Straight To You

forty-two

"Oh . . . uh, of course!" I stutter, embarrassed by how nervous I'm coming across, even though I am extremely nervous. Trying for a smile, I admit, "I'd like to start over, too, Mrs. Crawford."

"Please. Call me Carlie," Mrs. Crawford corrects me with bell-like laughter. She then extends a hand out for me to shake, and I can't help eyeing the giant wedding ring on her finger that glistens beneath the fluorescent store lighting. I place my hand in hers, shaking gently. 

"I'm sorry," I start to say as I shake my head, wanting to tell Mrs. Crawford that she's under the wrong impression. I mean, there's no need for this interaction in reality, as I'm no longer dating Mrs. Crawford's son. I find the thought painful to admit. "But Jack and I aren't—"

"Together anymore?" Mrs. Crawford—Carlie—interrupts before I can finish my sentence, a knowing gleam sparkling in her green eyes. "I know. In fact, my son seems to be rather hung up over that. I just wanted to introduce myself again anyway, as I'm sure I didn't make the best impression the first time we met. I was pretty . . . stressed that day, to say the least." Mrs. Crawford laughs lightly once she's done speaking, shaking her head as if to say silly me. "I hope I'm not intruding when I ask this," Mrs. Crawford drones on, tucking a strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear, "but am I allowed to know why you and my son decided to part ways?"

"Um . . ." I trail off, struggling to put the reasoning behind my split with Jack into words. Especially when it's his mother I'm talking to. "There was a slight misunderstanding between the two of us," is what I settle on saying, unable to meet Mrs. Crawford's gaze, knowing I'm underestimating what happened between myself and Jack. It's harder to tell Mrs. Crawford the truth, considering she's been so kind to me. I guess I hadn't expected her to be so nice after her son and I break up. Usually, it's the opposite.

"I'm sure this isn't something you want to hear at the moment"—Mrs. Crawford hesitates, pursing her lips—"but I'm not really sure what's wrong with my son these days. We haven't . . . well, we're not very close, but that's something I've been trying to work on. He's just so hesitant to let me in, after . . ." Mrs. Crawford trails off, though I understand what she's trying to get across. After Haleigh passed away.

Shaking her head, Mrs. Crawford continues, "Anyway, Jack mentioned that the two of you split up, and he just hasn't been himself since. He holes himself up in his room for hours at a time. He won't even come out for dinner." Mrs. Crawford must notice the pained expression that begins to twist my features, because she rushes to add, "Mind you, I'm not trying to make you feel any worse about anything. I'm sure this has been just as hard for you as it has been for my son. I guess I'm just trying to say that Jack really cares for you. What happened between the two of you is your business, but I've . . . I've never seen him so upset over a break up before." Mrs. Crawford offers me a sad smile, the bright gleam in her eyes fading somewhat. "You must be a very special girl, Morgan Scott." And with that, Mrs. Crawford pats me gently on the back before excusing herself to continue with her shopping, departing from me with one last smile and a light goodbye.

I, on the other hand, stand in the middle of the produce aisle long after Mrs. Crawford wanders off, her words looping through my mind as if on repeat. As unexpected as the interaction I just had with Jack's mother was, it also helped to prove something to me. I had a good thing with Jack, something I don't want to lose. Something worth fighting for. Which means I can't just let it all go to waste, can't sit by and watch Jack drift further and further away from me. I need to talk to him. And soon.

I have to tell Jack that I still love him, before it's too late.

• • •

Once Monday rolls around, I realize that I've never been more nervous to go to school than I am now. I enter the building and go through the same old routine, yet something about it all feels . . . different now. Newer, almost. Like the beginning of something is brewing in the air, bringing along a spark of purpose I haven't felt in a long time.