11 | Burning Bridges

JEN WAS EVEN MORE NERVOUS to go into work the next morning than she'd been on her first day. She strongly considered calling in sick, but that would only get her so far—what was she to do tomorrow? She could only avoid Robert for so long.

Though she had given him the very poor excuse when she ran away from him last night that she needed to sleep, her brain had gone into a frantic overdrive when she collapsed onto the couch and what had just occurred really began to sink in.

She'd groaned and put her face in her hands. This was a disaster—a disaster that was utterly blissful in the moment, but still a disaster.

Maybe it would all be fine. Maybe it was a mistake on his end, a wine-induced decision made in the heat of the moment that didn't actually mean very much to him. But how was she going to figure that out without talking to him?

Her hands suddenly dropped to her sides. The letter. He gave her a letter. Perhaps it would give her some clarity, a glimpse into his mind and his heart.

She had completely forgotten about his note over the course of dinner, but now she rushed to her bedroom to grab it from where she'd placed it on her nightstand. She read it several times, making sure she absorbed every word.

2/12/92

Dear Jen,

Writing these usually comes pretty naturally to me, but I've tried starting this one three times already and can't seem to find the right words. It could be that I am simply overthinking things, but I wonder if perhaps it is that I don't know my feelings well enough to even understand them myself, much less adequately convey them to you.

Regardless, everything I've written sounds somehow wrong to me, so I'll spare you the trouble of reading my ramblings and leave it at this –

It has been a privilege to get to know you, and reading your letters has brightened my days considerably. I hope you have a wonderful birthday.

Italian Lesson of the Day:

Buon Compleanno = Happy Birthday

Yours Truly,

Robert

Reading that she brightened his days considerably normally would have been enough to send her head spinning with giddy thoughts, but now that she knew what it was like to kiss him, to feel like she was both drowning in him and learning how to breathe for the very first time, her mind had trouble honing in on the compliment and instead latched itself onto the first paragraph.

It could be that I am simply overthinking things, but I wonder if perhaps it is that I don't know my feelings well enough to even understand them myself, much less adequately convey them to you.

She cast the note aside in frustration. Was kissing her his way of telling her how he felt? Or was it his way of figuring that out?

With a jolt of horror, it dawned on her that it was entirely possible that he'd thought he felt something for her, kissed her to test his emotions, and then realized he felt nothing. That he didn't pull back from her because they were co-workers, but because he simply didn't want to be kissing her. Had she humiliated herself by kissing him back? Accidentally revealed feelings that were unrequited?

For the second time that day, Jen thought about Jude's words of caution to her. You should go make friends if you want to, just be careful what you do in front of them outside of work. You know the rules here are really strict and I don't want anything getting back to Nora.

But no, Robert wouldn't betray her like that. He was a good man. Even if he wished to politely cut off contact with her after this, she didn't believe that he would fault her for the fact that he kissed her. Some men were like that, of course, but he wasn't...right?

She shook her head. Of course he wasn't. She was being foolish. She was just paranoid because of–

Jen swallowed, banishing the thought from her head. Her emotions were already complicated enough at the moment and the last thing she needed was old memories making them worse.

Still, she couldn't shake her uneasiness. Rather than go to bed, she found herself scouring her apartment for her contract. She had to figure out what it did and didn't say about...about what? It wasn't like she was in a relationship with him. It was just one kiss. Nothing more. Just one kiss. One rapturous, heavenly kiss.

Locating the contract tucked in a folder that'd been shoved onto her bookshelf didn't offer the answers she was looking for, either. Upon reading through it, she found the wording to be annoyingly vague—it didn't outright say that she couldn't be romantically involved with him, just that employees were expected to abide by the church's moral standards and no inappropriate behavior was to be exhibited at the school.

But since there was no thou shalt not kiss thy coworker command in the Bible, Jen thought that these stipulations were highly unhelpful when applied to her current predicament.

She was restless as she tried to fall asleep, worried about others finding out and worried about losing him as her friend because of this. She didn't want to lose him entirely.

She...cared for him. Cared for him more than she had realized or appreciated before now.

And it was this part of her, the part of her that was still filled with warmth and wished to allow the feeling of kissing him to accompany her into her dreams, that eventually took over and drew her into a peaceful slumber.

Now that it was morning, Jen was having last night's crisis all over again. And there was yet another matter to handle—her father had evidently left several apologetic voicemails late in the night after she'd already gone to bed.

She silently stood by the phone for a few minutes after she listened to them, attempting to figure out if she was truly angry with him or not, but his remorse seemed genuine. That, and she was so preoccupied with thoughts of Robert now that she didn't have the mental energy to hold yet another grudge against her father.

She could still feel the sting of his neglect but sensed that it would fade in time. Their disagreements usually did, except for the most important one.

