This is love

TWENTY-TWO

Jason’s point of view. 

“Knock knock.” 

A smile curls it’s way to my lips before I had even lifted my eyes from re-reading the contract piled in front of me and that was seemingly blurring into a one-worded mess. I flicker up to David who drops down onto the waiting chair with a yawn. 

“You know, you’re not supposed to verbally announce the whole ‘knock-knock’ situ. Defeats the purpose when you’re already in the room. I could have been busy.” 

“Your wife is in a different country, of course you’re not busy.” He yawns again with closed eyes. “Wanted to see if you’ve signed that yet. Johnstone and Mahood are waiting for you.” 

As another yawn escapes his lips, I furrow my brows. “You sure you’re up to going? Looks like you’re a bit tired.” 

He digs the heel of his hand into his eye sockets in a hope to remove the exhaustion. “Knox has had a rough few nights so I gave George last night off and stayed up with him. We don’t reckon it’s teething, and he seems to be curling after his bottles. The doc thinks maybe reflux, or some sort of stomach acid.” 

“They can get it that young?” 

“Hm.” He hums tiredly. “Only problem is, he can’t exactly tell us when he’s in pain or where the pain is. We just need to guess. Be a lot easier if he could just tell us he needs to shit or something. Believe me, you’ll not understand how much you go through until you have a kid. It’s like morse code.” 

There they were. The butterflies. They always appeared when I or someone spoke about mine and Frankie’s future kids. Our little girl who was obsessed with barbies and tea parties with ringlet curls flowing down her back, or our little boy with malteser like eyes and always grazing his knees when climbing trees or playing soccer. It kick started the excitement that bubbled within my gut. 

David yawns once more and stretches high above his head, pulling his muscles from the ache of exhaustion. “Right, let’s go before I end up making a bed on your floor.” 

Stuffing the contract beneath my arm, I snatch my cell and tail behind him. 

Flickering through my phone as we ride downtown, I type a quick morning message to Frankie knowing she would be waking soon for her third day in London. The missing part of me begged to book a flight to go and get her, to bring her back here or stay with her for the remaining weeks. Realistically, I could. But I wanted to finish this project, surprise her when she came home. 

“Jason, David.” Brian Johnstone greets. 

Brian Johnstone was a well trusted business man, and we had cross paths over three years ago at the Richards Jazz Bar opening in Soho. We discussed future plans, toyed with the idea of partnership but when Brian’s youngest son - only a year younger than myself - got diagnosed with Leukemia, he had took early retirement to help split the needs with his wife. Grey, Brian’s son, sadly passed away months later but left a message for his dad. 

Live your life for me. 

Grief was something that couldn’t and wouldn’t ever disappear, but Brian was dealing with it and after another two years, he called me only last week to make a proposition that I simply couldn’t refuse. 

So, after a debate with David, we called him back and ended up here. In Richards Jazz Bar just before noon on a Thursday, about to discuss my very first, and very solo project that shook me with fear. David happily allowed me to do this for myself, but he was still very much going to be a big part of my decisions. 

“Drink?” Brian offered. 

“Just water.” I reply politely. “How have you been?” 

He raised a shoulder and joins us on the other side of the booth we had slipped into. “Ah, you know. Good days and bad, but we’re coping. You got too in situations like this. A life may stop but the rest of the world doesn’t.”