Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) (15 page)

“No not at all,” replied Amelia. “I'm just not quite sure I understood you correctly. You perform a genetic test from a spit sample ....”

His eye roved to see who else might be listening in, and then he raised his voice a notch above the crowd. Andrew Waits was listening with an air of quiet but evident contempt as he stood by a door leading out to the patio, staring at Matt with obvious dislike. Matt paused, and Annie lifted her blue eyes towards his face with a look of soft appeal as he took a sip from his drink and regarded her silently. She stammered over her words, but the sound of her voice was oh so feminine and sweet, and it went straight to his groin: “Oh, M-m-matt! How thrilling!”

He smiled back uneasily, well aware of the drift of Annie's play on words. And was that a fruity scent of perfume wafting from her skin?

Jillian saw the exchange. She stared long and hard at Annie, then back at Matt and immediately detected an undercurrent of something— an undefined tension running between her best friend and her boyfriend. Suddenly, Jillian saw her best friend from junior kindergarten, Anna Sophia Treadway, as a rival! But the idea was ridiculous! She tried to strike this horrendous thought from her mind.

Presently Lauren Chow chimed in: “Your work must be very rewarding. Are you published yet?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, becoming serious. “I have co-authored a few studies that have appeared in some highly regarded peer-reviewed journals.”

The dinner bell rang and the crowd dispersed, making their way to the patio.

Jillian was filling her plate with salad, small rosti potatoes and seasoned tofu when Matt walked up from behind her and slid a hand around her waist. She glanced anxiously sideways at her friends, Amelia and Annie, who were looking on with envious eyes. She then turned towards Matt and abruptly kissed him wetly on the corners of his mouth. She gazed up at him with lovesick eyes and asked timidly, “What will happen in September, when I go away to Kingston and we're miles away from each other?”

“Well, what should happen? You'll be in Kingston and I'll be in Toronto. What a silly question, Jilly!”

“But we won't see very much of each other,” she persisted apologetically.

“What's to prevent us? There's the highway, the telephone, e-mail.”

Jillian gave him a swift searching look, “But we won't see each other as often.”

“Weekends should be enough.”

She was suddenly seized by an overwhelming need to tell Matt how she felt. If only she could bring herself to say the words! No use making it seem less than what she was undeniably feeling, for it was love; she knew it. She swallowed hard several times, because her throat was parched, then blurted out, “I'm in love with you, Matt.” There; the words were spoken— irrevocably. She felt pangs of relief, horror and anxiety as she stared at his face, waiting for a reply. Matt must have heard but said nothing. He avoided her gaze and stared straight ahead, as if contemplating her words— or maybe he hadn't heard, after all?

“I'm very fond of you, Jillian,” he said at last, “but I can't honestly say I'm in love with you— at least, not at this early stage in our relationship.”

This seemed fair enough. It seemed quite logical that the young man was not ready to commit. But for what felt like minutes, though they could not have been longer than seconds, she could not move, could not speak. She simply stared at Matt with wide questioning eyes. It didn't appear as though she comprehended his words.

She lowered her voice, slurring the words, “I'm sorry, I'm not sure I heard you correctly.”

Matt looked Jillian straight in the face, “I like you very much Jillian, but ...” his words trailed off.

Tears were imminent. “Then why are we even together?” Jillian's voice sounded pleading. “Matt? What's going on?” She was breathing hard. “You're just stringing me along. That's it.”

“No, I'm not stringing you along. I enjoy being with you.” Then he said quietly, “I've never meant to hurt you in any way, Jillian.”

She tried hard to smile. Okay, he wasn't in love with her, but what had she lost? They had become intimate to a certain degree, but, much more than that, she had given her heart to someone who couldn't even say that he loved her in return. She looked up at his face, which was lost in shadow, and replied, “Of course you wouldn't,” as if this were just a little misunderstanding, just another little disagreement. He smiled and kissed her lightly on the cheek, putting his arm around her shoulder, but then dropped it and walked away. She had a premonition that they were parting for ever.

