Tastes Like Winter (18 page)

I sit down opposite him, on the next swing over, and wait for him to
speak. His problem. His invitation. His turn to speak.

He looks up at me quietly, studying my face.

“Well?” I insist. So much for it being his turn. I lift my brows. I
didn’t realize how much anger I still had in me until now. Despite yesterday’s
movement forward with Sam, this was becoming a waste of time.

“I’m thinking!” he says back like a frustrated child.

His playful mocking tone brings a smirk to my face. I fight it back
and try not to give in to his charmingly pouted lip.

“You had all day to think,” I remind him.

He sighs and shakes his head gently with a grin. “Yeah, well, now that
you’re sitting there looking all mad, I’m having trouble putting those thoughts
into words. I can’t tell if I’m intimidated by that scowl or turned on.”

My mouth drops open, aghast. I stumble to close it, and a smile
unwittingly crawls across my face. It’s as though not even a day has passed. He
sees that my guard has dropped and relaxes into his own smile. For a second, he
is goofy Jake again, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“So, like I said in the note, I talked to Sam. She said some stuff, I
said some stuff, and now I am here apologizing.” He races through. Here is the
Mr. Avoidance I have come to know and love.

“Well, are you going to actually apologize, or is that as much as I am
going to get?”

“Wow, you’re tough.” His playful expression returns.

I twitch but refuse to falter. “No, Jake. I’m just tired.” I force out
the words.

“All right. Fair enough. I’m sorry, okay? I am an idiot. I let Sam get
to me. I’ve got shit to work on, I know that. But here”—he lifts an arm
from the swing set’s chain and motions around him—“This is me trying.”

The words are sincere, but the delivery reeks of ass-hole-ism.

“You’re trying, huh? What exactly are you trying for? Because it sure
would be nice to know what I’m even doing here. I get that you have things in
your past that make it difficult for you to express yourself. And I’m trying to
be understanding, but I need some help over here.”

I break off for a second before
launching in again. “You know, Sam told me more about how you feel about me
last night than you ever have. You can wax poetic for hours about books,
travel, philosophy, but what about me?”

Frustrated, I turn my glance down to my bag, which I dropped at my
feet when I sat down. “You love lions, huh?”

I kick the doodle staring up at me.

“Do you love lions, Jake? Or do you love me?” I meet his eyes again,
pulling deep at him for an answer. “Because if you don’t, that’s fine. I can
deal with that, but cut it with your excuses and these bullshit games. Maybe
it’s in one of those journals you keep. But I’m at the point where I am fed up,
and I need you to take a moment, get over your hang-ups, and fill me in on how
you feel.”

I’m practically panting now. The stress of finally getting those words
out has created a frenzy I can’t hold back any longer. Jake moves to speak, but
I stop him.

“No. Don’t. Take some time and think about it. Figure out what you
want. What you actually feel for me.” I charge the word “you” with as much emphasis
as I can muster. “And when you’re ready, when you make a decision, let me know.
In or out, Jake. Because if you want there to be an ‘us,’ you need to stop
running, quit fighting, and let us be us.” I emphasize the word “us” with a
soft caress, hoping that he will get my message.

He stares back at me before nodding. “Okay. I will. I promise.”

I nod back, suddenly exhausted. The finality of his response leaves me
temporarily satisfied. I said what I came to say. The proverbial ball is in his
court. I push myself back, pump my legs once, and jump off the swing.

This time when I walk to my car, I have no desire to look back.

AUGUST

A few weeks have passed since our playground encounter, and I’ve still
heard no word from Jake. While it saddens me that he couldn’t grow up and get
past the things holding him back, my heart is a little lighter, knowing I said
my piece. It makes it a bit easier to move on. No answer is, in fact, an answer
of sorts, and now I know.

Shortly after the holiday weekend, my mom cornered me by the fridge
and spilled the beans. Apparently she was acting strange not because of a big
birthday surprise she was planning for me, but rather because of a certain
piece of news, which my father was supposed to have brought up the night of July
Fourth and obviously didn’t.

She took charge and filled me in about
how the divorce agreement has at last been settled and the papers will be
signed and finalized by month’s end.

Mom sounded even more excited to tell me that she was one hundred
percent committed to getting back into her former life as an interior designer.
She apprehensively told me that after reaching out to her old boss, she was
offered a position working on a huge hotel renovation project out in Colorado.
Apparently our mother-daughter trip was actually a scoping meeting, and when I
was out hiking, she was interviewing and touring the hotel site, not at the spa
as I’d originally thought. Since we have been back, she has been tirelessly
putting together a full proposal for the redesign, hence all the hours online.

 
When she proposed the idea
of us moving, I didn’t fight it. With Genna gone and Jake out of the picture,
there is no real reason to stay in High Beach any longer. She squealed with joy
when I agreed, and suddenly, the “maybe temporary position, which she was
probably going to turn down” transformed into a “definite offer she couldn’t
afford to miss out on.”

