Jealousy Junction by Cathryn Grant (rosie project .txt) 📗

or guilty. What was going through his head? As we continued to stare at each other, I expected a softening in his face, a grin, or his lips forming into an air kiss. There was nothing.

Slowly, I stepped away from the doorway, still foolishly hoping for him to call me back, to offer help with dinner, but I got nothing except more questions and self-doubt.

I went into the kitchen and began shredding the roasted chicken, chopping onions and cilantro, and tomatoes. I made guacamole and got out my cast-iron skillet to cook the tortillas. All that time, I heard laughter and the murmur of their voices without being able to make out the words.

In the past, I’d always been a decisive person, but I couldn’t make up my mind about how to handle this situation. Mostly because I wasn’t sure either of them thought there was a situation. I could ask my sister to leave, but for what reason without making both of them think I was insecure and filled with irrational jealousy?

I felt trapped in my own house. I was standing at my kitchen counter making dinner by myself, missing the party, feeling lonelier than I had in a very long time. I was cooking for them as if it were my job to provide them with housing and food.

From day one, I’d known I was in a much better financial position than Jerry. He lived hand-to-mouth, making a minimal income overseeing the campground. But he didn’t care much about that. He was content just to be outdoors, to meet new people, to drift from one day to the next. And I hadn’t cared about it either. I wasn’t caught up in measuring accomplishments or turning a relationship into an accounting spreadsheet where both partners had to contribute their fair share, however that was decided. What mattered to me was a sense of being kindred spirits, and I felt that with Jerry, growing every day.

I put the cold ingredients into small bowls and placed them on the dining room table. I removed the candles, which didn’t seem to fit the mood of tacos and beer…and video games. Why hadn’t I known Jerry liked video games?

When everything was ready, I returned to the TV room and invited them to join me, still making use of my fixed smile. I’d consumed half a beer while preparing the food, and I didn’t feel like even one more sip.

Suddenly overcome with anger and confusion, I went into the kitchen, opened a bottle of cold white wine, and poured a glass. I returned to the dining room. Neither of them said anything about my change in beverages. I nudged my half-empty beer bottle to the side and enjoyed my wine while I let them chatter on about their game. I nibbled at my single taco and a bit of rice. Jerry and Tanya ate as if they hadn’t seen food in days.

I refilled my wineglass, and when they pushed their chairs back from the table, I stayed glued to mine.

“That was great,” Jerry said.

“You’re an amazing cook,” Tanya said. She gave me a warm smile.

I let my expression remain fixed, the smile on my lips but absent from my eyes. I don’t think either of them noticed.

“We should clean up,” Jerry said. “Since you did all the prep.”

Still, I said nothing. I knew I was being childish. I should offer to join them, just for the sake of togetherness, but I didn’t feel like it. I felt used and shut out.

Tanya stood. She moved around the table, picking up the dinner plates, stacking them on top of each other. Jerry followed, carrying bowls to the kitchen. I took another sip of wine and wondered how the evening would unfold. Suddenly, the wine felt sour in my stomach. I put down my glass and bit gently on the tip of my tongue, trying to keep myself from crying.

Chapter 8

I decided I desperately needed to shed my oily skin of envy. Despite the wine and beer roiling in my stomach, the best way to clear my thoughts and the healthiest way to stop watching my sister and my boyfriend become closer than my sister and I had ever been was to go for a run.

It immediately crossed my mind that the man who’d been following me, watching my house, was still out there. But the rage, and honestly, the hurt I felt within the walls of my own home, was too much. I had to get out.

The evening was warm, and it seemed perfectly suited to being outdoors.

I changed into head-to-toe spandex and came downstairs. Jerry and Tanya had returned to the video game, two more beers open on the table in front of them. They were continuing to drink the Mexican beer I’d bought for dinner, hoping to show Jerry how much I wanted to try the things he liked, which had gone completely unnoticed. Although in fairness, I hadn’t allowed much time for him to take notice.

A mature person would have stopped by the room to tell them I was going out, but I wasn’t feeling at all mature. I wanted out. That was all. I jogged down the stairs to the first floor, shoved my feet into running shoes, and tugged on a sweatshirt. I stepped outside and locked the front door.

I did a few stretches, turned on some high-energy music, pressing the volume button until it was at the maximum level. I walked down the driveway, turned left, and started a slow jog. After two blocks, I increased my speed. My slightly full stomach and the alcohol didn’t slow me at all. Soon I was flying down the streets, caught up in the beat pounding my brain. I almost wished I could close my eyes and just feel the evening air on my skin, the thump in my head, the utter escape from the world around me.

I ran for a mile, according to my workout app, almost full speed the