Very quickly, things became confused. Everyone but Jillian seemed to be enjoying themselves at Annie's barbeque; so many smiling faces. Around her and in the background hummed a din of voices, music and happiness. Jillian recoiled at the embarrassing thought of her friends finding out or that someone might have overheard their conversation. She felt sure that someone at the party knew, word was quickly spreading and her friends were talking about her behind her back. But they would find out soon enough anyhow, wouldn't they— if they didn't already know. There was so much noise; the air had become thick and stifling with the chlorine fumes from the pool. How she hated the green and blue colours that flickered over the water, making her feel nauseous! When someone spoke to her, she chose not to answer, pretending not to hear. Couples started to dance, and she felt herself become invisible. She took the opportunity to get up and sit somewhere else, quietly apart on the patio outside— in the darkness, where her eyes would be shaded. From time to time, she glanced at Matt as he chatted with her friends; she had been avoiding him since their exchange and was determined not to let him see her or catch his eye. From nearby in the bushes, she could hear the sweet sound of crickets, which brought back the bittersweet memories of the first night they had strolled along Philosophers' Walk. Her breath was quickening, and she was trying desperately to hold back the tears.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and turned to see Andrew, who had come to stand beside her. “Jillian, are you okay?”

She turned to him with an apologetic smile. She was looking unusually pale and barely able to control her voice. “No, I don't think I am.”

“Listen to me, I'm going to drive you home right now. I can't stand to see you cry.”

Was she crying? She hadn't even noticed! She reacted like an angry child. “Why? I don't need you to take me home. Why should I?”

“Because I know something's wrong. Has he dumped you?”

“What?” Jillian looked anxiously about to see if anyone might have heard. “Andy, I really don't want to talk to you right now.”

“But I am talking to you. What do you say?” Andrew looked her straight in the face and gripped her by the elbow. “Please, I'll take you home,” he insisted.

She pulled her arm away quickly. “Oh don't,” she cried, turning from him abruptly.

“Where are you going?” he shouted.

“Andrew, I can take care of myself. Give Annie my apologies. Something urgent has come up.” She pushed her way through the crowd of dancing couples before Andrew could say another word. She hurried away, tears dimming her vision— not quite seeing where she was going, staggering and shoving her way past people who turned to stare after her. Her friends were looking at her surprised; they could see that something was wrong.

She thrust herself through the front doors and out into the night. An unexpected burst of cool air whipped up and shook the leaves on the trees. She was trying to get away, running so fast she could hardly breathe; tears were streaming down her cheeks, and all the while she was thinking:
I hate all of them.
The sharp streets and lampposts blurred and dissolved at the edges of her vision into a kaleidoscope of colours as her tears fell.

Meanwhile, at the party, Matt was enjoying himself, unaware that Jillian had left. But as the night advanced, he glanced inquiringly around, hoping to find her. His eyes would fall now and again on the empty seat where she had last been.

Annie walked around the patio and inside the house, wondering where Jillian could be, feeling a trace of guilt for having flirted earlier with Matt. Later, speaking with Amelia, she asked: “Was Jillian not well? Has she gone home?”

“Annie, I told you,” replied Amelia, exhaling loudly as she snapped a compact mirror shut and put it in her purse, “Andrew told me she went home. An emergency of some sort— that's all I know.”

“Ah, I see.” Annie glanced towards the end of the patio, where Matt was chatting with a group, a vague uneasy look developing on her face.

Later her friends noted that Jillian had looked preoccupied and sad at the party. Maybe Matt and Jillian had had an argument? But no one had heard a thing; or if they had, no one was talking.

“I don't think it will last,” declared Amelia with finality.

They whispered to one another behind Jillian's back, not quite meaning to: “She's fallen hard, don't you think?” “Poor Jilly-Bean, is this the first time?” That was the talk, anyway. And who could help Jillian understand? Had she lived such a sheltered life not to know that you simply can't give your heart to the first boy that comes along? They might have broken down and cried themselves.

If Jillian had reacted in a rational, level-headed fashion to that evening when she had poured out her heart to Matt Barnes, she would have avoided further heartache in the weeks to come. He called the house numerous times to try to mend matters, but she refused to talk to him, insisting it was over, telling him to leave her alone.

