Nine
JACK
I’m sure there are still good potential partners out there. But I just haven’t met any yet.
—SOLO FEBRUARY CHALLENGE
My older brother, Marc, greets me at Allie’s front door. I hand him three big glittery pink gift bags with balloons attached, while I juggle the two huge cake boxes.
“Did you buy the entire party store?” Marc asks me, frowning, even as I free a single hand to give his a shake. I grip it hard, reminding him I’m not Piggy Jack anymore. He grips back harder, reminding me that in a pinch, he might still be able to strong-arm me into a closet. “Also, what the hell is on your face?” Marc frowns.
“I’m growing a beard,” I tell him.
“You look ridiculous.” Marc shakes his head. He helps me with the two cake boxes, taking them from my hands.
“Uncle Jack!” Allie cries in sheer delight. She jogs up to me wearing head-to-toe pink and purple, her brand-new bejeweled flashing sneakers lighting up the tile floor in a blaze of seizure-inducing light. I let the balloons hit the ceiling, and I give her a huge hug. She pulls away and squeals, “Are these for me?”
She grabs the pink gift bags in a flash. They’re almost as big as she is. “Thank you, thank you, Uncle Jack!” She looks at the cake boxes. “Is that my cake?” she asks innocently, batting those thick, dark eyelashes.
“You better believe it is,” I say with a grin. “Chocolate-chocolate!”
“Yes!” she cries, and pumps a fist in victory. “I love birthdays!”
Kylie, my sister-in-law, comes into the foyer then. She flashes her bright white smile, her dark hair long past her shoulders. Her mother was a nurse, born in Manila, and she met and married Kylie’s father, an army sergeant from Illinois, when he was stationed in the Philippines in the early 1980s.
“Did you say thank you to Uncle Jack?” she asks Allie, who nods vigorously. “Go on and put those presents with the others.” She gives me a hug. “Hi, Jack. Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say.
“You did too much,” she cries, shaking her head.
“Never too much for Allie.” I want that cancer-fighting superhero to get everything she wants for her birthday. And I’m grateful to be here, since seeing Allie means I can’t mope around about Sora. It’s hard to feel bad for myself when I realize life is precious, and why spend my time moaning about setbacks when I’ve got my health and my family, and things aren’t really, actually so bad?
“Well, your parents brought gifts, too.” She nods to the other bags lining the hallway leading to the kitchen. “They just flew in this morning.”
Mom finds me as I’m shrugging out of my jacket. “Jack! You look so handsome!”
“Mom.” She gives me a hug so tight that I can’t breathe for a minute. For a small thing, she’s mighty.
We see them a little less now she and Dad retired and moved to Flagstaff. She’s wearing her trademark red cardigan, sensible flats, and her bobbed salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly combed. She’s half Chinese, via my grandmother, and part Portuguese, via my grandfather.
“Is that Jack? Hey! Hey!” Dad stashes his reading glasses on top of his full head of white hair. He’s Irish, German, Dutch, and a little Portuguese. He gives me a handshake strong enough to crush a weaker man. “Looking fit as ever, Jack! Been hitting the weights?”
“You know I have.” I grin. Dad smacks my biceps and then pretends he’s hurt his hand. Classic dad move.
A pack of wild glitter-bow-wearing girls flies by.
“Look out, they bite,” Dad jokes and he and Mom follow the partygoers to Allie’s room. Marc and I head to the kitchen with the cakes, where every available surface is covered in pink and purple.
“Looks like a glitter bomb exploded in here.” I shake my head.
“Ian’s not going to like it. He’s such a neat freak,” Marc adds. “Beer?” he asks me, grabbing one from the fridge. I nod.
“Where is he, anyway?”
Marc frowns. “Took a shift in the ER.”
“You’re kidding me. He’s missing Allie’s birthday party?” This I can’t believe.
Marc gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah, the thing is, I don’t even know that he was called in. I think he took the shift on purpose.”
“Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know what’s going on with Ian these days. But Kylie’s not happy.” Marc glances around, making sure our sister-in-law isn’t in earshot. “I think they’re having trouble.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Been a tough year for them.”
“That’s an understatement.” The pandemic patients that flooded Ian’s hospital, and then Allie’s cancer.
“Not sure it brought them together. That’s all. Ian’s working more hours, not less. I think he’s avoiding being home. I think he’s—”
Kylie bustles into the kitchen then and Marc clams up. We both look at her with concern.
“What?” she says, hands flying to her dark hair. “Do I have glitter in my hair?”
“No, you’re good,” I say, then swallow. “I was wondering where Ian was. Is he avoiding us?”
A strained look passes across Kylie’s face. “He’s working. Saving lives.” She smiles brightly. Too brightly. Definitely something going on there. But now is not the time to press.
“Shall I get Allie’s cake ready?” I ask Kylie.
She brightens, grateful for the distraction. “Yes! Please. I’ll wrangle the kids.”
In a few minutes, everybody’s sitting around the kitchen table, the party guests with their eyes on the cake boxes. I brought two: one for Allie, and one for everyone else. Because this time last year, she could barely eat the cake we brought to the hospital. Chemo and radiation knocked out her appetite. She got two bites before she couldn’t eat anymore. Not this year. Not on my watch.
I pull out the chocolate-on-chocolate cake—the round one just for her. Her eyes grow big as she sees that I’ve scrawled “Happy 5th Birthday, Allie!” in loopy pink icing—her favorite color.
I stick a candle in the top, and Mom helps light it. We all gather in the room for a rendition of the birthday song. Allie glances at each one of us, face beaming with pure joy. When we finish, I nod at her.
“Make a wish,” I say.
She squeezes her eyes shut, taking the wish completely seriously, and it kills me. She opens her eyes.
“What did you wish for?” I ask.
“You know I can’t tell you that!” she cries, and giggles.
“Good girl.” I grin. Then I grab a fork from the table. “Go ahead,” I tell her.
“Really?” She blinks.
“This is your cake. You don’t have to share it with anyone. Especially Uncle Marc.”
“Hey,” Marc cries in protest.
“Now, who’s your favorite uncle?” I ask Allie.
“Uncle Jack!” she cries.
Marc, frowning, shakes his head slowly in defeat. She hugs me and I stick out my tongue over her shoulder. Take that, Marc. Uncle Jack: 1, Uncle Marc: 0.
“Careful you don’t eat all of that at once! You’ll get a stomachache!” Kylie chides, but she doesn’t really mean it. She sends me a grateful smile as she cuts pieces of the other chocolate sheet cake I brought for the guests.
Allie rips into her cake and soon it’s all over her face, a big chocolate clown smile. That’s a 180-degree turn from last year, when she’d been pale and bald, barely able to hold her little head up in that oversize hospital bed. I love seeing her so happy, and I’m glad she’s enjoying the cake I made. Kylie hands me a piece and I stand with Mom, Dad, Marc, and Kylie as we dig in. Not bad, if I do say so myself.
“How’s the bakery coming?” Dad asks me. He and Mom have been champions of the whole idea of me going out on my own.
“Good, but … Mal’s trying to interfere.”
“Sh—” Marc swallows his curse mid-sentence when he realizes Allie sits in earshot. “Mal has more issues than Sports Illustrated,” Marc finishes and shakes his head in disapproval.
“Mal? She isn’t my favorite,” Mom says, because Mom never says anything truly bad about anyone.
“She’s been snooping around the bakery sites. She’s threatening to buy the one I’m interested in.”
“She can’t do that!” Kylie exclaims. “Can she?”
“Well, she is richer than God,” Dad points out. Her full name, after all, is Mal Starr—yes, as in the international Starr Hotels. That’s her family. Her father died years ago, and now it’s just her and her mother. One day, she’ll own it all. So many hotels, and so many zeroes in her bank account that the sum would bring up an error message on your average calculator.
“Is there any way to stop her from buying your bakery?” Mom asks.
