Page 7

Eve

Cremation day.

I’ve been sitting in my car in the Everlast parking lot for at least twenty minutes, and with every minute that passes, I find it harder to drag myself out and face reality.

It’s been over a week since meeting with Jason, and I’d be lying if I said he didn’t cross my mind the last few days. After my visit to Clover and finding out he worked with the owner, I found myself popping by the club a few more times that weekend, in hopes of ‘accidentally’ running into him.

I had no such luck, but on the upside, I got to know Derek pretty well. Always greeting me with a smile and what seemed like genuine interest, we would talk about our lives: he mentioned his career in freelance cybersecurity for small startups, and how he was tired of working behind a desk for whatever company hired him at the time. Purchasing Clover seemed like it made him happy, but something seemed off about the look in his eyes when he told me his life story. As if he didn’t believe the words he was speaking.

I’ve always had a knack for seeing deeper into someone than what they want the world to see….and Derek does seem to be hiding something: every time I ask about his past, he has this look in his eyes, like a part of his personality is buried down deep, unreachable by any means.

The same look I saw in Jason last week.

No matter. Let him keep his secrets. As long as he’s still willing to keep making the most delicious drinks I’ve ever had, I think I’ll survive.

KNOCK KNOCK

A rapping sound on my window shakes me from my thoughts and I look up to see Jason standing outside my car, one arm leaning on the frame of the door and the other poised against the glass, ready to knock again.

Nodding at him, I unbuckle and open my door as he steps aside, slipping his hands into his pockets and patiently waiting for me to fix my clothes and brush my hair away from my face.

“Hello Ms. O’Hara. You’ve been out here for quite some time, are you alright?”

His voice, low and deep, is filled with legitimate concern. Touching, but I would expect no less from someone who spends most of his days reassuring grief-riddled individuals in times like this.

I wonder how much of that tone is genuine.

Still, something in his eyes seems…softer. More genuine. As if he really cares about my well-being.

“I’m ok, thank you,” I clear my throat and step up to the sidewalk. With him still standing on the asphalt below, the additional few inches of height puts me near eye level with him.

“I appreciate you waiting for me, Mr. Grant. I’m sorry I took so long. I was…I mean, I am…”

The words catch in my throat as I feel my voice tremble, tears beginning to well: I immediately look down to my feet, trying to hide the sudden wave of emotion. Goddamnit, I was doing so well.

Jason sees me struggling and steps towards me until he is inches away from me. Furrowing his brow with concern, he raises a hand and grazes his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a rogue tear.

“Please, call me Jason,” he all but whispers as he brushes a strand of hair from my shoulder, watching it fall back into place before glancing towards my face. The gesture is so brief, so delicate, so…intimate. I look up slowly, my eyes tracing the lines of his shoulders and finally meeting his gaze with my own. My stomach tightens as I lock eyes with his, their usual bright honey color now a muted, softer gold: I can’t look away. It’s as if he is sharing in my grief, reading my face like it’s a Sylvia Plath novel.

For what seems like an eternity, we stand there soaking each other in, the silence between us a conduit for all the feelings we want to share but can’t convey. Something about the energy he is emitting makes me feel drawn to him, comforted and protected. I feel my lips gently part, and his eyes drag down my face to my mouth, narrowing slightly as if lost in contemplation. His jaw drops slightly as his tongue slips between his lips and wets the corner of his mouth, and that one small motion has me utterly fixated.

Before I can bring myself to speak, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Ms. O’Hara, it’s time to head inside.”

Maya’s voice shakes Jason and I from our trance, and as Jason clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets, I turn and nod at Maya.

“Thanks Maya, I appreciate it.” I do my best to disguise the disappointment in my voice as I smile and watch her move aside.

Pivoting around her, I begin the walk to the front doors of Everlast, but not before hearing Maya say something to Jason. I hope I didn’t get him in trouble, I think as I pull at the heavy front doors and walk into the foyer, approaching Maya’s desk and waiting for them to enter.

