Jason's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 41
Barbara’s office looked the same as always—controlled chaos, cold coffee, manuscripts everywhere. But something in her body language was different when Jason arrived for their scheduled meeting. She was standing by the window instead of sitting at her desk, and she didn’t immediately launch into editorial speak.
“I have news,” she said without preamble.
Jason set down his messenger bag. “Good news or complicated news?”
“Harvard offered me a position. Teaching in their history department, full support to finish my dissertation on Duniway.”
Jason felt the words land like a physical blow, but his face remained neutral. Years of military training and emotional self-protection kicked in automatically. “That’s incredible, Barbara. You’ve earned it.”
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
“I am thrilled for you. It’s Harvard. It’s exactly what you’ve been working toward.” He kept his voice professionally supportive, carefully controlled.
Barbara turned from the window to face him directly. “And?”
“And what?”
“And what else are you thinking?”
Jason moved to examine a stack of manuscripts on her desk, avoiding eye contact. “I’m thinking I need to find a new editor. And that we should probably finish the World War One novel before you leave. When do you start?”
“January. Three months from now.” Barbara’s voice carried an edge he couldn’t quite identify. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“What else do you want me to say? Congratulations, good luck, I’ll write you a reference letter if you need one?” Jason heard the defensive flatness in his own voice but couldn’t seem to modulate it.
“Jesus Christ, Jason.” Barbara’s frustration was evident now. “I just told you I’m moving three thousand miles away, and you’re talking about reference letters?”
“What do you want from me, Barbara?” Jason finally looked at her, his careful control beginning to crack. “You got an incredible opportunity. You should take it. I’m happy for you.”
“Are you?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then why won’t you look at me when you say it?”
Jason forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m looking at you. Congratulations on Harvard. You deserve it.”
Barbara crossed her arms. “You know what I think? I think you’re terrified I’m leaving, so you’re already emotionally checking out to protect yourself.”
“That’s amateur psychology.”
“It’s also accurate.” She moved closer to him. “Jason, I’ve been editing your work for over a year. I’ve watched you write about characters who can’t be vulnerable, who push people away, who choose loneliness over risk. You think I don’t recognize those patterns in you?”
Jason felt his throat tighten.
Everyone leaves. They all do. That’s the theme, isn’t it? Six years old, abandoned. Foster homes that were temporary. Military brothers who rotated out or died. Victoria, who moved to New York. And now Barbara, moving to Harvard.
Everyone leaves.
“I’m not pushing anyone away,” he said, but the words sounded hollow even to him. “I’m supporting your career decision.”
“Bullshit. You’re doing what you always do—pretending professional support while refusing to acknowledge that this might mean something personally.”
“Barbara—”
“Do you care that I’m leaving?” Her voice was challenging now, angry. “Not as your editor, as your friend. As someone who’s been part of your life. Do you actually care?”
Jason looked at her for the first time since she’d made the announcement. The woman who’d called him on his defensive bullshit from their first meeting, who’d pushed his writing to be better, who made him laugh with her caustic humor, who’d somehow become one of the few people he trusted completely.
“Of course I care.” His voice was quieter now, his mask slipping. “You’re one of the few people who actually sees me. Losing that—losing you—” He stopped, unable to finish.
“Then say so.” Barbara’s voice had softened but remained direct. “Stop defaulting to supportive professionalism and just say what you’re actually feeling.”