Chapter 17: What Jess Figured Out
1257 Words
Jess figured it out on Friday.
Maya hadn't told her. She'd been careful — specific details kept vague, names not given, the shape of the story preserved without the parts that would require explanations she wasn't ready to give. She thought she'd been doing well.
She had underestimated Jess.
They were in Maya's apartment, takeout containers spread across the coffee table, some show on the television that neither of them was really watching. It was the kind of evening they'd had a hundred times — comfortable, low-effort, the particular ease of two people who had been friends long enough to not need to perform anything.
Jess had been quiet for about twenty minutes, which was unusual.
Maya noticed but didn't push.
Then Jess said, without looking away from the television: "He's not normal, is he."
Maya set down her chopsticks.
"What do you mean," she said carefully.
"The man from the forest." Jess turned to look at her. Her expression was thoughtful, not alarmed. "There's something different about him. About the whole situation." She paused. "You've been here for five days and you're — you're present, but you're also somewhere else. And the texts."
"What about the texts."
"You get this face when you text him. Like you're trying not to smile and also trying to figure something out at the same time." Jess tilted her head. "I've seen you with guys before. This is different."
Maya looked at the takeout container in her hands.
"It's complicated," she said. For approximately the thousandth time.
"You keep saying that." Jess pulled her knees up to her chest. "I'm not asking for details you don't want to give. I'm just — I want to know if you're safe. Actually safe, not politely safe."
Maya thought about the protection clause. About Rennick's formal declaration. About Ethan's three exit strategies and the way he'd stood between her and the dark space in the trees without hesitating.
"I'm safe," she said. "Actually."
Jess studied her. "And him? He treats you well?"
Maya thought about a blanket appearing over her in the night. About coffee made without being asked. About being told you're not alone in there and having it be true.
"Yes," she said.
"Does he know how you feel?"
Maya looked at the television.
"I don't know how I feel," she said.
"Maya."
"I mean it. I know there's — something. I know it's not nothing. But I've known him for two weeks and most of that was extremely unusual circumstances and I haven't had time to—" She stopped. "I haven't had time to figure out if what I feel is real or just — residue from the situation."
Jess was quiet for a moment.
"That's a very reasonable thing to say," she said.
"Thank you."
"It's also complete nonsense."
Maya looked at her.
"I'm not saying throw yourself at him," Jess said. "I'm saying — you already know. You've known for a while. The figuring out is just you stalling because it's easier to analyze than to feel." She paused. "Which is very on brand for you, by the way. Lovingly said."
Maya looked back at the television.
"It's complicated," she said, one more time, weakly.
"I know." Jess leaned over and put her head on Maya's shoulder, the way she had on the first night back. "What happens in a week?"
"I go back. There's a meeting. About the — situation." She paused. "And I see him."
"And then?"
"I don't know."
"But you want there to be an and then."
Maya was quiet.
"Yeah," she said finally. Quietly. "I want there to be an and then."
Jess made a small sound of satisfaction. "Okay."
"That's it? Okay?"
"What else do you want me to say? You're going back in a week, you're going to see him, things will either develop or they won't." She shrugged against Maya's shoulder. "You're not a person who needs to be pushed. You just needed to say it out loud."
Maya absorbed this.
She hated that it was accurate.
"What if he doesn't—" She stopped.
"What if he doesn't feel the same way?"
"It bothers me less than it should," she said. Almost to herself.
"What?"
"Something he said. About — about something else." She stared at the television. "He said it bothers him less than it should. About something that should have been straightforward to be neutral about."
Jess lifted her head. Looked at her.
"Maya," she said. "That man is gone for you."
"You can't know that from one sentence."
"I absolutely can." Jess pointed at her with a chopstick. "A guarded person saying something bothers them less than it should is the most enormous admission you will ever get from them. That's the equivalent of a normal person saying I'm completely at your mercy, please don't hurt me."
Maya stared at her.
"You're reading a lot into four words."
"I'm reading exactly the right amount into four words." Jess settled back. "Go back in a week. Talk to him. Not about the situation — about the actual thing."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Yes you do. You're direct. You say the thing. It's one of your best qualities." Jess went back to her takeout. "Just aim it at the right target for once."
Maya sat with this.
The show on the television said something that apparently required a laugh track.
Outside, the city moved in its ordinary way.
She picked up her chopsticks.
She thought about direct. About saying the thing. About a man who said honest things quietly and whose pauses she had learned to read like a language.
She thought about one week.
She thought about what she was going to say.
---
That night, later, after Jess had gone home and the apartment was quiet, she texted him.
It was past midnight. She didn't think about whether he'd be awake. She already knew he would be.
I've been thinking, she typed.
She waited.
About what, he replied. Almost immediately.
About after the meeting next week. What happens after that.
The three dots appeared. Stayed longer than usual.
What do you want to happen?
She stared at this for a long time.
She thought about what Jess had said. Direct. Say the thing. Aim it at the right target.
She typed: I want to keep being part of your world. Not because of the Hollow Pack or Rennick or agreements. Just — because I want to.
She hit send before she could think about it too long.
Then she put the phone face down on her nightstand and lay very still in the dark, heartbeat slightly elevated, waiting.
The phone buzzed.
She picked it up.
His message said: I want that too.
Three words. Quiet and direct and completely like him.
She set the phone down.
She looked at the ceiling.
She smiled.
Not the suppressed, trying-not-to smile that Jess had apparently been reading on her face all week.
A real one. Wide and uncomplicated and just for the dark ceiling and herself.
She thought about seven days.
She thought about a house at the edge of a forest and coffee on a kitchen table and a man who said honest things quietly.
She thought about and then.
Outside a wind moved through the city and she closed her eyes and for the first time in a week, she fell asleep quickly.
She didn't dream about gold eyes in the dark.
She dreamed about morning light through kitchen windows.
It was better.
- Writer