My eyes shift aimlessly as I take in every detail–the dark wood beams and modern-industrial feel of the place–until my focus drifts over her desk and comes to rest on the Queen of Spades playing card. I remember the conversation Jason and I had last week about Maya and his adopted dad: I wonder how important Maya was to this club of theirs, and what that meant for her relationship with Jason. Just because Maya and Jason’s father didn’t have a relationship, doesn’t mean the two of them are keeping their distance from each other. From what I can see, Maya IS closer in age to Jason after all, and what with working so closely together, it would make sense.

Maya’s heels hitting the floor behind me are unmistakable: I turn to face them both, taking a deep breath and preparing myself for what’s to come.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

Jason nods at Maya, who smiles slightly at him and takes her seat behind her desk, motioning at me to proceed with Jason.

“Ok Ms. O’Hara, please follow me this way.”

Again with the emphasis on formalities.

Jason turns and moves down the hallway, his gait smooth and powerful. I follow him, walking in silence as we enter a door to the right, leading us down another hallway which empties into a large room with a furnace in the middle. Next to the cremation furnace is a steel table and track, with a wooden coffin resting on top.

“The furnace itself is called a retort,” Jason says as we approach the coffin. “We have prepared a viewing room right over there so that you can safely watch the beginning of the process.” He extends his arm to the side, motioning to a small offset room with a large glass window, providing an unobstructed view of the room.

“That’s convenient,” my voice cracks as I keep my eyes fixed on the coffin in front of me. “Am I allowed to see my father before you start?”

Jason smiles slightly and nods.

“Of course you may. Here, allow me,” his voice is heavy as we move toward the coffin. With a small grunt, Jason lifts the lid and steps aside, revealing my father to me. I look down hesitantly and feel the air catch in my lungs. The red hair, the relaxed expression, the color in his face…my father looks just as he would if he was caught sleeping on his recliner, like he had done so many times before.

No amount of studying about death–of researching and immersing myself in it–has prepared me for this. My lip trembles slightly as I reach over the coffin to adjust the collar of his shirt, a shaky break escaping my throat. Covered with the pattern of an old-world map, this silly shirt was one of his favorites. My father always said he loved how cheesy and ‘on the nose’ it was for his profession: how it made him look like some dated explorer.

“Oh dad,” I whisper. “Why did you pick that damn shirt? You knew I always hated it.” I chuckle as my eyes travel from his face down to the buttons on his shirt, each round shaped like little flat globes.

“Work won’t be the same without you. Hell, LIFE won’t be the same without you. You always understood me, always helped to keep me in check. I don’t know how I’m going to make it without you…”

Feeling Jason’s eyes on me, I reach down to smooth his hair back, my hand grazing his forehead. I instantly recoil at how cold he is to the touch, holding my hand at my chest as if I had just been burned: my eyes widen as I look up at Jason, his face softening as he nods gently with understanding. I can feel my vision begin to blur as tears begin to well: rapidly batting my eyes, I will them to disappear, turning my head to the side to hide my face from him.

Within seconds, he is at my side, putting an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. The compression of his embrace does little to relieve my anxiety as I attempt to step back from the coffin, needing to put space between myself and the last family member I had in this world.

“Ms. O’Hara, I know this is hard,” Jason says calmly as he tightens his grip on my ever so slightly, keeping me next to him. “You aren’t the first person to brave the loss of a parent. If there’s anything I’ve learned after helping hundreds of people through this process, it’s that you are going to want to say your goodbyes to him. We need that closure in order to heal, and I’m worried that if you leave now, you’ll regret not having these final moments with your father.”

His voice breaks slightly. Something in his tone sounds heartfelt, as if he’s speaking from personal experience. I turn my head sideways and look up at him, expecting him to look back at me, yet his eyes remain fixed on the body of my father in front of us. Watching him gaze upon the coffin, I study his face, trying to decipher the emotions I see struggling towards the surface.

It dawns on me just a moment later: Jason IS speaking from experience. He wants the closure for me that he never had with his own father.

“Jason…” I shift in his arm to face him, taking my hand and placing it gingerly upon his chest. It’s a bold move, one that I know I shouldn’t be making, but something in me felt the need to comfort him, to reassure him the same way he tried to reassure me.

“Jason, I’m sure your father had his reason for leaving like he did…and I’m sorry you never got closure for him. I hope that one day you’re able to find out what happened to him, I really do. But right now, with my father here, I am grateful for you being here and helping me through this.”

