully sexy, no matter how much she weighs. And I, instead of just praising her, started to push some earth-shaking stupidity, that she should eat more, and similar loser stuff. I feel like puking every time I think back on it. I wouldn't be surprised if she's waiting for me at the door with a double barrel shotgun to shoot me in the chest. I would deserve it.
#
HANNAH
I’m standing in front of the mirror putting the final touches on my makeup. Just a wee bit of green on my eyelid, and then mascara and it’s ready. I make a quick checklist in my head.
Lasagna in oven
Chloé material handed in
Shop closed
I left the shop today a bit earlier than usual because it didn’t seem right to me to leave Gran totally alone with the dinner preparations. I feel some remorse over not telling Rachel who we expecting as our guest. I don’t even understand it myself, but somehow I just can’t tell her that I invited Jamie. It’s stupid. It’s like I am afraid she’ll be angry with me or something. He’s my brother-in-law. There’s nothing there. Nevertheless, it’s a fact I haven’t invited him to my own apartment, but to Gran’s. This secrecy is stupid. – I chide myself, and immediately decide that I’ll report everything to Rachel tomorrow. I furrow my eyebrows at the girl in the mirror when I realise I’ve been arranging my hair and correcting my makeup for 15 minutes. What the hell is up with you Hannah? It’s just Jamie. J.A.M.I.E. – I repeat, and stick out my tongue at my reflection. I quickly throw my hair into an intentionally undemanding ponytail, and I already hear the doorbell. My breath catches for a moment. One last check, then I shake my head and go to the kitchen.
“This lasagna is fantastic, Honey,” – Jamie blinks at me, and I'm willing to believe his honesty because he cleaned up the second portion with obvious joy.
“It's less my merit, Gran worked more on it,” – I admit because it's actually the truth.
“Come on! We made it together,” – Gran adds and fills Jamie's wine glass again. – “Hannah is a good cook. She was cooking well already as a teenager. I don't know why she always orders those cheap things with Rachel, instead of cooking something decent themselves,” – She sighs, unsatisfied. – “And there is that beautiful kitchen … unused.”
Jamie and I smile at each other unintentionally, while I realise again how much he's changed over the last few years. He speaks intelligently and tolerantly; there's no sign of that self-serving conversation focused on one topic that used to be so specific to him. But sometimes he gives the impression he's terribly focused and intentionally holding himself back before each answer, to think through what the right one is. At least that's the impression I get from him. He was even making kind of a joke about his job, and I was completely bowled over. By the way, I'm surprised he even had time to eat seeing as Gran was interrogating him in detail about his job, and actually about everything. I try to process this mass of new information, which positively d