The rest of you, p.20
The Rest of You, page 20
Paa Kweku had already lifted the phone receiver to her, the coiled wire pulling from the base of the phone in the hallway. She snatched it from him and began to dial.
Chapter 25
London, Present
Whitney
Jak was looking at paint samples. They tapped the table in slight annoyance, forcing you back into the room, to answer their question about your new therapist, Denise.
‘I don’t know. She’s alright so far, I think.’
‘But you’re getting on with her?’
You had agreed to provide the tea if Jak helped you pick out colours for the kitchen. Since sorting through Ma Gloria’s things and starting therapy, the weeks had tumbled by and you threw yourself into more change. In a way, it made you feel like you were finally moving forward. But Jak didn’t like to rush. They pushed the sample book to the side to focus on their own queries. You noted that it was really too early for questions. You stirred both teas; yours was a caramel colour that they called ‘tea-dipped’; theirs was a dark purple, a berry blend you’d picked up from Ally Pally Market. You took your seat on one of the old wooden chairs Ma Gloria had shipped from Ghana. You heard them creak every time either of you shifted your weight slightly.
‘She’s fine. She’s nice. A bit confrontational sometimes, but–’
‘And you’re easy-breezy, yeah? You just don’t know each other well enough yet, that’s all. It’s only been a few weeks.’
‘It’s been six weeks. And isn’t it her job to get to know me?’
You hadn’t taken on any client appointments in a while, but you felt your fingers craving the work again, to make someone else feel right, even if just for an hour. You had begun to notice how your hands would not keep steady; there was a mild shake that would impede your ability to work if you didn’t deal with it. Add to that the things keeping you up at night, causing you to be exhausted in the day, slow to move and unstable in your motor functions. It was Auntie Aretha who suggested you look for a therapist, someone to support you in your grief. You worried that it meant your time with Auntie Aretha was coming to an end, that she was handing you off to a professional so that she could return to her life in Copenhagen. Jak said you were being ridiculous, that she was just looking out for you, that therapy might help.
‘It is her job as the therapist, but she can’t get to know you if you don’t let her.’
Jak took a gulp of their tea and then looked down at their phone, tossing out the words and hoping they landed in the right place.
‘I’m trying.’
Your voice had become small, and you didn’t know why. Jak seemed distracted, but then they pressed a button on the side of their phone so that the screen went black, and they placed it face down on the table.
‘I know you’re trying. Of course you are.’
They were looking at you fully now, sincerity as their only companion. You looked around the kitchen, uncomfortable with the sudden eye contact. Ma Gloria had kept talking about one day knocking down the half wall to make the kitchen bigger, to open it up more. She always planned to get around to it, eventually. You felt your stomach squeeze itself at the thought.
‘What if – what if it can’t be fixed?’
‘What can’t?’
‘All of it. What if I’m just going there to talk myself into oblivion?’
Jak put on their thinking face.
‘Do you want to talk yourself into oblivion?’
‘No. No, I don’t.’
‘Then you won’t.’
They said it assuredly, as if it were a foregone conclusion. Then they pointed to a yellowish paint sample and told you to choose that one, to brighten up the room and give you a clean slate. You just wanted to sell the place, that was all. Auntie Aretha had agreed and was helping you get the process started. You hoped a coat of paint would do more than just clean the slate. As you and Jak drank tea, you shared some cake, as had become your weekly tradition. Your jeans weren’t impressed, but it was something you looked forward to. Today was a defrosted remnant of the days when Ma Gloria would bake five or six cakes for church and freeze one for the two of you to eat at your leisure. You weren’t sure it was still OK, but you heated it in the oven, and it somehow retained a fluffy interior that was all her. Jak devoured a slice and complimented you on your efforts. You didn’t correct them. Instead, you asked if they could stay a little longer, but Jak had errands to run. And a date. It caught you off guard; they hadn’t mentioned dating in a while, always too busy doing five or six different jobs at a time. Though now you realised it, you had made an assumption. Why wouldn’t they be dating?
‘Gotta do it. Gonna take them out for their birthday, ya know?’
‘Oh, and who exactly is this new friend?’
You felt excited for them, ignoring the twinge of unease at the thought of Jak being around less.
‘Well, they’re pretty cool, I think. Bit of a neat freak, really good at getting people relaxed. But they’ve had a tough year, so this birthday is extra special.’
Jak was standing as they spoke, their coat already on, looking down at you. You’d had this hangout so many times that you no longer showed them to the door. They continued to stare with an expectant look on their face before it finally dawned on you.
‘No.’
‘Come on, Laces! It won’t be like last year, no oontz oontz or mystery pills – just us and some good food. You can dress up before the whole day is done!’
‘Dress up for who? Why are you like this?’
Jak smirked, put their phone in their pocket and tapped a finger against the paint sample they’d picked out earlier.
‘This is definitely the one. You need some light in your life, Whit. Be ready for six!’
They strode toward the front door and were on the other side of it before you could protest any further.