I pause, looking back at my father and then back to Jason. He finally glances down at me, and for a second I swear I see his eyes glisten.

Jason looks back at the coffin, and a few seconds pass. The awkward silence makes me immediately regret speaking at all. I move to drag my hand from his chest and try to pull away from him, but his arm darts up and grasps my hand, clutching it to his chest as he looks back at me. His face is more relaxed, and the dull gold of his eyes seems to warm, like the sun burning away clouds after a rainstorm.

The corners of my mouth tug slightly as I shift in his arm, straightening to face my father. Jason keeps his grip on my hand and returns his gaze to my father’s body. I dare to let my head drop slightly to the side–coming to rest ever so lightly on his body–and for a moment we stand there together, sharing in the small comfort we are bringing each other.

“Also, Jason?”

“Hmm?” He muses absentmindedly as he looks from the coffin back down at me.

“Please, call me Eve.”

The viewing room is not too big, just large enough to fit a couch and a few chairs, with a standing water dispenser and cups nearby. Jason and I stand side by side as we watch the flames licking around the coffin inside the retort. I slide my eyes to the side and glance over at him. With his hands in his pockets and spine straight, he is statuesque: tall, brooding, and deep in thought.

As I look back at the dancing plumes of yellow and orange, I am suddenly aware of his eyes on me. Trying to keep my focus on the fire, I let him gaze, let him take his mind wherever it needs to go in order to distract him from the dark recesses of his mind. I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to live with the “what if” of a parent gone. What if they’re dead? What if they stopped caring? What if something happened to them and I can’t help them?

What if, what if, what if. It must be maddening.

After a moment I glance over at Jason: he is still staring at me, and not embarrassed about it one bit. We smile at each other, then set our sights on the retort once more.

I can’t explain I feel so connected to him. That mystery I saw in his face when we first met last week, the chemistry between the two of us each time we’re close to each other…it’s as if we’re kindred souls, each with a unique darkness inside us. Both swimming against the current and refusing to change for anyone. Both refusing to sacrifice who we were to please others, and rather choosing to keep those parts of ourselves buried down where only we see them.

“Eve.” My name falls from his lips so sinfully, I can feel my skin begin to warm. Jason breaks the silence as he walks over to the water jug, grabbing two cups of water before moving back my way. “This process usually takes a few hours, so if you like, I can escort you to the front desk, and we will notify you when the remains are processed and ready for pickup.”

He hands me a water cup, which I gratefully accept. Our fingers brush each other’s, my eyes meeting his as time slows. Moving the cup ever so slowly to my mouth, I take a sip; Jason looks down at my lips, watching the water pass between them as if he was a man dying of thirst.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” I say after I finish my cup. I reach out and hand it to him, watching his broad back as he walks away and tosses the cups in the trash.

“Actually,” I clear my throat and he turns to me, raising an eyebrow. “I have a question for you…and please tell me if it’s something you’d be ok with doing.”

Jason cocks his head at me, a movement that would be considered adorable if it weren’t for the fact that he was built like Adonis, with all the intensity of a bird of prey.

“There’s not much I’m not comfortable with, Eve,” he says darkly, taking the opportunity to drink his own water, and as I watch his throat constrict with each swallow, I can’t help but to gulp instinctively.

“I’ve organized a memorial expo at the local university next week, as a way to honor my father and his contributions to the school system. There will be various sections on his favorite historical events and teachings, the whole nine yards. I have an area I’ve planned out that is going to be a sort of ‘shrine’ to his memory: all of his favorite collector items, memorabilia, the works. I would love to take the obsidian urn–his ashes–and have it on display there.”

Jason nods, waiting for me to continue. I take a deep breath, run my fingers through my hair and step towards him, taking his empty cup from his hand and walking over to throw it away.

“What I wanted to ask you, was if you’d be interested in attending the memorial.” Keeping my back turned, I feel my face begin to warm while I wait for his reply. His voice is soft and his words are spoken carefully, as if he’s a teenager rejecting a dating proposal.

“Eve, I don’t know–”

Shit, was I too forward?