There wasn't much time left before she needed to depart for St. Catherine's, but perhaps he would be less busy if she called this early. That was the excuse she gave herself, at least, though she knew deep down that she was just looking for a reason to put off leaving.

He answered almost immediately, a rarity for him.

"Jen-" for once, he sounded relieved that she'd called him. "-I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Dad. I mean...I was pretty upset last night," she admitted bluntly. He should know that his words had consequences, even if she wasn't going to hold it against him this time. He was never going to do better if she seemed content with how things were. "But I know that you're busy and I forgive you. Maybe we can laugh this off someday in the future."

He hesitated, as if he'd expected anger from her and didn't know what to do now that he wasn't getting it. He sounded sad and a bit awkward. "Still...a father should remember his own daughter's birthday."

"He should," she agreed, neither kindly nor unkindly. "And I don't think you'll be making that mistake again."

"I won't," he said. "I promise. I love you, sweetheart, and I hope you have a good day at work."

Something in Jen's heart softened—it'd been a long time since he'd shown that much affection. "Thanks, Dad. Love you, too."

She couldn't remember the last time she got off a call with her dad and thought that it had gone well, but she was grateful not to have something else souring her mood this morning. And while their conversation was incredibly brief, it was at least a temporary distraction from Robert.

By the time she got to St. Catherine's, she was so nervous again that she was feeling queasy. She lowered herself into her desk chair and tried to make herself invisible. Maybe he would just ignore her today. Maybe that was for the best. It would inevitably make her sad, but it would give her more time to figure out the best way out of this mess they'd made.

Jen tried to appear as though she was completely absorbed in the paperwork she was doing, but she jumped a little bit in her seat each time she heard the front doors open. She'd let her eyes dart up to see who was coming in and then relax each time it wasn't him.

And when he eventually did come, she could somehow tell that it was him before her eyes hesitantly drifted up to confirm it. It was like she'd developed a sixth sense for him, or perhaps it was that her ears could already recognize the sound of his footsteps. She tried not to make it so obvious that she was looking at him, but she couldn't get herself to ignore his presence entirely.

At first glance, there was nothing notably off about him, but dark crescents lingered under his eyes that weren't usually there. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept well the night before. And when he saw her, Jen thought she spotted a smidge of pink form across his cheekbones. She hadn't seen anything make him blush before—he was normally so calm and collected.

She tore her glance off of him, tempted to crawl under her desk and simply hide until he went away. It was impossible to see him now without thinking about the heat that had rushed through her whole body when he pulled her close to him and kissed her like he was going to die if he didn't, the noise of pure surprise that had come out of her before she leaned into his touch–

Her breath got stuck in her chest, her heartbeat hastening. And he was coming right towards her, wearing a jarringly detached expression.

"Good morning, Jen," he said politely. If he was feeling even a fraction of the inner turmoil that she did, he wasn't letting it on.

He dropped a note on her desk and disappeared before she could get in a single word.

Well, at least he didn't call me Jennifer, she thought dryly, but her hands were unsteady as she unfolded the paper. Perhaps it was a terrible idea to open it right now, but she knew that anxiety and curiosity would both be gnawing at her all day if she didn't. She looked down at the note.

There was just one hastily-scrawled sentence.

Meet me in the blue room at 5.

In other circumstances, Jen might have been upset that she was required to buy a ticket to the art museum just to have a conversation, but she had much bigger problems on her hands at the moment.

Sadness had bubbled up in her as she walked up the front steps alone, bundled tightly in a coat and scarf. This wasn't precisely what she had envisioned when he said he owed her another trip here.

Now, she was in the gallery that connected to the blue room, trying and doing a poor job at preparing herself for whatever was about to happen. A piece of her brain told her that she was being rather dramatic and the rest of her couldn't necessarily say that it was wrong, but she was unable to prevent herself from dwelling on the possibility that this person she'd grown to have such a fondness for was about to walk away from her.

And could she really blame him for doing it? They were wrong together, so she could hardly blame him for desiring to repair the problem. She was the bringer of her own demise for letting an innocent friendship turn into this convoluted mess.

Her fingers reluctantly pulled the thick curtain back just far enough for her to peek through. The room looked just as she remembered, and just like last time, there was no one else around besides them two. He had already arrived but didn't seem to notice her yet and was pacing back and forth across the tiny space, wringing his hands, his head low. She could practically see the frustration radiating off of him like heat.

Jen's spirits fell even further, her last shreds of hope shriveling up and withering away. He was angry with her. She ought to get this over as quickly as possible instead of torturing herself with having to watch him any longer.

Something between them already felt irreparably fractured—though she had been so thrilled to be walking the streets with him last night, her arm linked through his, now it felt utterly wrong for them to be sneaking around in any capacity. Even just meeting him here felt like infringing upon some sort of unspoken code.

