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Getting down the stairs in my walking boot is much easier, and I’m a bit of a pro now, even performing a side-step on the second-to-last stair from the bottom that creaks badly on the right side. The scene before me could be a Norman Rockwell painting. Linda is in an elegant teal dressing gown, cooking on my stove, stirring a pan of breakfast potatoes with sausage and peppers, bacon popping.
Jackson is in those damn gray sweatpants and a well-worn Lewis & Clark School of Law T-shirt. His hair is still damp from the shower, looking entirely too fresh. He reaches into the pan, trying to steal a piece, but Linda smacks him with the wooden spatula.
“Quit it! None until Phoenix wakes up.”
“I’m here,” I chime in, no longer wanting to appear like a stalker in my own home.
“Oh, good morning, sweetie. Hope you don’t mind that we made ourselves at home.”
Apparently, breaking into someone’s house is a Mercer gene; who knew it was genetic? Jackson turns to me, already handing me a cup of coffee.
“That better not be the full-caff coffee! I am under strict instructions from the girls to not let her have too much caffeine.”
Jackson hands me my favorite oversized lavender mug with the delicate floral pattern. “Nope, Mom, you can even check the carafe; a cup is poured out.”
He moves his Cascadia Coffee Company mug toward his lips, sending me a wink as he blows on the liquid to cool it off. He takes a sip, grimacing. I stifle a laugh as I take a drink of my own, fully caffeinated coffee. I sigh, taking my phone out of my royal blue satin sleep pants to begin scrolling through emails absentmindedly. A delicious-smelling plate clatters into place in front of me.
“What are you doing?” Linda’s eyes bore into mine, as if she’s caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.
“Um, nothing, checking my email is all.” I look over at Jackson for some backup. He points to his cup and takes another sip, pretending to hold back a gag and letting me know he already took one bullet for me. I’m on my own.
“I see that. But It’s Saturday.”
“I know. My head might have a jackhammer in it, but I still have my full mental capacity.” So much so that I remember that almost-kiss.
Jackson smiles. “Good. Glad you fully remember all the details.”
“Of course I do.” I pull out my phone to my latest Zentrology text thread, where multiple videos of Jackson and his soulful rendition of “Sugar Sugar” last night have been uploaded. One I know will live rent-free in my brain for years.
“You better hope Mrs. Reynolds doesn’t get hold of a copy of this thing. She will make you repeat the performance at every book club.”
“Too late, someone must have sent it to her. My guess is Becca. She’s already requested I recreate John Travolta’s entire Saturday Night Fever routine.”
I laugh at the image of Jackson pulling off that choreography. “Tell me when. I would happily join that book club night.”
He stills, and I realize it’s the first time I have willingly spoke about us seeing each other in the future.
“Anytime, Sugar. Anytime.”
I look down at my coffee because looking at him suddenly feels like a terrible idea. Especially with Jackson’s mom mere feet away from me. Picking up my phone with one hand, my fork in the other, I busy myself checking potential client inquiries from the business cards the girls have been passing out like candy.
Then a throat clears. “Phoenix Marie Lane. No checking emails on Saturday mornings. Boundaries.”
A few months ago, I would have laughed at the idea. I was billing hundreds of hours a month and measuring my worth by how exhausted I felt. Before I take a bite of food, my brain catches up to the first part of what I heard.
“How do you know my middle name?”
She shrugs as she takes a bite of her bacon. “I may have looked at your driver’s license.”
“Really, Mom, you want to talk about boundaries?”
“Oh, hush. It’s not the same thing. I am only looking to get to know my future da—” She pauses, and Jackson and I both freeze. Clearing her throat again, she changes course. “… I mean, Zentrology gal. I am talking about professional boundaries. Work is important. But so is life. Oh, sure, they will cross over; it isn’t a simple balancing act. But if you don’t start practicing healthy separation tactics, you’ll end up in the same boat.”
She has a point. Working at a top-tier law firm isn’t the only career where someone can burnout. With that, I turn my phone over, screen down, and enjoy my breakfast with my two uninvited house guests.
As we eat in amiable silence, enjoying our meal prepared by Linda, Jackson’s phone starts vibrating on the table. I’m surprised Linda’s death glare doesn’t stop him in his tracks.
“Mom, I am on Do Not Disturb. Only Phoenix and family could be calling me and get through.”
