Book #2 in the Medley series
JENNIFER RUE:
I thought I had my life all mapped out.
But nothing throws a wrench in your plans like finding your fiancé in bed with another woman.
Untangling myself from the damage Darren did is hard, but the more I...
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Jen cries the entire way to the airport.
We left her parents' house in a hurry, Jen apologizing frantically to her mother and sister for leaving so abruptly. I trailed behind, mind spinning. Whatever Richard said in that study, Jen was willing to miss her sister's deb ball over it. I know how big a deal that is.
She quiets down as we linger outside the airport like some inherent part of her etiquette training kicks in, and she refuses to let the people here see her true feelings - as if being in Oklahoma has awoken abilities in pretend I never knew she possessed.
Her eyes are barely bloodshot as we walk silently through the bustling terminal, reaching our gate.
"Jen," I try, desperate to figure out what's going on. Even behind the mask of indifference she's adorned - so unlike her - I see the lingering heartbreak in her eyes. The utter despair.
"I can't," she whispers, not looking at me, as she hands over our newly bought boarding passes to the passenger assistant, and we board the plane.
I wait patiently as we climb in altitude. As the people around us doze off or start watching movies on the small screens in front of their seats. Until the aisle is free of flight attendants milling around and silence encompasses us. Throughout all this, Jen doesn't lift her eyes from the window. She's staring down at the city that's long since disappeared behind a cloud cover as if reluctant to leave it out of her sight for even a moment.
"Love..." I urge her, putting a hand on her arm. She's cold to the touch.
Jen startles, looking over at me with bleary eyes. Whatever she sees makes her chin quiver, and she breathes deeply, glancing around us for prying eyes. I make a show of angling myself towards her, my broad back blocking out any onlookers. Jen blinks against the tears, leaning towards me.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
The hand on her arm slides up to cup her face, and with the other, I grab her waist, pulling her forward until she's nestled against my body. We might be in a flying tin can with hundreds of other people, but it's only her and me in this cocoon.
"Why are you apologizing?" I ask, genuinely perplexed.
"I let him say all those awful things to you," she cries quietly into my chest, her hands fisting my shirt.
I recall the conversation during dinner tonight. Sure, what Richard said hadn't been nice and made me angry, but I kept remembering what my mother said. That as a Black, gay woman, she'd faced situations like that too often. And if she could handle it without burning the world down, I could sit through one dinner.
"That's not your fault, Jen," I say forcefully. I had a hard time distinguishing her from her father's platform when we first met, but now I know she'll never be responsible for his words or actions.