As she stepped past the curtain, she cleared her throat slightly, having no desire to look like she'd been standing there spying on him. His head shot up, but when she saw his face, she was surprised to see that his anger seemed to have dissipated rather than intensified.

Now he just looked rather awkward, shoving one hand into his pocket and running the other through his hair like he wasn't sure what to do with either of them. Jen felt unsteady, like she was on a rocking boat. Half of her wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him, and the other half wanted to bolt out of the room as fast as she could. She couldn't shake off this sensation of feeling like he was both too far from her and much too close at the same time.

The silence was heavy, much too heavy for her to know what to do with it. Nervous energy rippled through the air like the unpleasant notes of an out-of-tune instrument. Jen resisted the compulsion to tug at her scarf—the room was uncomfortably warm.

"I..."

The sentence died on her lips. I what? I've been wanting you to do that for weeks?

She tried again, but her voice sounded a bit unlike her, a bit strangled. "What was that? What even happened last night?"

In a way, she was vexed with him for making her feel like this, but she supposed she had no right to be. She was the one who had run off before he could speak to her.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't want you to apologize," Jen said firmly.

That much she was sure about. She prayed he understood what she was trying to say—she wasn't bold enough to state it any more outright. Please don't be sorry for kissing me. Don't regret making me feel like I was worthy of your admiration, even if it wasn't real.

There was no use in pretending that she didn't feel anything for him. He'd know that she was lying. The way she'd kissed him back already revealed otherwise.

After a moment of tense silence, he nodded very slightly. "Then I suppose it wouldn't do me much good to hide that last night wasn't the first time I thought about doing that."

She stiffened as memories of the last time they were together in this room swirled through her mind. For a second, a glimmer of optimism returned to her – so her feelings weren't unrequited after all – but she could tell from the look on his face that he wasn't about to suggest that they embark on an epic romance and live happily ever after.

"-But I don't know if we should...I mean, I think it would be looked down upon."

Jen didn't have to reach very far to grasp what he was implying. His job meant the world to him. She'd seen the way his whole face lit up when he talked about it, the pride he felt for his students shining in his eyes. He couldn't risk putting all of that on the line.

And as much as she wanted him, she didn't want to be the thing he was putting it on the line for.

"I don't know if it's a great idea for us to keep seeing each other outside of work," she admitted quietly.

The words hurt as they came out of her mouth, but he had been honest with her, so he deserved her honesty in return. She was weak, and she wanted him. She didn't know how to continue being friends with him, or at least not in the same capacity they had been. She hoped that someday soon, once she learned to be content with the idea that they couldn't be anything romantic, they could pick their friendship back up from where they left it before they kissed.

But until she could look at him and not want more from him, she needed a little bit of space. For both of their sakes. She couldn't risk slipping up and making the same kind of mistake she did last night where someone else might see.

His expression was so difficult to read and the poor lighting certainly did nothing to help. He was a statue cast in soft, dark indigo shadows. All the world was blue, like the both of them were drowning. She remembered what he said when they were here before, about looking up at the lights and pretending he was somewhere more peaceful. For just a second, she let herself believe that he might be doing that right now, and that he'd like her to be there with him.

After all, he'd brought her here then and told her that she had a safe place to hide. Surely he was referring to the physical space, but she'd started to let herself feel like her safe place was wherever he was.

He said, "I understand."

His voice was calm enough, but it wasn't detached, either. It was melancholy, and the sadness didn't suit him, so she decided it was time to stop making him sad.

Jen's footsteps echoed off the hard, shiny floors as she turned and walked out, leaving the curtain open behind her because she didn't want to have to see him again when she turned around to close it. Her gait was swift but not frantic—she didn't want him watching her depart and thinking she was running off to cry.

Her eyes were completely dry as she retreated to a random corner of the museum to let herself stop and breathe. She'd thought she might want to weep, but no—she was angry, burning with a deep fury that simmered in her blood. Not with him, but at herself. For wanting him at all, for wanting them to be something that they shouldn't be. She stalked off towards the exit – she wasn't in the mood to look at art anymore – suddenly disgusted with herself.

Where was the Jen who had said she would never do something like this? Who had spent the last four years in her ivory tower thinking of herself as so high and mighty because, as flawed as she was, at least she would never get herself entangled in an inappropriate relationship.

Who had shaped her entire existence around resenting someone for doing the very thing she now desperately wanted to do.

Her fingers curled into their fists as she plunged back into the cold air, her hair whipping behind her. She almost let out a bitter laugh. Perhaps that old saying had some truth to it.

Like mother, like daughter.

____________________

A/N:

brace yourselves for lots of upcoming angst

I hope everyone is having a good day!