I Finally Know What It Means, to Have Something to Call My Own

It’s a Tuesday in mid-April when Jack gets the phone call. He’s sprawled out on his couch, a wine glass and half empty bottle of Merlot perched on the coffee table at his feet. The remote in his hand is offering no aid in his quest at attempting to make light of such a boring afternoon. Jack sighs, letting the remote fall from his hand and onto the couch beside him. His eyes drift from the dumb Nickelodeon show he’d ended up on, he pulls at the collar of his grimy V-neck.

The band had arrived home last week, after completing their 2nd European tour, and Jack had been ecstatic to finally be back in the states. Now, however, after nearly 4 straight days of ramen noodle dinners and staring endlessly at lame late night T.V., Jack was ready to scream, rip his hair out, or at the very least, just go outside. But, of course, the day Jack finally decides to get off his ass and do something, happens to be the day all of his friends seem to have plans – plans that apparently do not include him. So, he’s left to sit in his empty apartment, alone, instead of out having fun like the 22 year old wants.

He refocuses his attention on the television, trying to decide if he would appear as lame as he feels if he went out to eat by himself, because he surely was not going to eat microwaved noodles for dinner again. But then he’s ripped from his thoughts, Jimmy Eat World blaring above the murmuring of the T.V., and it takes Jack a moment to realize that the sound is his ringtone, sounding from somewhere in the couch cushions. Jack nearly squeals in excitement, reaching down and pulling his cell phone out from the couch underneath him. He doesn’t recognize the caller I.D., his face instantly dropping in disappointment, and stifles a groan. The call is accepted, phone pressed to his ear none-the-less, because Jack is bored shitless and thinks, ‘whythefucknot,’ the worst it could be is some bitchy sales woman, selling cocaine or life insurance or something else Jack really doesn’t want to buy.

The line clicks through, and then Jack is speaking out a cautious “Hello?” to the unknown caller.
“Jack?” Comes the tentative reply. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the nervous female voice on the other end of the phone.

Grabbing his wine, Jack hauls himself up from the couch. Switching the cell phone from his right to his left hand, swapping hands with the wine as well, he presses the phone back to his ear, letting out a small noise of affirmation.

It’s silent on the other end of the call for a few moments, and then the girl is speaking again. “I- uh, It’s Carlie. Carlie Renaldi.”

Jack halts, stopping the pacing he’d started while waiting for the girl to respond, and leans over onto his kitchen counter, setting his wine glass in front of him. He pauses, racking his brain for a reason she would be calling. They’d been introduced one night out at the bar, a few years back, and had been fairly close since. They didn’t talk much outside of outings with mutual friends, but each time the girl tagged along, he knew he would be up for a good time. He smiles now, thinking about the cute brunette and realizing that he hadn’t heard from her for quite some time.

He still can’t think of a decent response, but Carlie saves him the trouble a few seconds later.
“Look, I know it’s been a long time since we’ve talked, but I – I have something to tell you.”

She speaks the sentence quickly, as if willing herself to get the words out. Jack thinks that’s probably accurate, especially by how anxious she sounds, almost like she’s scared.

Jack thinks he should probably reply now, and mumbles out a quick, “Yeah of course, Carls, you can tell me anything.” He had intended the words to sound sure, but he could hear the hesitation in his own voice as he said them.

He hears Carlie sigh, then she’s speaking again, faltering halfway through.
“Okay, so, I uh, I know that we’ve never been that close before, – Jack. And the last time we spoke was at Grieco’s New Year’s party. I – I don’t really know how to say this, I don’t know if you remember what happened between us that night.”

Carlie pauses again, letting Jack catch onto what she’s saying. He thinks back to that party. It takes him a minute, but then he remembers waking up next to her in bed the morning after, and realizes what she’s referring to. Jack still doesn’t quite understand what she’s implying though, because a one-night stand is hardly anything to get so worked up over in his mind. And to add to his confusion, Jack realizes that they drunkenly slept together over a year ago, so if this is intended to be some kind of apology call, Jack thinks Carlie is a little past due.