During one of these upsetting calls, her mother entered her bedroom and overheard Jillian talking on the telephone; she stood by the door and listened in dumbfounded silence to her daughter crying, dismayed by her distraught appearance and evident emotional collapse. Jillian looked up from the phone with a face that accused her mother of eavesdropping, then slammed down the receiver and turned to her in a fury: “How long have you been listening to my conversation? Get out!”

Her mother's face went pale, and tears filled her eyes as she spoke: “Jillian, I know it's none of my business, but is this boy Matt upsetting you? Please tell me what's wrong. You're not pregnant, are you?”

“Pregnant? Why don't you consult that nut job Madame Zelda to find out what's wrong? What about the necklace, wasn't it supposed to bring me good luck?” Jillian remained hunched on her bed, clutching her childhood teddy bear Socks in her arms, and then pleaded through her tears, “Mom, leave me alone.”

“Jilly, look at me; what's going on with Matt? I thought you two had split up, so why is he still calling?”

Jillian blurted out, sobbing, “I'm cursed Mom, leave me alone! Just go!”

Her mother looked around at the disarray in her daughter's bedroom and shrugged. “You need to take up another interest besides dating and this love business. You'll have plenty of time for that when you're older. You're still a young girl.”

But Jillian stared at her mother blankly, as if she couldn't fathom what could be more important and seemed helpless in her fate, unable to change course.

She said not a word to her father or her brother Adam. How could she tell them? Although she could imagine them talking behind her back: “These are just life's little lessons, something she'll have to learn on her own,” her father might say; or Adam, “Yeah, shit happens!”

She wondered if they knew. Well, they would find out soon enough.

Annie Treadway stopped calling the house, and Jillian wondered if she was upset with her for having left the barbeque without so much as a goodbye. At odd times of the day, when she heard what sounded like the telephone ringing or the doorbell, she would run to the phone or answer the door, but nobody was there. It was just the wind! She made a note to call Annie at some point to make amends. When she found herself alone at nights, she wondered if this was what it meant to be lonely and told herself: “No, I'm not lonely. I'm quite happy to have broken off with Matt. What a pointless relationship! Why date someone who doesn't love me? He got in the way of more important things.”

She spent her weekends in the backyard, listening to silence, staring sightlessly at the clear blue skies, which now held no sunshine for her; the flowers were in full bloom, but for her they had lost their colour. She stared at printed black words on the pages of romance novels but would let the books drop to the ground, telling herself that this was where she had gotten her ideas about love. She tried to focus on her plans, the house in Kingston that she would rent with three other first-year students and the courses she would take at Queen's, but the breakup was a huge distraction. She could not forget his laughter, his mannerisms, his broad shoulders. Why should she care about that particular face, that particular man?

In her small circle of friends, such things were not talked about— to Jillian.

Naturally, though, Matt Barnes became the subject of rumour and much speculation, given that he was unattached, no longer dating Jillian and generally regarded as a good catch. But no one could be that perfect and get so much flattery or attention from the opposite sex without deteriorating. There was no shortage of girls to take up his evenings; he was spotted around town several times with Sarah Flint at popular hangouts like the Coffee Tree and the Humber cinema. There was even talk that things were getting serious between them, but it was just talk; nothing ever went beyond dating. If he could have contented himself with one girl, there wouldn't have been much talk or speculation. However, it soon became clear that the good doctor chased after young ladies with the same readiness as dogs chased after cats and was equally unable or unwilling to get tied down. Eventually the gossip made its way back to Jillian, who put on a brave face in front of friends and insisted repeatedly, “But I'm the one who cut it off with Matt. I don't give a hoot for him!” Secretly, though, she was in a perpetual state of agitation.

Mr. and Mrs. Crossland sat in cast-iron chairs on the backyard patio, screened from the sun by a twenty-five-year-old yew bearing clematis that weaved though its branches and hung in clusters of brilliant blue, while Molly lazily slept on the grass, flicking away pesky flies with her tail. The much anticipated and talked -about takeover bid for Skort Energy was about to become public, and insiders were busy buying up the shares, which had sunk to record lows. Mrs. Crossland turned to her husband and broached the subject of Jillian's emotional collapse: “Geordie, did you hear me?” Mr. Crossland raised his eyes from the business section only briefly. He was unreachable, his wife decided. He continued to ignore her.