Chapter 4: My Jackson

Taylor

Did I just cry with a stranger? Did I, looking at the unfolded bar napkin, accept his cellphone number and promise to see him next week? I haven’t been single for two months yet. This is not me. I don’t take these risks. I do not share private feelings with strangers. I do not meet men in bars. I don’t go to bars. I work. I plan. I scrutinize and calculate all my decisions before making them. I have at least three to-do lists going at any given time. I live to plan and organize everything. Deciding to fly to KC at a moment’s notice is not something I do. Accepting the number of a bartender I just met is even farther from the norm for me. What am I thinking?

I find my gate just in time for boarding. The agent scans my first-class ticket, and I secure my carry-on in the overhead compartment before I plop into my spacious seat. I smile at the thought of seeing my friends. Jackson and Kennedy know about my screwed-up mom, my life with Grandma before she passed, my desperation for scholarships, my desire to find someone so I was not alone. They know all my secrets and love me despite them.

A few moments pass. Then a young couple takes the seats between me and the window. They giggle, coo, and are constantly touching. It is easy to see they are very young and very much in love. Why can’t I find a love like theirs? My true love, my good guy? Where is my Jackson?

I flag the attendant on her way by. “May I have a Jack and Coke as soon as you get a chance?”

She smiles at me then scurries off. This is just my luck. I am running from my failed relationship, and fate puts a young, newlywed couple next to me for my flight. I have nowhere to escape them. Suddenly, my seatbelt feels like it is shackling me to my failures.

On her way to assist another passenger, the flight attendant delivers my drink. I thank her twice. She tilts her head to the right and smiles a knowing smile at me before excusing herself.

As I place my glass to my lips, I hear, "My name is Mark. This is my wife, Sarah. We're headed to the Bahamas for our honeymoon." He turns to grin at the giggling Sarah then back to me. "Will you take our picture for us?" He urges his cellphone towards me. I set my glass down and accept his phone with a forced smile.

"Perfect." He glances at the picture on his cellphone screen. "Thanks." He turns, and the couple's lips connect in a tender kiss.

I sigh and finish my drink in one attempt. As the attendant works the area, I signal for another.

During the flight, I do my best to block out the cute couple's coos on my left as I finish my second drink then move on to plain cola. I busy myself by reading the latest, number one best-selling romance novel I downloaded from Amazon for the trip.

I don't normally read for entertainment. I read for work, for research, or for news. I thought this would make for good vacation reading. It was overwhelming, trying to choose the perfect book. I was not looking for sappy fantasy relationships where the world seems perfect. I chose a rough guy, a spunky woman, and a relationship of opposites full of turmoil. I am five chapters in as we land in Kansas City.

I browse anxiously through the crowd for Kennedy. Not seeing her, I find a nearby seat to relax and wait. I pull out my compact to check my hair. I raise the open mirror. There, in the reflection behind me, is Jackson. I stand and turn just in time for a tag-team hug from Kennedy and her husband.

"Sorry we are late," Jackson greets. "I couldn't find a parking spot." He grabs my bag from my hand, kisses my cheek, then motions me toward the exit.

Kennedy wraps her arm around my waist as we follow him. It feels like home, being back in the company of my true friends. "You. Look. Fabulous!" Kennedy takes me in from head to toe. "How many days a week are you working out?"

"Three to four," I admit. I straighten a crease out of my white cotton T-shirt. "I just threw on the first clean thing I found when you called. You know, I didn't have much time to prepare."

"You look like a model. Just threw it on, my foot. Those Converse are to die for. How much did they set you back?" Kennedy refuses to shut up about my selection of travel attire.

"A model?" Jackson butts in. "I believe you must be five foot seven to be a model. Even in those shoes you are under five foot one."

Without thinking, my middle-finger flies into Jackson’s face. Looking around the concourse, Jackson grasps my wrist, lowering my hand to my side.

"What's this?" I tease back. "You are slipping in your old age, Jackson. I've been on the ground for ten minutes, and this is your first zinger."

"Come on." Jackson laughs while pulling me tight for a bear hug," I tease because I love."

"Yeah. Love has nothing to do with it,” I reply.

Kennedy steers the conversation to a topic of more importance. “What’s Taylor feel like for dinner?”

“Whatever is closest,” is my reply, grabbing my growling stomach. Sandwiched between the two of them, I am guided toward the exit.

Inside their Chevy Impala, Jackson drives us from the airport towards a restaurant Kennedy chose. It seems like no time has passed. I set the two of them up on their first date and spent many a trip in the back of Jackson’s car as he drove Kennedy and I here or there. They are the perpetual couple; I am perpetually single.

“Taylor,” Jackson’s voice interrupts. “Earth to Taylor. You okay?”

I smile at his eyes in the rearview mirror then at Kennedy. “I’m sorry. I had drinks during the flight. What did you say?”

Jackson shakes his head while mentioning that things are moving quickly back to the time before John if I am consuming drinks. This causes me to pause.

“I drank while I was with John.” The sound of his name off my tongue causes me to cringe. It’s over. I no longer have to deal with him. I am moving on.

“Taylor,” Kennedy answers, “you might have taken a sip here or there, but you never drank.”

“You were drunk when you met John at the team party,” Jackson reminds me. “But I don’t think we saw you take more than a taste or two while you were with him.” Jackson’s eyes in the mirror convey his sadness.

I don’t want their pity. It’s over. I made a mistake, I chose wrong, and I wasted four years of my life.

Kennedy continues, “Honestly, we knew he became overly controlling. We just thought you chose not to drink so you could try to keep him from losing his temper.” She, too, looks at me sadly. “You changed everything for him. You gave up so much.”

“Enough!” I yell. “This is a John-free trip. I am single. I need to heal and move on. I can’t do that if you two are pointing out all the mistakes I made.”

As I talk, I fail to notice that Jackson has pulled into a large parking lot and stopped the car. I become aware when he opens the back door, takes my hand, and pulls me out. I barely have time to unbuckle before he has me in a tight hug. Tears sting my eyes. Where did they come from?

Kennedy also wraps her arms around my waist. Jackson’s deep voice interrupts the group hug. “We are not pointing out your mistakes. We are not against you. We are your friends. We lost you to John. We lost our fun-loving, daring, life-of-the-party best friend.” He brushes the tears from my cheeks. “It didn’t happen overnight, but you withdrew from us. You cut us off. You avoided our calls and invites. You changed the way you dressed, the way you acted, and even the way you talked.”

“You were a Stepford Wife,” Kennedy states.

“Ouch!” I bite back.

“This trip,” Jackson continues, “is an intervention. We are going to bring back Taylor.”