Can't Look Away(20)
Jake was already back in the city when he finally called two days after Christmas, claiming he’d forgotten to pack his phone charger and hadn’t been able to find one at home.
I wasn’t stupid. By that point, I’d understood that Jake was in no way ready to be a father. Not yet. This child wasn’t going to save us. On the contrary, telling him about the baby would rip us right down the middle.
I realized this first in my gut, then my heart, and luckily the rest of my body wasn’t far behind. It was a Saturday night, and Jake was out playing a show in East Williamsburg. I’d told him I was coming down with something, too sick to go, but he didn’t seem to care. I still remember the blood, the way it ran down my thighs onto the floor, how it smeared the seat of the toilet. I let it sit there till the morning before I bothered wiping it up. That blood was all I had left of the most precious thing I’d ever known.
January was a frigid month in the city, but not as cold as Jake. He’d withdrawn again, dodging my calls and blaming the band for the lack of free time that was turning him into a shitty partner.
One Sunday morning, he finally mustered the balls to dump me, but not before I saw him with you, Molly. I was a shell of myself by then, empty and hollow as a tin can, never not thinking of the blood, the sight of it swirling down the toilet. But I hadn’t lost my common sense.
I spent the Saturday before he left me in Tompkins Square Park, which was kitty-corner from his studio. He’d told me he’d be there all weekend, practicing with the Lanes. The day was blustery, below freezing, but I was too immobilized by pain to feel the icy cold. I waited to see him leave the building, my eyes peeled for the sight of his distinct hair, the familiar of the line of his shoulders.
When Jake finally emerged from the swinging doors, he wasn’t alone. You were with him, hand in hand, both of you bundled in winter coats. I remember you were wearing a gray wool jacket and a red hat with a pom-pom, your wheat-blond waves long and loose—I’ll never forget that very first sight of you. From my post in the park, I watched the two of you walk south on Avenue A. While you waited for the crosswalk to change, he leaned over and kissed your cheek, and it took every fiber of restraint not to run over and claw at your face. I waited until the two of you were out of sight before walking the six blocks back to my apartment, bitter wind whipping my face. I turned on the shower as hot as it would go, stepped under the water, and screamed.
Chapter Ten
Molly
2013
Molly fell for Jake quickly, easily. She’d known she loved him since that first night, though she waited two more dates to sleep with him—Nina said she absolutely could not do so sooner than the third date, not if she wanted their connection to become something real.
And the magic of it was, Molly felt sure Jake was falling for her, too. One February afternoon, over Presidents’ Day weekend, they were working in Jake’s apartment. Molly was editing a short story for her thesis, and Jake was writing a new song for the album. Snow fell heavily outside the windows, piling high on the sidewalks and emptying the streets. Sam and Hale were back in North Carolina for the long weekend, and the apartment was cozy and warm, filled with the sound of Pachelbel. Classical music helped Jake focus.
From the other end of the couch, Jake nudged his socked foot against Molly’s. She glanced up from her laptop. He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming blue, and she was filled with an almost unbearable blend of affection and awe. He was hers. How was it possible? She often thought of Jake’s ex, of the girl who’d tried and failed to make him stay. She couldn’t imagine the pain of loving someone like Jake and having him not love her back.
“You know what the song I’m writing is called?” he asked.
Molly shook her head, mirroring his smile.
“‘January Girl.’”
Molly said nothing, a clamp over her heart. She was tempted to make a joke—Who’s February Girl, then?—but she didn’t. The moment was real, and she didn’t want to trivialize it.
Her heart felt like a balloon, inflating inside her chest. It could’ve carried her to the sky. She’d never experienced this before—the feeling that her own exhilaration was safe. Molly was certain they loved each other—she knew musicians didn’t write songs about girls just because—even though it would’ve been crazy to say it after only six weeks.
Nina had always told Molly it would happen this way, that when she met the right person, it wouldn’t be complicated. She’d just know. And Molly did know. She knew Jake was the light that touched her darkest corners. She knew that because of him, her deepest dreams felt conquerable. She knew that his touch sent waves of electricity through her body, that being physically near him—even just in the same room—made her feel more alive than anything or anyone else ever had.
Walking home from a shift at Angelina’s a few weeks later, Molly realized that something big was finally happening to her in New York. It was Jake Danner.
The way he consumed her was like her senses had been woken up after a long hibernation. The intoxicating smell of his skin, raw cedar mixed with bar soap; his clear, unadorned voice; the protected, treasured way he made her feel. Images of him, conversations that replayed in her head, took up every square inch of Molly’s mind.
She wasn’t completely naive; she realized that what she felt stretched beyond healthy love. Some days, it felt closer to obsession, and this worried Molly. But Jake wasn’t a fantasy, she had to remind herself. He wasn’t some toxic, wishy-washy fuckboy, like she’d worried he might be in the beginning. He could have picked any girl out of any bar, but he had picked her. He adored her. He’d written a song about her.