You Can't Catch Me(51)
It was different in other ways too. We’d known each other so long that we didn’t have to get to know one another. Not like with a stranger. But then again, we didn’t know each other this way, romantically, intimately, even though I lived with him that first year after I left the Land of Todd. That was twelve years ago, though. Then, I stuck to the outskirts of the apartment, the places I didn’t think Liam cared about. The guest room. The crappy chair in the corner of the living room. I took the second shower to make sure he had enough warm water.
This time I was front and center. It was surprising how easily I fit into his life again. Could I have had this all along, I wondered, if I’d had the courage to speak up? No. I’d tried, and he’d pushed me away. He was right to do that. I was far too young then, and how could he tell whether I wanted him for real or simply out of gratitude? But something had shifted over time, and I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it. What else was I missing?
I tried not to torture myself too much, or pepper Liam with questions. He didn’t want to analyze; he wanted to be. Mostly, I was happy to do this, even though I kept telling myself it wasn’t going to last, that I’d fuck it up somehow, that I should end it while we could still be friends. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to live in this contented place as long as I could.
So I did.
And then Liam found Jessica Five.
He told me about her over the birthday dinner we shared at his place. Turns out, Liam does have candles. I found them at the back of a drawer and lit them, letting the wax drip onto a plate so they’d stand upright. It was another sweltering day after weeks of heat. The trees outside looked like they were dying, but inside his apartment, it was pleasant and cool. I’d decided to try to cook something, a simple pasta sauce over fresh pasta. I’d never had the time to learn how to cook, so I watched a YouTube video—one of JJ’s—and followed the instructions. The kitchen was a disaster, but the smells alone were worth it. I texted her a photo. She sent me a middle-finger emoji in response, which I took to mean Leave me alone until you have something to tell me about the plan. I sent her back a thumbs-up. Then I put my phone away and concentrated on Liam.
We’d finished eating, and I was trying to summon the will to get up and start washing the dishes when Liam pushed an envelope across the table.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it. It felt thick inside.
“What you asked for. Sorry it took so long to find it.”
I opened the envelope. There was a sheaf of papers inside, and also a photo—more of a headshot—of a woman about my age. I knew who she must be. Even though I wanted this, I felt the start of dread.
“Another Jessica Williams?”
Liam relaxed into his chair. “That’s right.”
“Ah.”
“You’re disappointed?”
“No, it’s . . .”
“Not what you were expecting for your birthday?”
“Not exactly.”
He grinned. “There’s something else for later.”
“I sure hope so.” I tossed him a napkin. “You have some sauce on your face.”
“Nice way to thank me for finding something I didn’t even want to find.”
“Oh, I’ll thank you.”
And I did.
So here I am in Jackson, Wyoming, 2,164 miles from New York. Elevation, 6,237 feet. Population, 10,532. It’s the middle of August, and the weather is perfect. Eighty degrees and sunny with that wide-open sky you only get at elevation. Big Sky Country, I think they call it. Or maybe that’s in Montana. Whatever. I’m not here as a tourist, but I see the appeal.
This is where Jessica Five lives. Thanks to Liam, I know a lot about her. She was born to former ski bums who now own a brewpub. Her parents have a house up the side of Snow King, the town hill, which has amazing views of the Tetons. She lives in a small house that looks like it isn’t insulated properly on one of the flat streets in the valley. She went to college in Colorado and now works as a photographer. Lots of black-and-white landscapes of the Tetons. Those sharp peaks, snow-topped, with flowers in the valleys below dancing merrily in the wind.
I’ve spent the last week tailing her, so I know a lot more than what was in Liam’s packet, like where she goes for her morning coffee and what her favorite restaurant is. She’s a happy person who starts her day with a run up Snow King. I walked the same switchback path one day, and it felt like my heart might explode. She has a small group of friends that she hangs out with most nights. She takes Fridays off to hike.
It didn’t take long to complete the plan. JJ proposed setting up a fake photography prize and awarding it to her, after we created some online profiles for her. Before us, she only had a work website. What kind of millennial has no social? The kind who lives in Jackson. After we were done with her, she was on Facebook and Instagram. She even tweeted once in a while. Impersonating her made me nervous. What if she noticed? What if one of her real friends told her about it? What, then? But none of that happened. She carried on, obliviously living her fabulous life.
It had been a while since I followed someone, working with Liam or even in my early days trying to make a name for myself at FeedNews. It was hard in the city, even harder in a small town. I had to change my wardrobe. My New York uniform of black T-shirts and dark jeans made me stand out in this land of blond, tanned Amazonians. I spent too much money pulling things from the sale rack at Skinny Skis, and now I had hiking pants and shorts and colorful T-shirts in a wicking fabric, and a puffy jacket for the cool nights.