“Oh I’m sorry,” I mutter quickly as I turn to face him, immediately filled with regret. “I just meant to drop off the urn for me, you know? The college is in the opposite direction of Everlast, and Clover IS close to the university…I figured if you had work there that day or something, you could swing by before your shift. You’d be saving me a lot of time, and I’d really appreciate it.”

I pause as Jason’s eyebrows lift ever so slightly, as if to say ‘is that all?’

“Granted, I WOULD like you to drop the urn off, but that’s not the only reason I want you to attend.”

He steps towards me and I feel a knot tighten in my stomach.

“What IS the reason you want me to attend?” His voice is quiet, coy, and I know his lips aren’t moving but I can SWEAR I see the muscles in his cheek trying to draw a smirk from the corner of his mouth.

I draw a shallow breath, shrugging my shoulders as I look up at him.

“I know I’m going to get a bunch of people approaching me, throwing the usual ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ my way, and there’s only so much I can take. Being a people-person comes with the territory of presenting in front of crowds, and with my dad, I was able to have someone there to take the brunt of the questions and human interaction. But now? Now I would be dealing with everything myself, and I can be pretty hot-headed when I’m…overstimulated.”

Jason’s face relaxes as he rocks on his heels a little and turns to walk towards the couch, taking a seat. The spread of his legs, the way his arm is draped over the back of the couch, it’s so masculine I can’t stand it. I immediately follow him over and sit next to him, making sure to put enough distance between us to keep the illusion of professionalism.

“I’m going to be honest here,” I continue. “I would greatly appreciate a wingman. I don’t want to handle the crowds alone, and I don’t know who else to ask: I don’t exactly have a lot of close friends…”

My voice trails off as I shift my weight in my seat, watching as Jason’s arm extends along the back of the couch, his fingertips inches away from my shoulder. He chuckles slightly to himself, an act that immediately makes me blush so hard with embarrassment, I feel like my pores are bleeding.

“WHY are you laughing at that?” I ask, my voice rising slightly as I try to keep that ‘hot headed’ temper of mine in check.

He chuckles again, but this time it seems to be more amusement at my reaction, than at my initial question.

“It’s just, this is a total Leia moment,” he says with a curve in the corner of his mouth, his tone bordering on mockery. “‘Help me, Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope.’”

My jaw drops so far I think it dislocates.

Did he just make a Star Wars reference? NOW?

“Did you…you did. You just compared me to Princess Leia, didn’t you?”

Jason rotates in his seat so that he’s facing me more directly and lifts his hand off the back of the couch to poke my shoulder, almost playfully.

“YOU need my help. YOU have nobody else. This is your most ‘desperate hour.’ You are, in fact, Princess Leia.”

I scoff at him.

“Sir, you don’t seem to understand social cues, do you? We’re at my father’s cremation right now, I’m asking for your help, and you’re LAUGHING at me?”

To be honest, part of me is actually grateful for the distraction, the return to normalcy. It feels like a bit of weight is lifted from my chest, and although I feel conflicted about finding humor in ANYTHING right now, I think about my father, and how he would react if he was here. My dad was always one to joke around and lighten the mood whenever possible. He was nothing like me; he never enjoyed dwelling on the negative. If he was here, I think he would actually get a kick out of the conversation.

I don’t even notice the shadow of a smile across my face at the thought of my father, but Jason sees it. He points to my face and wags his finger at me.

“Aaaah? Look who’s laughing now?”

Clearing my throat, I raise my eyebrows judgingly at him, and lightly slap his finger away from my face.

“You’d better get that finger out of my face, mister, or I’ll bite it off.”

Jason’s face goes as stoic as stone, and for a second I feel like I actually angered him. Whatever smile was on my face a second ago is now gone, and as he scoots a little closer to me, I edge backwards, my hips bumping into the arm of the couch leaving me with nowhere else to go.

“Are you threatening me with violence? Right after asking for my help?”

The same glint I saw last week in his office begins to shine in his eyes: he lifts his arm and holds his hand in front of my face, balling his fingers into a fist but keeping his index extended. He only pauses for a moment, before slowly and deliberately waving his finger in front of my nose.

“You’re bluffing,” he says in rhythm with his hand. “You won’t do anything, Princess.”