I gave her a big hug and told her how I’d suspected that she was being
secretive because she was planning something big for my eighteenth birthday.
She felt bad that that wasn’t the case and promised that we would celebrate
together and have a special night out in Colorado once we got there.

She is so happy, and after everything that has happened this past
year, she deserves it. This is something to keep her busy, renew her passions,
and bring joy to her life. I didn’t even hesitate when she asked me to come
with her. I certainly couldn’t bear any more awkward conversations with my
father. Living with him would have been a mess, and when I tried to imagine
nightly dinners I envisioned nothing but uncomfortable silence.

Besides, Mom and I could both use a fresh start, and it was about time
we pressed the reset button on our lives.

When I meet up with Dad at his office, to tell him in person of my
decision to go with Mom—something she insisted I do—it is terrible.
Worse than I expected, but reinforcing my decision to leave.

“I understand, sweetie. You can come home for holidays or summers so
you can still go to the beach.” As he speaks, Marissa walks into his office,
interrupting us to set a stack of papers on his desk, which he starts perusing.

Irritated by the complete lack of
respect, I ask in a low voice, “What would be the point?”

“Hmm?” he questions, head still down while going over the notes with
his assistant. The assistant. I look at them and feel a million miles away. I
can’t believe she’s still working for him. I can’t believe how little he cares
about me, his own daughter. I can’t believe he even bothers to pretend.

Well, I am done pretending. So done.

“What would be the point?” I repeat, my voice louder now.

Him and Marissa both look up.

“Excuse me, young lady?”

“Oh, don’t you dare try to father me now.” I’ve found my backbone. I
am tired of people coming and going from my life whenever it pleases them, and
I intend to speak my mind. “You don’t see me now, so what’s the point in
pretending? What’s the point flying back and forth for holidays? To be ignored
by you some more? You can’t even give me five minutes of your attention now to
say good-bye. You’re my dad, and I’ll always love you because of it, but let’s
drop the act. You live your life, and Mom and I will live ours. It’ll be easier
on everyone.”

Marissa’s mouth drops open, and she fumbles to excuse herself. My dad
takes a moment to compose himself before saying, “I’m sorry you feel that way.
I do love you. It’s not an act. I’m sorry work keeps me so busy. You’re right.
I should make more of an effort.”

I can’t tell if he means it. I decide I don’t care. I shake my head.
Too little, too late. “Okay. We’ll I’m going to go.”

I don’t know what more to say, so I decide to say nothing. If he means
it, he can prove it. I’m done.

“Bye, Dad.” And I exit the office, ignoring Marissa as she continues
to gape at me as I walk by.

***

Two good-byes down, a couple of more to go. I’m still procrastinating
in telling Betsy the news of my impending departure. I know I have to, but I’m
scared. I haven’t decided if my fear stems from the possibility that Betsy will
react poorly to my leaving her and High Street Books behind, or if I’m
uncertain at the thought of word getting back to Jake.

At the end of July, I had to say good-bye to Genna. Even though I
convinced myself that I was prepared to see her go, it was one of the hardest
things I have ever done. Now that I am moving to Colorado, we had to face the
truth that I’ll be in another state, and when she comes home for holidays and
vacation, I will no longer be in High Beach to see her. Mom told me I could fly
back whenever I want, and Genna swears she will come visit me in my new
hometown, but I know it won’t be the same.

I gazed into the bottom of my farewell sundae at Juniper’s on her last
day, holding back my sadness, while Genna spoke about her plans for her new
dorm. She has been e-mailing her new roommate and arranging who will bring what
supplies and decorations. She’s so excited, and I’m certain that she’ll make
friends and assimilate to college life seamlessly. I can’t help but wonder how
I will do at my new school, and when our final good-bye hug comes, I don’t want
to let go.

“
Aww
,
Em
. It’s
okay. I’m going to college, not dying. We’ll still talk all the time.”

“I know, but I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. But you’re going to have so much fun with your
mom in Colorado. Your new school will probably be filled with hot, rugged
mountain boys. Honestly, I’ll probably be begging you for details all the time.”

I chuckled, grateful that my best friend could still pull me out of my
own head and get me laughing. “I’m done with boys for a while.”

“Hush. Don’t be silly. You’ve only just gotten started. I’ll call you
as soon as I get to campus and settled in. It might not be till late. Is that
okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be waiting for your call. I hope your roommate is cool
and doesn’t turn out to be a complete weirdo.”

“God, I hope not. Okay. I love you, and I’ll see you soon! Chin up.”

“
Gah
! Okay!” I pulled her back for a final
bear hug before forcing myself to let her go. “I love you. Don’t forget to
call. I’ll be waiting.”

