And that was all it took, really. We fell in love quickly and easily. It was a perfect year—my last at FIT, his first in the city. Jake lived in Williamsburg but worked most nights busing tables at an upscale Greek restaurant in Nolita. He hated it, but the tips were good, and there wasn’t yet money coming in from the band. After his shifts, he’d walk the ten quick blocks to my apartment on East Fifth Street, slipping in the door past midnight. I always waited up for him, sliding my hands underneath the waistband of his boxers the second he crawled into bed beside me. On those nights, he smelled of garlic and grilled meat, but I didn’t mind. Everything about him intoxicated me.
That year, I was busy interviewing for jobs in fashion merchandising, while Jake and the Lane brothers focused on finding representation and putting together a debut album, playing for free at Arlene’s Grocery and whatever other local bars would have them. In the spring, a guy named Jerry Ruffalo signed on to be Danner Lane’s manager. It was the same week I got a job offer from Marc Jacobs, which would start after graduation. I was top of my class at FIT, Molly. I’m no slouch.
Jake and I went out to celebrate our good news. We shared a pitcher of strong margaritas, and when Jake told the bartender about my job offer, he brought us a round of tequila shots. Doubles. We were drunk when we left the bar, too giddy to be hungry. It was hot out, one of those wonderfully humid nights when the city just cloaks you in heat, and Jake and I walked out to the East River path to catch a little breeze.
“My Sisi.” Jake looked at me, and a slow smile spread across my face. I wasn’t crazy about the fact that people still called me Sisi—my old childhood nickname—but coming from Jake’s lips, the moniker always sounded endearing. “Will your parents be at graduation next week?” he asked.
A hard block formed behind my collarbone, the way it did when I’d been drinking and thought about my parents. “Yeah, right.” The wind blew strands of hair into my face, and I brushed them away. “They didn’t even come to my high school graduation.”
Jake studied me, his eyes softening in surprise. “Neither did mine.”
“Really?”
He nodded somberly. “You would think, especially with us both being only children … that they’d want to be there.”
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
Jake gazed out over the dark, glossy river. “Sometimes I think my parents wish they hadn’t had me at all.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said, though I knew it was possible. I often had the same thought about my parents. I knew what people were capable of.
“No, like—” Jake paused. “I heard them once. My mom said it.”
“What do you mean?”
He was quiet for a few moments. Then, his eyes found mine. “I was in fifth grade. I’d been at the Lanes’， practicing in their garage like we did most days after school. I walked in the back door just before dinner and overheard my parents talking from the mudroom—they hadn’t heard me come in. My dad said, ‘He’s always next door with those gingers and their liberal folks, it’s almost like he’s part of their goddamn family and not ours.’ And then my mom said—verbatim, ’cause I’ll never forget—‘I know. Some days, I think we’d all be better off if that’s the way it was.’”
Jake’s anecdote silenced me. I stared at him, at the pain that contoured the edges of his face. I almost couldn’t believe that we shared the same wound, the one that never really healed.
He gave a sad smile. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
I reached for his hand, running my thumb over his callused fingers. Something rich and warm—honor, maybe—blossomed around my heart. “Not even the Lanes?”
Jake shook his head. “As much as Sam and Hale are my chosen brothers, there’s a distance between us when it comes to … family stuff. They’d never be able to understand what it’s like to go through life without that kind of unconditional love. What it feels like to just sort of float along, untethered.”
I stepped closer to him, resting my cheek against his chest as the hot wind whipped off the river against us. “Well, I understand. I know that untethered feeling exactly.”
“You do?”
“Yes. My parents don’t give a shit about me, either.” My voice caught a little. The tequila had me feeling raw, emotional. I knew I’d lose it if I went into the details. “So to answer your question, they won’t be at my graduation next week. Believe me.”