Jack just breathes out a quiet, “I remember, Carlie.” Then decides he should probably elaborate, tacking on, “I um, I’m not sure where you’re going with this though.”

He hears the girl exhale, short and rapid, like she’s bracing herself. And then all at once she’s breathing out “You got me pregnant, Jack. I – I didn’t want to tell you, but I think you deserve to know. Y – You’re a father, Jack.”

And then Jack is laughing, full out head-thrown-back-eyes-squeezed-shut laughing, because wow, this girl cannot be serious. Jack – a father? That’s a joke in and of itself. He leans up off of the counter, gripping the phone tighter as his laughing dies down. “Damn, Carls, you scared me for a minute there. It’s a little late for an April fool’s prank, don’t you think? You got me though, that was – “

She cuts him off with a sharp “Jack” pulling said man from his rant. He freezes, feeling the tone of her voice as she said his name. Letting it rip through his chest as his stomach plummets, because no – no, she can’t be serious. This can’t be happening.

He breathes, a quick intake of breath as the news sinks in. He swallows, clenches his fist around the counter’s edge, feeling his palm slicken with sweat. And then he’s gasping, gulping for air, because suddenly his lungs aren’t working. He swallows back a scream, shuts his eyes tight. He breathes, in and out, until he feels his heart stop ramming against the inside of his chest, slowing down enough for him to formulate a coherent thought.

“I – you, what?” Apparently he can’t form coherent sentences. In his head it was more like ‘I’m a dad? You had my child? Why the fuck did this happen?’ But Carlie seemed to understand what he was asking.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I should have told you. I was just so scared and I knew that with your career – the band and I – I knew that you wouldn’t want a child, but I couldn’t bring myself to let her go, I just – I’m so sorry.” Jack could hear the tears in her voice, and if he wasn’t so distressed himself, he would have felt horrible for upsetting her, even if it wasn’t entirely his doing.

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, refusing to let himself cry. Instead he just choked out the one word he’d caught hold of in Carlie’s explanation. “H – her?”

By way of answering, she states, “She looks so much like you, Jay.” And Jack can hear the adoration in Carlie’s voice.

He doesn’t respond, just leans over, back onto the counter in front of him to keep from collapsing on the ground. He feels tired all of a sudden, a heavy weight throughout his entire body and he wants nothing more than to go to sleep, wake up in the morning and laugh to himself about this all being a crazy, terrible dream.

His arm bumps the wine glass, left abandoned from earlier, and he glances at it. The sight of the sweet liquid makes his stomach churn, a sour flavor on his tongue. Jack swallows hard, cringing.

He hears Carlie shuffle around on the other side of the phone, then she’s saying in an almost rehearsed manner, “I know you may not want anything to do with her, and that’s fine. I – I understand, and I don’t expect or need your help in raising her. I just – I needed to tell you, you deserved to know and I had no right to keep something like this from you.”

All he can say in reply is a mumbled “Okay” hearing the shame leaking from the word. And then the line is disconnecting and he’s left alone again.

-

It takes him a while to get up off the kitchen floor after that. He considered calling Alex, somewhere in between collapsing after the line went dead and when he finally stopped sobbing, but he knew the boy was busy tonight and Jack really didn’t want his best friend to see him like this. He pulls himself up off of the floor, wincing from the cold tile and the pain that shoots up his spine as he straightens up, protesting violently against the position he’d been hunched over in for hours.

He grips the counter, waiting for the pain to subside and glances at the clock on his stove. 3:34 Great. He’d been out of it for nearly 5 hours. Jack straightens again, making his way sluggishly to his en-suite bathroom. He avoids the mirror, already knowing he won’t be able to look himself in the eyes. His face is red, blotchy from crying so hard for so long. He stops, squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the sting of sore skin stretching across his cheeks. Everything just hurts so much and Jack just wants it to stop. When he opens them again, they meet a matching pair in the glass of the mirror, and Jack cringes at the loathing in his own eyes. He chokes back another sob, turning away from his reflection and back into his bedroom.

Hours later, he’s curled under his covers, still fully clothed, trying to calm himself down enough to stop the shaking that he knows has nothing to do with the cold.