Page 22 of Falling For Alaska

"You’ll be back sooner than you know," he repeats, filling the silence or convincing himself. Coming back…to what? To the same sidelong glances and folks finishing my sentences? To a promotion that hinges more on fluency than competence?

"Y-yeah," I say after a moment. "I’ll—I’ll do my b-best, Sir."

"I know you will, son," he rasps. "Stay sharp, Jack."

The line clicks.

I toss the phone into the cupholder and sit back, staring through the windshield at the quiet road ahead. Pines sway gently in the wind. Somewhere, Alaska is probably shelving books or making herself a cup of tea like the one she had at the store. I close my eyes and exhale slowly.

I'm a freak who can’t go on in life without embarrassing himself or keep his job. What would she do with a beast like me? I’ll take this as a reminder of why I’m here. Whatever fantasy I had about her was just that, a fantasy. There’s no world where a delicate, smart girl like her would want anything with a messed-up, embarrassing guy like me. She’s all grace and beauty, and I’m…just a freak.

There’s a light fog settling on the car window. A droplet of water falling slowly. I stay there another minute, frozen in time, trying to accept that I’ll never be good enough for a woman like her.

Chapter Nine

ALASKA

“Don’t do it,” Matthew warns me, standing in my kitchen with his stupid Christmas sweater, his skin as pale as morning snow.

“Why? It’s just a cake.”

“Just a cake? C’mon, Laska, this guy dumped you and you’re making him a freaking cake?” he says, resting his back on the wall. My kitchen is small, but I love it this way. I decorated it with little beach paintings and pink linens. There are also a few movie quotes I framed near the counter. It goes directly into my living room, which has a beautiful view of the forest through the large bay window. Matthew says it looks like a tiny house, but I like it this way. I never saw myself in something bigger. I would get lost or only use the same spaces. When I see a massive mansion, all I can think of is how people must be hanging out in different rooms, while I wish that if I had had the chance to build a family, we would always spend time in the same areas.

“He didn’t dump me.” I look at him hard. “He couldn’t make it this one time, that’s different.” Jack left a flower on the doorstep of my bookshop yesterday morning with a note saying he had to postpone our hike. He didn't say why, but I'm guessing it's work-related. The smile I had when I took the rose in my hand faded when I read his note. I was actually really looking forward to it. Is Matthew right? Was it a ghosting move? If he wanted to send me a message, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of picking a flower and writing a note, right? It seemed genuine, and for some strange reason, I actually trust him. So I thought, if he's stuck at work, then why not bring him a piece of cake and then go on with my day? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of cake…

“I thought you said you didn't want a relationship of any kind.” Matthew scoffs.

“I thought so too, but going on a hike together doesn’t mean we’re going to get married, it was just nice to⁠—”

“Not married, but that’s a big step for you and⁠—”

“Can you just stop? I’m trying to…” I rub my face. “I’m trying here. I’m trying something new. I haven’t felt this way with someone in years, I’m just…”

I just want to chase this feeling.

Here.

The way Jack looks at me when I speak, the way his touch warms me up from the inside out. No one does that to me. The idea of touching another being repulsed me until I met him. When he's near, there's this inexplicable state of being exactly where I should be for once…and I’m craving it.

“Hey.” Matthew comes near me, his step wet and loud, squelching against the wood floor and leaving droplets of water on it. He raises his hands but stops before dropping his arms by his sides. He's a hugger, but at least he respects my need to keep my distance.

All I want is to bring this average-looking cake to Jack and hear his voice say my name. Even if it's silly and makes no sense. I like baking; it relaxes me and that’s one of the things I’m known for in my family. Each year, I would make Christmas cookies in the shapes of snowflakes and my dad would call them Alaska’s Specials, and well, it always makes my day better to bake and make people smile with it.

“Come on, I didn’t want to upset you,” he says with an eye roll.

“Maybe…you should stop meddling in my life, Matt,” I hesitate, “We’re not the same person,” I murmur to my twin and he sneers.

“Okay, right, well, good luck handling it on your own, we both know how you manage that.” A cold smile is placated on his face before turning his back and walking to the door. I don’t even look at him as he leaves, my shoulders relaxing after hearing the creaking of the door. Finishing the topping on my chocolate cake with small sugary snowflakes, I set it on the table and start searching for a box to transport it. The counter is already spotless as I clean as I go. My spoons and measuring cup drying on the rack and ordered by size. I kneel at my counter to look for a Tupperware box large enough to carry it, but when I do, I spot a few crumbs of cake fallen on the floor next to a little puddle of water. Damn it, Matt can’t bother to remove his shoes each time he comes here. Taking a cloth to clean it, I kneel back, but the puddle isn't there anymore. All I see are little chocolate crumbs, while I search for the missing puddle. I was sure there was water here, from Matthew’s shoe sole.

Whatever.

I get back up and pick up the plate, the cake balanced on it. Hopefully, he’ll love it and maybe we’ll get to talk and just spend more time together. I slide in my navy raincoat, the cloudy sky mingling with a dusty rain. I take in my face in the mirror for a second and decide to add a bit of that cherry chapstick I’ve been loving recently. The texture smears on my lips like fruit and I tap it with my index, blurring it like I’ve just been kissed.

Maybe one day, Alaska.

Maybe one day.

Jack