We all look at Marc.
“No way to stop her from buying a property. And I’m sure she can pay cash.”
“She says she’ll leave the bakery alone … if I ask her out to the Golden Chef Awards,” I say.
“Isn’t that blackmail?” Mom asks, worried.
“Technically, extortion,” Marc corrects. He shakes his head. “Well, you could just bite the bullet. Ask her.”
“He can’t do that!” Mom exclaims. “Not after what she’s done.”
There’s a moment of silence as my family ponders Mal’s sins.
“She’s probably bluffing,” I venture.
Kylie frowns. Mom wrinkles her nose. Dad stays silent.
“What would it take to get a restraining order?” Mom asks Marc, who doesn’t bother to hide the smirk rolling across his face.
Marc rubs his chin, considering this. “The problem is state law says she’s got to make a threat or be threatening in her behavior. Just following you around and annoying you isn’t enough. And I’ll be honest, Jack. Without any domestic abuse charges, it would be an uphill slog.”
“So she just gets to mentally torture him? That’s not fair,” Kylie pipes in.
“Anyone else you can ask to the Golden Chef Awards?” Mom asks me.
Oh, sure. There are plenty of fish faces on my dating apps. Or there’s … Sora. “Well, I ran into Sora Reid the other day.”
“Oh! Sora Reid!” Mom claps her hands in glee. “The Sora Reid?”
“Sora who?” Dad asks, squinting and trying to remember.
“That girl he mooned over forever.” Marc rolls his eyes. He thinks crushes are disgusting signs of human weakness.
“Oh, you were so sweet about that girl. You’d spend hours picking out her Valentine’s card in grade school.” Mom smiles softly, nostalgic at the memory. “How is she?”
“Good.”
“You should ask her out!” Mom cries. “It’s like … it’s like destiny.” Mom’s always been the romantic one.
“I did ask her out, but she’s taken a go-solo vow.”
“She’s flying a plane around the world by herself?” Dad asks, confused.
“No. She—”
“Just doesn’t want to hang around with you?” Marc teases.
I’m beginning to regret ever bringing up Sora. Why did I, anyway?
“Give up on this girl, man,” Marc says. “She’s not into you. Never was.” Ah, family. Can’t live with them … and can’t live with them.
Kylie clears her throat. “Jack, this cake is amazing,” she says, blissfully changing the subject. She’s pure gold, my sister-in-law.
“Aw, thanks, Kylie,” I say. “Hey. You think I should take a piece to Ian at the ER? I could drop one by on my way home.”
“I’m sure he’d like that.” That strained look comes across Kylie’s face again. I don’t like it. Not one bit.
A few snowflakes fall on the sidewalk as I walk toward the hospital entrance from the parking garage. I’ve got Ian’s slice of cake and also a few questions for him, like: Did he really need to miss Allie’s birthday? Given last year? Look, I mean, I know the man saves lives for a living. I know he’s pretty much always on call but … Allie’s birthday? Really?
I plan to give him the cake and the third degree. I’m almost to the entrance of the ER when I see … Sora? She’s sitting on a bench outside the ER. Her red coat is buttoned to the top and she’s got a soft, fluffy white scarf wrapped cutely around her neck. Her long, wavy hair sits tucked beneath her white ski cap. She’s staring intently at her phone.
What is she doing here?
Anxious bees buzz in my stomach.
I almost want to bolt. To hell with Ian and his cake. Then again, maybe I should go talk to her. My feet make the decision for me, moving me toward her.
“Sora?” She glances up at me, surprised, blinking fast.
“Oh, uh … Jack. Hi.” She smiles at me, a smile that reaches her brown eyes and for just a second, I’m convinced she’s happy to see me. But then something else comes over her face. Discomfort? Angst? Ugh. She thinks I’m going to ask her out again. She’s already working out ways to tell me no.