You dressed up for dinner. You wore a short-sleeved top under your denim jacket that was cropped just above your belly button, and a skirt that swished at your ankles, finishing off the look with bright-white high-tops that you knew Jak would say something about. Jak was always worrying about your trainers staying white. They didn’t feel they could be trusted with a brand-new pair of anything, what with all the skateboarding, climbing and spills in the kitchen.
‘You’re gonna scuff those, and then you’ll blame me for making you leave the house.’
As you both headed toward the bus stop you chuckled, rolling your eyes to confirm you’d been waiting for the comment.
‘Why would I blame you? And I won’t scuff them.’
‘We’ll see, won’t we?’
Jak grinned and tipped their head to the side like a puppy dog, causing their glasses to slide ever so slightly off-centre. You reached out to readjust them, and Jak flinched. You snapped your hand back on instinct, and something different flitted across their face, disappearing again before you could name it. You drew your previously extended hand back into your body, folding your arms tightly and causing the denim of your jacket to crease into your biceps uncomfortably.
‘Your glasses look funny.’
You didn’t want to ask why Jak didn’t want you to touch them, so your words came out a little spiky.
‘Oh.’
Jak readjusted the glasses and then bent to refold the cuffs of their dark blue jeans. They stood back up quickly, straightening out their pink-and-yellow shirt and then tapping their pockets for their phone as you reached the bus stop. You turned to look at the peeling remnants of what used to be the bus timetable, harking back to a different time. Jak read the code written above it out loud before typing it into their phone to see when the next bus would arrive. It would take longer than the Tube, but you both had an affinity for this mode of transport, for taking the time to make the journey, surveying the city as you rolled through it. The bus came a few minutes later and you got on, immediately heading upstairs to sit at the front. Silence had asserted itself between you, and suddenly you missed the quiet chatter and jokes that Jak threw at you when you were feeling less talkative, which was most of the time these days. But now that they were quiet, you weren’t sure you were equipped to handle it.
‘Are you OK?’ They looked away from you, out of the window to their right and into the distance of a setting sun. A few seconds passed before Jak shrugged slightly. You went to nudge them with your shoulder but thought better of it, keeping the slight distance between you instead as you shared a two-seater. ‘We don’t have to do this if you’re not in the mood
anymore.’
You heard your words and felt yourself transported back to the year before, to feeling at points like Chantelle was dragging you along for your birthday fun. You thought about her constantly. You didn’t talk as much now that you weren’t flatmates. You faced forward because Jak hadn’t responded and you felt your peace ebb away a little, at the thought that you barely had the gumption to keep yourself together. You would be of no help to Jak if they were choosing now to fall apart.
‘Sorry, tough session today. They don’t tell you how going back to that stuff is… it’s sticky, ya know? Like, it sticks to you. Just put me in a bad mood. It’ll pass.’
You nodded, thinking carefully about your next words.
The last time you’d spoken about Jak’s therapy, they had used the phrase ‘Trauma with a capital T’, and you remembered drawing your head back slightly, the word feeling as stark as its meaning. You were visiting Jak for once – unable to spend long periods of time in the house with too many places where memories were cradled. Jak said they were happy to see you out and about, and they insisted you sit in the garden on a rare day when the sun was out. Their flatmates were at work; they weren’t flexible workers like the two of you. You asked how Jak was. So many of your conversations had been about how you were doing that you were already sick of the sound of your own voice. They replied with honesty after seeing their therapist that morning.
‘Sometimes it feels like someone’s taken over my body. Like, I’m not in the driver’s seat; I’m just watching shit happen. Maybe I fight to take back control, but sometimes… I just don’t.’
You had squeezed your eyes shut and dropped your chin down to your chest because it made sense in ways you couldn’t begin to explain. You wanted to say something reassuring, something that might soothe them, but nothing came to you. Instead, you both listened to the sounds of birds that had landed on the top of the fence at the edge of the garden. You felt the soft-hard fabric of the deck chairs underneath you – a secondhand gift from the next-door neighbour. Jak had long since kicked off their flip-flops, and now they were running their bare feet along the warm grass beneath them.
‘Why do you do it? Going back to that place, I mean. Doesn’t it make it hard to live in the present?’
Jak scoffed at your question and then straightened up their face just as quickly.
‘It’s not always like that. Not every week. But sometimes I need to go back to it, to work through stuff that’s happening now. It’s not a linear process, Whit.’
‘But when you remember what happened to you, doesn’t it just make you hate everyone and everything?’
You couldn’t say where that question came from, only that you felt its truth deep in your bones. Jak looked up at you then, the two of you suddenly on the same wavelength.
‘Sometimes.’
*
Now, on the bus, you thought of all the questions you could have asked Jak in their garden, all the things that had entered your mind since you’d started your own therapy.
‘I’m the queen of flaking, as you know – so if you wanna sack this thing off, we totally can.’
You said it with a bit more energy, hoping Jak would understand your intent, to let them off the hook, even if you were already feeling disappointed. It was the first time you’d wanted to dress up in months.
‘Nope, no way. I am one-hundred-percent committed to celebrating your birthday this year. I still feel bad I wasn’t around for the last one.’
‘You were around, just not the night before – which is fine because I probably wouldn’t have remembered anyway.’
