Dive

Fifteen

I've just sunk down on the couch with a bowl full of popcorn and an unhealthy amount of coffee in front of me, ready to lean back and enjoy three uninterrupted hours of Bones - I'm on an episode where one of the main cast is once again in mortal danger because apparently being a forensic anthropologist is one of the most dangerous professions in the world - when the front door opens.

I still with my hand halfway down the popcorn bowl, wondering who it might be. I don't think anyone knocked, but I could have been too occupied drooling over how hot Booth looks in any outfit ever to notice.

I strain my ears, trying to pick up any small noises that could indicate that someone is currently in the process of robbing me. A burglar would be a really inconvenient interruption on my Sunday series marathon, but then I hear the unmistakable sound of Jen's fancy heels hitting the floor.

My eyes flick over to the clock on the mantel, checking that it is indeed still before noon and that I haven't somehow lost several hours. Jen shouldn't be home yet.

"Jen?" I call out, aware that if it somehow isn't her, I have just given away my location, but then again, the Bones theme-music blaring away on the TV might already have done that.

No answer. I'm distracted by the very graphic image of a decomposing body on the television when a movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye.

Jen walks across the entrance towards the stairs in her church dress, barefoot.

"Jennifer? Why are you home?" I ask. I'm almost convinced she hasn't heard me, since she doesn't react at all, but the way her hand tightens the hold on the banister and her shoulders come up around her ears says otherwise.

I frown, looking back at the television just as someone tries to shoot Booth, and I feel somewhat cheated that I have to pause right now. Nevertheless, I do and then quickly follow Jen up the stairs, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of my stomach.

Her door is ajar, and I gently nudge it open, seeing Jen sitting on her bed, slowly removing her church jewelry as if on autopilot.

"Hi," I say cautiously, not liking this one bit. "What's going on?"

Without looking up at me or pausing her movements for a second, Jen replies in a flat voice, "I broke up with Darren."

I stare at her for a full ten seconds, possibly gaping, while trying to quiet the mariachi band that instantly started playing in my head when she uttered those words.

"Broke up as in...?"

"As in ended the engagement." She removes the big rock she's been carrying around for the last year. Not once since Darren placed that god-awful thing on her finger have I seen her look at it with anything but adoration, but now there's a flicker of pure loathing in her eyes as she tosses it onto her nightstand.

I'm ready to pop the champagne and hang banners saying 'the douche canoe is gone!', however, something about the vacant expression on Jen's face makes me hold my horses on the celebration.