He tosses out the word Princess with a sneer. I look past his finger into his eyes, the shine in them dangerous, taunting. He’s serious. This is a game to him, an exercise in power and control…and I’m a sore loser.

In one swift motion, I grab his wrist and hold his finger in front of my mouth, looking at his finger and then back to him. My common sense takes a backseat to the feral, impulsive desire to eat this man alive. Instantly my mind flashes to the fever dream I had in the shower, and it takes everything in me to not slowly suck on his finger until I have him begging like a dog: Jason’s not the only one who enjoys a good power struggle, and with a little concerted effort, I could make him do whatever I want.

Eve, what the hell are you doing? Did you forget where you are? That your father is next door?

Oh fuck me.

As quickly as I grabbed his hand, I let it go, looking away from him and straightening myself in my seat. I swear to God, sometimes it feels like there are two people living in my body: one is Eve, the smart, carefree woman who loves her work and the people around her. And the other…the other is some depraved, unnamed creature that lurks in the bowels of my body and soul. Pacing in its cage, waiting for any opening it can find to rear its head and possess me completely. No morals. No boundaries. Just dark, unhinged instinct. It doesn’t care that we are at my father’s cremation. It doesn’t care about protocol and social graces. It wants to act on impulse, and this is one of those moments where keeping it in check is proving to be a more difficult battle than I had thought.

Jason notices the shift in me immediately and retracts his hand, glancing at me, then back to the retort. We sit in silence for a minute, until I finally decide to stand. Smoothing my clothes and clearing my throat, I walk towards the door: as I cross in front of Jason, his hand shoots out and grabs onto mine, startling me as I stop and look down at him.

“Eve, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable.”

His voice is genuine, and as he looks up at me, his eyes soften: pleading with me to forgive him for whatever indiscretion he might’ve presented.

Goddamn, he looks so sexy when he begs.

“Jason, it’s not you, it’s…there’s…I’m…oh hell, just forget about it.”

I stumble over my words as I try to slide my hand from his grip. He refuses to let go and keeps my hand in his fist as he rises from the couch, towering over me. That intensity in his face slowly returns as he studies me, moving from eye to eye, attempting to get a read on what I’m feeling.

Unfortunately for him, I don’t even know what I’m feeling myself.

“Eve, I’m going to be blunt. There is something about you that I find…intriguing,” he says, glancing from my eyes to my lips, and back again. The motion is small, fast, but enough to cause a flush in my skin. As a strange warmth spreads through my body, I slowly trace my tongue along the corner of my mouth, lips parted slightly in anticipation for what he’s going to say next.

Jason sees me lick my lips and fixes his eyes back on my mouth, taking a deep, strained breath before continuing.

“You are a beautiful woman, without a doubt. However it’s more than that: there’s a depth to you that I desperately want to explore. Something about you feels magnetizing, something I can’t explain.”

He releases my hand from his grip, stepping back a bit as if he needs the space, taking another breath and finally breaking eye contact with me as his head drops slightly. It’s my turn now to cock my head in curiosity, my forehead furrowing slightly as I consider his words.

“I understand it’s not professional, and that we’ve barely gotten to know each other. And I apologize. But I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner rather than later. I’m a practical man. I don’t believe in sugar coating or dancing around my feelings like some high school airhead. If I feel a certain way, I say it. If I want something, I take it.”

He glances back up at me after that last sentence, the Kubrick stare to end all stares, and I feel a tightness in my chest: the same fight or flight response I’ve felt so many times before causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. As I meet his gaze with mirrored intensity, I realize that I’m not the only one with something dark hidden inside. For a split second I feel like I see a shadow of the real Jason, the one he keeps buried...and I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

“Well,” I say softly, making sure to choose my words carefully. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same.” A second passes, and then another. “But right now, in your workplace, with my father burning in the next room…This is not the time for this kind of exploration.”

I pause, keeping eye contact with Jason, the both of us silently studying each other as he slowly nods. Our words, our behavior: we’re both dancing around what we really want to say and how we want to act. Both of us are letting the animal inside us peek at each other, sniffing noses through the bars of our cages, testing the waters of compatibility. Maybe one day we’ll take that step. Maybe one day we’ll let loose on each other and finally get to see if our darkness plays well together.

But not today.