You smirked, hoping the joke would lighten the mood. Jak was finally looking back at you too, and they returned your smile in a half-hearted sort of way.
By the time you got off the bus, you were back to a comfortable silence, walking side by side through Brick Lane, turning a corner as Jak led the way. They opened the door to the restaurant, and you walked ahead, stopping a few feet inside. The interior was decorated by someone obsessed with greenhouses and pink flamingos, which was right up your alley. You looked around, taking in the handfuls of people scattered around, and you wondered for a moment if you were really ready to rejoin the world. Then you felt your breath catch when you spotted Chantelle sitting alone at a table toward the back of the restaurant. She wore a bright green dress and was sipping something pink and fizzy. She immediately pushed the drink away from her when she saw you. Jak skipped past you and made a beeline for the table before you could say anything. You followed, and Chantelle stood hastily to greet you as you approached. You shared an awkward kiss on each cheek and then sat down.
You wanted to stare at her, take in her Jean Paul Gaultier scent, tell her you liked her dress, find out how she was. But you were stuck looking down at the table, trying to gather the strength to just be OK tonight, despite your insides attempting to twist in on themselves because you hadn’t seen each other in so long. Not since the week of Ma Gloria’s funeral.
‘You look great, hun. Thirty-one suits you.’
Chantelle had turned herself toward you, giving you the once-over approvingly.
‘Thanks. I’ve been on the rum and tears diet.’
She looked surprised and then slowly began to chuckle, trying to figure out how serious you were. Jak leant back in their chair and grinned.
‘Told you to prepare yourself.’
You saw them exchange a knowing look, and it struck you that they had been talking to each other without you. Clearly you were the main topic of conversation: the sad, grieving friend whom people worried about. You couldn’t decide what you hated more – being left out of it or being the person they talked about.
‘It was a joke!’
It came out of you a little too loud and rushed, and Chantelle raised that one eyebrow in surprise, before shooting you a fake smile – there were some things you still knew about her. Jak seemed to sense a moment of tension coming and clapped their hands together loudly.
‘We need drinks!’
The waiter seemed to hear Jak’s bellowing and responded to the request, quickly taking your drink orders and bringing full glasses to the table a few minutes later. After the waiter had taken your food orders, you wondered where Jak and Chantelle were at with things, whether the truce they seemed to have made after Ma Gloria had died was still in place. They appeared polite at best, which disappointed you on an unexpected level. You leaned over to say something to Chantelle, hoping to redo your hello in a proper way with eye contact, but then you heard Jak clear their throat to regain your attention.
‘I wanna make a toast–’
‘Oh, we’re fancy people now?’
The words came from you like an outburst, something from a time before when the three of you were comfortable together. Chantelle and Jak both smirked and briefly exchanged an awkward look.
‘Yeah, Laces, we fancy. Now, back to my toast? So about this time last year, the two of you were at some club that has since been shut down, that I – thankfully in hindsight – missed out on–’
‘Rest in peace, Tuck Shop!’
You couldn’t control your mouth anymore, due in large part to your nerves, you realised. It had been a long time since you were outside your area, at least a week since you’d last left the house. Chantelle was looking at you like she knew. You just grinned back at her, and she responded by kissing her index and middle fingers, and then holding them above her head dramatically. You both started laughing.
‘Listen, you can stay hungry making jokes if you like, but we’re not eating until my toast is done.’ Jak wore their best stern look and exaggerated it toward you and Chantelle. You both tried to straighten your faces before Jak continued. ‘Anyway, you’re one of my favourite people, Whit, and in the face of an absolute shitter of a time, you’ve remained… effervescent! I’m happy to know you and to celebrate your thirty-one years of
life!’
Jak ended by yelling so loudly that both you and Chantelle screwed up your faces, and a few people from the surrounding tables turned around in shock.
‘Jesus! I don’t think the kitchen staff heard you!’
Jak looked thrilled at your comment and then waved to some unseen person on the other side of the restaurant. Immediately you heard the quaint piano music from the speakers change to Stevie Wonder’s ‘Happy Birthday’ as a large chocolate cake with sparklers made its way over to you in the hands of one of the wait staff. Chantelle began to clap and sing along loudly to the song, to which Jak quickly added their own voice, as did a few of the other restaurant patrons. You felt blood rush to your face, your heart quickening without permission and nausea building in the pit of your stomach. You fought the urge to crawl under the table. You used to like being the centre of attention when the occasion warranted it. But this year felt different; you were overwhelmed and searching for the nearest exit. You felt out of balance, even though you were with two people who meant a lot to you. You just couldn’t get there, couldn’t feel it in the way you were supposed to.
You focused on how your body actually felt instead, like Denise had taught you. You felt the cold stone floor under your feet, the edge of the table against your thigh. You focused on the smells in the room, someone cutting into a steak nearby, a hint of sage and something sweet lingering in the air. You closed your eyes for a few more seconds, feeling your heart rate begin to slow down. You thought you might be smiling when you reopened your eyes, because Jak was smiling back at you. The singing had stopped. It took you a few seconds to realise that Chantelle’s hand was on your shoulder, saying something about blowing out the candles.
