“You’re such a lovely young man, Jake. Your mum must be so proud of you.” Oh, yeah, so proud.
“Thank you.” Well, I can’t exactly tell her the truth, can I? “I don’t think you’ll need me again until spring,” I add, knowing she will be disappointed by that.
“That seems so far away, doesn’t it?” Her face suddenly changes. “What’s that, over there?” Her hand points in the direction of the newly-planted myrtle.
“Oh, I put something in the gap from where that lavender died. I hope you don’t mind. There’s no charge,” I add, even though I know money doesn’t worry her.
“I think I recognise it. Is it…?” Her excited tone surprises me.
“Myrtle. It will give you some evergreen colour over winter and the white flowers are lovely in the summer.”
“Oh,” she sighs. “I thought it was. I had myrtle in my wedding bouquet. Everyone did in those days. I heard Kate Middleton did, as well, so it’s probably all the fashion again.” Tears glaze her eyes and threaten to do the same to me. “Oh, Jake, that’s perfect. Every time I look at it, I will be reminded of my wedding day. Thank you.” Her hand takes mine and squeezes it tight. “I hope you find love like I had with Jack. You deserve it.”
Walking back to the van, arms laden with my tools, I wish life was that simple.
When I arrived for my lecture on Medieval Literature a couple of days later, I saw Garrett was sat in the same place as in Monday’s lecture but, thinking about Cass’s advice, I went and sat a couple of rows away, a part of me hoping he wouldn’t notice me arrive. How wrong I was.
Before I had even taken my coat off, his long legs had straddled the benches between us and he was placing a coffee cup in front of me.
“One skinny mocha, no cocoa symbolism today,” he said, sitting down next to me. “How are you?”
“Fine. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Fine? I know enough about women to know that fine never means fine. What’s up?”
“You mean, other than having Perky join me at this godforsaken hour?” Yes, I know, I can be a bitch sometimes.
“Oh, sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone?” His tone made it difficult to say yes.
“No, stay. I’m just not a morning person,” I added, by way of apology.
“I understand. This nine o’ clock lecture is a killer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, this is my crap day. I have four classes, right through until six-thirty.”
“Ugh. I hate those days. What do you do in between?”
“Usually the library. I know if I go back to my room, I’ll probably not make it back,” I admitted.
“I’ve got an hour after this before my next lecture. Do you fancy a study buddy? I promise not to distract you.” His smile seemed sincere and, with the lack of any other friends still the case, I agreed.
True to his word, he accompanied me to the library and spent the hour in the study booth next to me. Other than a whispered “See you later,” before he left, he didn’t even talk to me. However, it wasn’t long before the vibration of my phone disturbed my reading.
Yankee: Do you eat? If yes, we could get lunch. If no, you’re weird.
Me: Yes & yes. I’m only free from 1 til 2 so it will have to be quick.
Yankee: We can do quick. Food court at 1.15?
Me: c u there ?
That was probably the moment when it all started. The way things were going to be between us.
Garrett bought my lunch, carried it to the table and was entertaining company whilst we ate. He told me about growing up in a wealthy family in Boston, even laughing when I had to check on Google Maps exactly where Boston was. He told me about his grandmother, living a seemingly-hedonistic existence in London since becoming a widow. In fact, he told me so much about himself that I felt like I had known him for ages when he insisted on walking me to the lecture hall. We walked quickly as there is nothing more embarrassing than arriving after the lecture has started; I had seen others publicly humiliated for tardiness. About to follow a group of students into the hall, I felt Garrett’s hand on my arm.
“Hey, I have to leave you here,” he reminded me.
“Oh, yeah, thanks for lunch.” My smile was probably the most sincere I had bestowed upon him since our first meeting. He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. The intimacy of the gesture was unsettling.
“You’ve got a bit blown about by the speed-walking,” he smiled. “Speak soon.”
“Bye,” I said to his back before making my way into the lecture. Even though my lecturer was great, regaling us with a potted history of American music, my mind kept replaying the way Garrett had touched my hair. There was nothing tentative about the gesture, nothing which suggested he thought I might be unhappy about it. Putting it down to American confidence, I tried to focus on my notes. But failed.
At exactly six thirty-one, my phone rang. Yankee flashed on the screen. I felt a jolt of disappointment that it wasn’t Jake’s name.