He’s looking at me. Again. I can feel his eyes on my face. Out of my peripheral vision, I see him open his mouth like he wants to say something, but he closes it, and turns his back to me. I sigh and glance at my watch. It’s only been 12 minutes, and the awkwardness is weighing on me already. I shudder as the air kicks on, and I prepare for the temperature to drop another ten degrees. I involuntarily shiver right as Jackson turns towards me again, and pull my thin cardigan tighter around my torso, as if it will block the cold air that seeps from the vents.
“Cold?” Jackson asks, with a hint of a smile on his mouth. I start to shake my head, when I begin shivering again. He smiles for real this time and shakes his head, pulling off his jacket and putting it around my shoulders before I can reject it. I try to, but he reaches over and zips it up, not giving me a choice.
“Think of it as a sort of peace offering Avery. Just wear the jacket.” He looks at me with a look implicating that his comment is the end of it, so, giving up, so I roll my eyes, put my arms in the sleeves, and zip it the rest of the way.
“Thank you,” I say with a timidity I haven’t had with him since the sixth grade. I open my mouth to say something, say anything to break the silence, but he cuts me off.
“So, Miss Thompson,” he begins with mock formality, closing his eyes with a smile, “what on earth brought you to Seattle during this time of year?” I bite my lip, not wanting to actually say the reason. When I’m quiet, he opens his eyes, smile fading fast. His eyes flash to my left hand, which is covered by my right, and I feel the blush rise on my cheeks.
“Aves?” He says softly, hurt and fear in his eyes. I uncover my hand and lift it to eye level.
“Nope,” I say with what can only be described as a tired attempt at a smile, waving my hand around, Beyonce style. The relief in his face is beyond evident. Letting out a deep sigh, he nods his head and leans back in his seat, eyes closed. I turn back to the window, remembering all the late night tennis trips we sat this way- me by the window, him in the aisle. It was never this awkward though. We were always snuggled up together, one or both of us usually sleeping. I sigh, and become suddenly aware of the scent of his jacket. He still uses the same cologne. Ralph Lauren Polo #3. I inhale slowly, quietly, remembering all the times I spent crying, laughing, or talking to and with him, each memory given body with the familiar, comforting scent of him filling my head, clouding my judgment, and I glance down at his jacket. It’s the one I got him for Christmas, 7 months and 9 days before he ended it. I feel my shoulders sag, tension and anxiety gone, replaced by their friends, nostalgia and pain. He looks at me again, right as I yawn.
“Tired?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. I yawn again with a nod, trying to blink sleep out of my eyes. He scoots closer to me, and puts the arm rest between the seats up, and takes my arm, pulling me towards him, and he lays my head on his shoulder.
“Is this okay?” He whispers, and I know he’s unsure of what the answer will be. Without thinking, I nod, feeling the soft, worn fabric of his shirt against my face, and get just a little closer. I can’t see it, but I practically feel his relieved smile.
We stay like that for a few minutes, saying nothing, just the white noise of the plane humming in the background. He starts to talk though, about how there was some job interview in a suburb of Seattle, and that’s why he was there, but he didn’t get the job, and was kind of glad.
“So, Aves,” He says to me softly in a gentle tone that gets me to look up him, and he presses his forehead to mine, “Why are you in Seattle this time of year?”
“Do you really want to know?” I respond, biting my cheek, dodging the question. He nods, his hair getting mussed against my face, and I lay my head back on his shoulder.
“Because I always wanted to come here with you. But you left,” I whisper, barely audible. He nods again.
“I remember that.” His tone is pained, and when I look him in the eye, it’s apologetic, too. He wraps his arms around me, a gesture that should seem odd by now, three years later, but instead just seems familiar and right. He pulls me into a hug so tight that it should hurt, but it doesn’t at all. And he holds me there, just like he used to, and for a minute or so, it feels like he was never gone at all. But he pulls away, and with a heavy feeling in my heart, and a sigh that makes my lungs feel as if they’re full of lead, I remember that he was gone. He is gone, from me at least. And even though it takes every bit of will power I have to ruin the moment like I do, but when he looks at me again with that smile, I blurt out-
“Why?” He looks confused, and I ask again, this time in an explanatory manner. “Why did you leave?” His jaw sets, and I feel the tears that were building finally start to fall. And then I ask the question that kept me awake at night for the first year after he left.
“Why did you leave me? And what happened to ‘Forever’?”
YOU ARE READING
A Change of Plans
ChickLitAfter he left her without a word, Avery planned on never having to deal with Jackson again. But when he shows up next to her on an airplane, three years later, with his heart on his sleeve and his wit in his eyes, Avery's world takes a 180 degree tu...