Now, slumped on the floor in the middle of my room, I remember our good-bye,
and my heart pings. Genna did call as soon as she arrived and told me that her
roommate is acting normal so far, and they are actually getting along quite well,
which is a positive sign. We have been chatting online as much as we can, but
her new college team practices even more than her high school one, and she has
been keeping very busy. Classes start soon, and that will be the real test,
trying to juggle coursework, practice, and a budding social life.

Mom and I are leaving in two days, and there is still a lot of work to
be done before we can depart. I struggle to pull the zipper closed on the
suitcase before me and stop to evaluate the mess that is my half-packed room.
Slowly, but surely. I stand and lug the suitcase, placing it next to the
already-packed boxes in the corner.

After getting my seal of approval, Mom found a family to rent our
house. She couldn’t bear to sell my childhood home, and even though I insisted
that she was being silly and that she shouldn’t hold on to the real estate on
my behalf, she refused. Mom promised to buy Dad out of his share of the house
as part of the divorce settlement. Since she couldn’t quite afford it yet, they
agreed the rental income would pay the mortgage until she received her first
commission check to cover the costs. Since the Colorado position is still temporary
at this point, we plan to rent there for a year starting off, to see how things
work out, especially considering I will be starting college in a year. The
house will still be here if we decide to return. Our plan is to pack the things
we need and put the rest in storage. I’m having trouble deciding what is what,
hence the landmine explosion that is currently my room.

I decide to take a break and go into the bookshop even though I am not
on the schedule today.

Betsy is surprised to see me, and when I explain the reason I am
there, she is sad to see me go but thrilled for my opportunity to have a new
adventure. “Colorado is amazing. You will absolutely love it there.”

“Yeah, I’m excited. It will be good for Mom and me.”

She nods. “You’ll be missed in High Beach. I loved having your help
this year.”

“Thank you so much for everything. I loved working here, and you have
taught me so much. I can’t thank you enough.”

I give her a hug good-bye, and she tells me that if things don’t work
out and if we find ourselves back in town, my job is always available. She
doesn’t ask if I’ve already told Jake that I’m leaving, and I don’t offer. I’m
happy that I found the courage and got that over with.

One more good-bye to go. And sure enough, on my drive home, I receive
a text from Jake, asking me to meet him the next day. I assume Betsy passed
along the news as soon as I left the store.

This is the good-bye I have been afraid of the most.

***

I ease my car into the Harbor Side parking lot and drive around to the
back. Betsy’s car is already parked, and I slide into the spot next to it.

Jake is perched on the top of a nearby bench, watching me. He is
wearing a thin, grey tee shirt and dark blue basketball shorts. His hair looks
longer since I last saw him and has been lightened by the sun. He throws me his
signature smirk and stands to greet me as I approach.

“Hey,” Jake says.

He gives me a good look up and down, as though he is taking in a cool
drink of water. His arms wrap around me in a big bear hug, lifting me gently
off of the ground. He sets me back down, and his hands come to rest on the
exposed flesh at my waist. The warmth chills me with familiarity.

I smile up at him and riffle his hair. “Hi, Jake.”

He pulls my hand down to meet his and naturally leads me towards the
jungle gym. He guides me forward, and I teeter up the slide, with him following
close behind. His hands fall back to my waist as he helps me to keep my balance.
Sensing his eyes on my backside, I blush. I sit down on the top platform with
my back against the cool plastic, and Jake falls into place opposite me.

We stare at each other for a long while, searching for where to begin.

“I’m sorry,” he starts slowly. “For everything. For that night in my
room. For everything that happened after. For the Fourth… I haven’t acted that
way since the accident, but everything became too much, and I was tired of
trying to be better, knowing better would never bring them back. I never meant
to disappoint you.”

The words are coming now, and knowing he needs to get this off his
chest, I let him speak.

“God, I don’t want to disappoint you,
Em
. I’ve
tried to fight my feelings to keep you from getting hurt, but that night after
you came to my house, I made a mistake. I got scared. I didn’t know what I was
doing. And then later, what Sam said. I felt like it was karma. Like you came
into my life to show me everything I was missing. Everything I didn’t deserve
because of the stupid decisions I have made in the past, and I felt their loss
all over again.

“I got fucked up on the Fourth because I wanted to be numb. Because
what does being good matter if you’re always haunted by your history? I can’t
live like this without them. Time is supposed to make this easier, but it’s
not. It’s fucking worse. Every day, it’s worse. I don’t deserve your happiness
after what I’ve done.

“The problem is that I know I can’t live without them, but I also
can’t live without you. You do something to me,
Em
.
You make me feel. Feel like I haven’t felt since before my parents… like I
haven’t felt ever. You make me feel alive. You make me forget.”

He shakes his head as he tries to formulate his next words. He is
saying everything I have wanted to hear, and my heart is flooding with his
confession.

“That part is worst of all, the part where you make me forget. I don’t
think I deserve to forget.
Em
… I love you. I love you
more than I know what to do with, and it terrifies me. I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up
at showing it.”