Chapter 3
It’s way past breakfast time when I wake up the next day and my body is sore all over. I sit up, stretching my arms and craning my neck from side to side when it suddenly dawns on me that last night was real. Jonathan is here, claiming me back. I climb out of bed with a heavy sigh and head for the bathroom to splash some water on my face when I hear the unfamiliar sound of pots and pans clanging in my kitchen. A few minutes later, I walk in to find Jonathan half-covered in flour, breaking eggs into a bowl, then whisking it all together. His eyes land on me and he stops altogether.
“Hey, M. Pancakes and fruit okay?” he asks and I give him a half-smile, pulling back a stool and perching on it.
“That’s perfect, thank you. I cannot remember the last time anyone made me breakfast.” That simple gesture is incredibly heart-warming to me. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” he says with more heat behind his words than I’d expect. I watch as he starts pouring the batter into a large pan, turning up the heat. “How about you? Feeling better?”
I could lie but he doesn’t deserve it. “I’ve been better,” I confess, looking straight into his eyes. "You gave me a lot to think about."
He washes his hands and dries them off with a towel. “So have you, sweetheart. Anything I can do to help?”
I shake my head, look at the mess he’s created in my barely used kitchen and I know he's trying. “I just need some time to process things, okay?”
He turns over the pancakes, then focuses back on me. “I don't want to pressure you into anything, babe. We can figure this out together,” he says calmly, plating the perfectly cooked pancakes and cutting two overly ripe bananas over top.
“Can we really, Jonathan?” I didn’t think this would be the moment these words leave my mouth but I’m utterly frustrated and have no idea how to make him realize that we may not work. No matter how hard we want to. I look at my plate and I've suddenly lost my appetite to eat anything. “Do you know I can't have children? You've always said how much you'd love to have a large family. I can't even give you that,” I croak, and it's at that exact time that my phone starts buzzing. I look at the caller ID, recognizing him as one of my regulars. I decline the call, then focus back on our conversation.
“One of your customers, I presume?”
I cut into the pancakes, trying to avoid his inquisitive glare, but can’t force myself to eat. “Yes. He won’t be happy I didn’t answer.”
“I’m sure he won’t,” he says, his words laced with sarcasm, before softening his tone and continuing. “Thank you for that.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know how I can just switch off my life and turn over a new leaf, J. People here know who I am, and what I do. I can’t hide from them or avoid their calls. And I’ve just told you I can't have children. What do you think about that?”
“I don’t expect you to simply switch things off, Miranda. We can move back home, start fresh.”
The regular calls again, interrupting his train of thought until I let it go to voicemail.
I watch as a deep scowl forms on his face. “He’s persistent, isn’t he? As for kids, you know I'd love to have children with you. In an ideal universe, we would have a bunch of them running around. But at the end of the day, it’s you I want, Miranda. You are enough.”
I push my untouched plate away, my emotions all over the place. “Can we go out for a walk down by the river? I need some fresh air,” I say, climbing down and heading towards my room.
“Whatever you need, babe,” he says after swallowing his bite.
“Give me a few minutes to change, okay?”
Five minutes later, I grab my purse and we walk out into the crisp morning air. The previous night’s rain and today’s fog make it one of the dullest mornings in east London. The streets are bustling with pedestrians and cars going about their day-to-day lives and I feel like a stranger in this city for the first time since I got here. I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind as we stroll idly past the cafes and bakeries on the way to the Thames. He remains silent and although he doesn’t say it, I know he’s feeling just as frustrated as I am.
The people walking past us barely pay us any mind, but my ears are attuned to men’s whispering voices and when I hear someone from behind us call out my name, I instinctively turn around and see the men I was with a couple of weeks ago. I never forget a face and it’s clear they don’t either so when Jonathan looks over to meet my eyes, I know his next question before he even says it.
“Friends of yours?”
“Not exactly,” I spit back, my frustration growing by the second.
“Hey, SLUT!” the burlier of the two shouts. The abrupt switch from my first name to vulgar slang turns several heads. Jonathan draws to a stop, turning to face my abusers head-on.
“What did you just call her?” he growls before I even have time to stop him.
“Please, Jonathan, let’s just keep walking,” I urge, my pulse now racing.
“Why are you acting like you don’t recognize my brother and me, huh? Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to be rude?" the obnoxious man continues, completely ignoring Jonathan who is walking over, ready to deck him. I try to grab J’s arm but he shrugs me off.
Men like these two aren’t new to me. Josh does his best to make sure I don’t have appointments with these types of jerks, but sometimes they slip through our screening process. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on, whore. You looked so much better with our dicks going in and out of your sorry-ass, didn’t she, Frank?”
“She sure did, Bryson! She was fucking insatiable.”