“Look, I’m not going to bug you. Don’t worry. I know you’re not interested. Just wanted to say hi. That’s all. I … uh … hope we can be friends.” Because I think we could make about a million inside jokes. Because … being a friend is better than being nothing. “I’m not some weirdo stalker who doesn’t respect a woman’s right to tell me to get lost. Which, I realize, is exactly what a weirdo stalker would say.” Nice one, Jack. “Okay. Uh. Bye!”
I’m so damn smooth.
I walk away from her bench, my ears burning.
“Wait … Jack…” Sora stands and I turn just in time to see her lose her balance. Oh no. She’s flailing. She’s … going down.
One big step and I’ve caught her awkwardly under one armpit, but still, I’ve got her, and I didn’t even drop the chocolate cake. Bonus.
“Jack! Uh…” Sora tries to scramble to her feet, except one isn’t working. She falls against my chest. I don’t mind. Not at all. She’s warm and soft and amazing. She looks up at me with those amazing doe-brown eyes. How did her eyelashes get so long?
“Sora? Are you okay?” I glance down and for the first time realize she’s just wearing one shoe. And her ankle is the size of a grapefruit. She is definitely not okay.
“Uh … kind of.” She struggles a little as I help her to her feet. Sora grins up at me after she’s found her one-foot footing. She balances there precariously. I keep an arm under her just to make sure she doesn’t topple.
“Thank you.”
“For what? For saving this poor sidewalk from you falling on it? Just defending this frozen concrete from assault.” We grin at each other. I frown at her swollen ankle. “What happened to your ankle?”
“Oh … uh … long story.” Sora glances anxiously at the entrance to the ER, as if she’s planning a speedy getaway. “Nami—er, my sister—thinks I should get my ankle checked out. But I’ve got crappy insurance and…”
“I’ve been there. And an ER visit will cost a bajillion dollars?”
Sora nods quickly. “I mean … who needs an ankle? Probably just sprained. Probably.” She puts some weight on it and flinches, shifts her weight to me. “Ow. Still … a little rest, some ibuprofen…”
“My brother’s an ER doc.” I nod to the automatic glass doors. “I can ask him to check you out, off the books. If you want.”
“You think he’d do that?” Sora’s face brightens. I raise the piece of chocolate cake I’ve managed to keep hold of.
“I can bribe him with cake.”
Sora raises a hopeful eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.”
A woman flies out of the ER then, shouting Sora’s name. “There you are! You’re on the wait list, but they say it’ll be a couple of hours.”
Must be Sora’s younger sister, Nami. She rushes over and then skids to a stop in front of me. She glances at me, shocked, craning her neck upward like she’s trying to see the top of a hundred-year-old oak. Nami is striking, too, just like her sister, but if they stood up in a beauty pageant, I’d crown Sora every time. “Uh, who’s your friend?”
“This is Jack. Jack Mann. We were in grade school together. Nami was two years behind us,” she tells me. Thankfully, she doesn’t mention Piggy Jack.
We shake hands. Nami’s the thinner, frailer version of Sora with longer, straighter hair and much more eye makeup. I vaguely remember her from grade school, waiting at the bus stop with her sister. But two years might as well have been ten back then. Fifth-graders and third-graders did not hang out.
“Jack, nice to meet you.” Nami glances at Sora. “And you told me you were swearing off men.”
“I seem to have that effect on women,” I joke.
Nami’s smart watch pings and she glances at it and gasps. “Oh my God! The cake tasting! I forgot all about it! It’s in ten minutes!”
“You don’t have to stay,” Sora says.
“I should, though.” Nami glances at me.
I realize I can actually help. Maybe. “I can stay with her.” I glance at Sora. “But only if that’s okay with Sora.”
Sora nods.
“Would you? That would be great! I don’t really want to let Mitch pick out the cake. He’s hopeless without me.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sora asks me.
“I can’t leave you alone,” I joke. “Who will protect Chicago’s sidewalks from you? Someone has to think of the taxpayers.” I offer Sora my arm.
“You’re right. We have to think of the poor sidewalks,” Sora says, as she loops her arm through mine.