Growing Pains

Chapter 68 - To be proved wrong and be made an optimist

K Y L I E

Jacob's housekeeper opened the door for me when I rang the bell to his house. I had hoped it would be him, ready to leave for his appointment with Dr. Davis. He hadn't been at school for the past week, but he had told me he would make it to therapy, and I had believed him. Maybe I shouldn't have.

I managed a smile, "Is Jacob home?"

She smiled back at me, but her eyes were apologetic, like she would prefer I was here for someone else. I was getting déjà vu.

She said, "Yes, he's in the pool."

I frowned, "Really?"

"Would you like me to go and get him for you, Miss?"

"Oh, no, that's fine. I'll just go to him, if that's okay."

"Yes, of course," she lied. "I'll show you the way."

I followed her inside, thinking the worst, that maybe the reason she wanted me to wait outside was because Jacob wasn't in the pool at all, but in bed, like he had been last time. What if all this time he had never left his bed?

The woman opened the door to the interior pool and made way for me, the apologetic smile still on her face, and a serviceable voice, "Mr. Miller hasn't been feeling so well, so don't mind him if he says anything crass."

"I won't." I smiled. "Don't worry."

"If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen."

"Thank you."

I watched her leave and close the door behind her, and then looked back at the pool, where Jacob was lying on an inflatable mattress, sleeping, an empty beer bottle floating next to him. I looked around. There were more beer bottles by the loungers, still inside their crate, untouched. He wasn't drunk. He was just asleep.

"Jacob, wake up," I said, walking over the edge, arms crossed over my chest.

I didn't have to say it again. He woke up suddenly, like he was having a bad dream and couldn't wait for it to be over, and almost fell off the inflatable and into the water.

"Fuck!"

"Fuck is right," I said. "I thought you said –"

He rolled into the water and made it for the stairs, "I fell asleep, I'm sorry. Did I miss it?"

I watched him get out of the pool and grab the nearest towel, shaking my head, "No, but you need to hurry."

"I will," he said, drying himself off and walking towards the door. I followed him back into the hallway and watched him rush up the stairs to his bedroom. "Just wait there."

I did, arms still crossed over my chest, sweating from the heat of the pool, and all the baffling contradictions in me. I wanted to be right about him, and really have him be an emotionally challenged narcissist who saw girls like me as collection toys, but also completely wrong. A part of me wanted to validate my cynicism and another one wanted to debunk it all together, to be proved wrong and be made an optimist, one of those beautiful little fools from the books we read in class.

After a while, Jacob came rushing down the steps in suit pants and a t-shirt, like he had struggled to settle on the dress code for therapy, and just decided to go with both, formal on the bottom and casual on the top. I thought he looked good. I thought he always did. He was holding his jacket in one hand, and his wallet and phone in the other.

"Right," he said. "I'm ready."

I made way for the door, then for my car, and finally for the road. When I asked him if he was nervous, he leaned back against his seat, and turned to me, his hair still wet from the pool, eyes red from the chlorine or maybe from lack of sleep.