Tastes Like Winter (5 page)

Betsy makes no notice and heads for her own car. “See you next week!”

“See you!”

***

Jake’s gift is perfectly timed, because as soon as I arrive home, I am
greeted with both of my parents sitting at the dining room waiting for me.
Their hands are crossed stiffly—my father’s in his lap, and my mother’s
resting atop the large cherry table, picking nervously at the surface.

As soon as the door opens, they look up, and my heart sinks. This can’t
be good.

“Emma?” My mother takes the lead. “Can you come in here for a minute?”

My stomach begins to churn. I drop my bag inside the entryway, and its
thud sounds loudly in contrast to their heavy silence.

“What’s up?” I ask with caution as I slide into a seat across from
them.

My mom glances over at my dad to see if he would like to step up and
take the lead, but not surprisingly, he shrugs and says nothing, leaving her to
explain.

“As you know,” she begins, “your father and I have been going through
a difficult time, these past several months.”

I know what is coming. At once, my palms feel clammy and my heart dips,
because I know. I thought they’d work it out. I may have dreamed one of them
would move out so the fighting would stop. But now that it’s going to happen…

It’s there in my mother’s eye, and the pain is excruciating.

Please don’t say it; please don’t say it…

She continues unaware, “I’m sorry, Emma, but I don’t think we’ll be
able to work things out. We’ve decided that it would be best for your father to
move out and get a place of his own. It’s been too hard on you. We don’t want
to keep exposing you to the fighting. It isn’t the norm. This isn’t what we
want for you.”

She looks at me with pain-filled eyes while I sit
there and absorb what she is saying. No
more fights. No more listening to their daily arguments. I have known this was
coming for a while now. I should be grateful. I should be happy that they, we,
the three of us, can move on to a healthier place. But I feel like crying
instead. She waits for me to say something, but all I can think to respond with
is a measly “Okay.”

My mom looks frustrated, as though this is not how she expected this
conversation to go, which angers me. Does she want me to yell and storm up to
my room in a childish tantrum? Does she want me to tell her it will all be okay
and that I am fine with this divorce? Her eyes plead with me. What the hell does
she want me to say? I look over to my dad, hoping he might have an answer.

The silence is painful, slicing into my last nerve, until finally he
speaks. His voice is firm and lacks emotion. “I leased a one-bedroom apartment
by South Gate. The deposit has already been paid. I will be moving out slowly
over the next few days. After I am settled, we can work out some sort of a
schedule for visits. I would like to keep seeing you.”

His words are hollow; he barely sees me now. And a one-bedroom? He
obviously wasn’t thinking of me when apartment hunting.

“Okay?” I offer, trying to keep emotion from my voice.

Is this conversation done yet? My mother’s shoulders slump, and she
looks more defeated than I have ever seen her. My father looks angry, not that
he has any right to be. He shoves back from the table and stands.

“Okay.” He dismisses us and exits the room, as if he can’t get away
from us fast enough. Seconds later, I hear the door to his study close.

I, too, stand, my movement slowed by the weight of the conversation. I
hesitate, wondering if I should say something to Mom. I feel bad for her, I do,
but I don’t like seeing her acting so weak, and I do not think coddling her
right now will help matters. I desperately try to strengthen my wall of tough
love.

“Okay…” I whisper before turning back to the dining room entrance,
picking up my bag, and quietly making my way upstairs.

I hear her suck in a whoosh of air behind me as she tries to control
herself and muffle a sob, but I force myself not to turn around. She has to
learn how to pick herself back up. I can’t do it for her. But, God, I hope she
learns quickly, because hearing her breaks my heart.

I shut the door to my room and turn on the sparkling lights that fall
behind my bed. They softly illuminate the space, creating a familiar and warm
glow. I pull my cell out of my pocket and tap on it, contemplating if I should
call Genna and tell her the latest news. I want my best friend’s help carrying
this burden, but I’m afraid that for the first time in our life she might not
be able to help me. As I look around my empty room, that thought makes me feel
even more alone.

Genna hasn’t changed. I have. She hasn’t stopped being a supportive
friend and asking how I’m doing, but lately I get the impression that she isn’t
actually listening to me when I do try to share. She looks at life through
these rose-colored glasses and tells me everything will work out, and I’m
sorry, but that is not what I want to hear. I love her, but I wish she would
hug me and let me know that I am not alone and stop looking at my situation
like something that will resolve itself in time. I want to shout at her and
scream, “My parents aren’t fighting over dirty dishes, Gen! My dad slept with
another woman! And my family will never be the same!” but I can’t bring myself
to be so cruel. It’s not her problem—it’s mine, and I’m better off
keeping it all in.

I pull on a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top and fall against
my pillows. The mixture of emotion churning inside me has settled into a deep
nausea, low in the pit of my gut. Hours ago, I felt a different flutter in my
stomach, one of anticipation. The thrill of a cute boy, perhaps, but it’s more
than that. Around Jake, I’m not thinking about home, about being the grown-up
to parents that are acting like children. I can forget about them and feel
lighter.

Jake’s smile plays across my mind, and a little bit of the weight
lifts. I crawl across the bed to turn off the lights then lean down to the
ground, searching in the dark for my bag. I pull out the worn book and run my
fingers across the creased cover, seeing if I can bring back any of the warmth
he brings out in me. After a moment, I settle back into the mattress’s
softness, clutching the book to my chest.

I close my eyes and try to breathe into my knotted muscles, to find
some release. When it comes, I whisper to the darkness. “Thanks for this,
Jake.”

***

The next morning during our drive to
school, I tell Genna the news, and as predicted, she gives me a long hug and
tells me not to worry because everything will work out. She insists on an ice
cream date night to allow me to eat away my feelings about the now-official
divorce, but those plans change during the day. Instead of ice cream, she is
now dragging me to a party tonight, quite against my will. She apologized for
screwing up our night but promised that instead we can talk while we get ready
at her house.

She wanted to make an appearance tonight because “Everyone who plays a
sport will be there.” Also, a bunch of older kids who already graduated and are
now playing college league will be attending, and she wants to get advice on
the recruitment process. She’s hoping to continue playing when she graduates
and would like all the help she can get. She expertly pulls at my heartstrings
by insisting that all the extra knowledge will increase her chances of getting
a scholarship. Her explanation is fifty percent true concern and fifty percent bullshit,
but I let her have her way.

As soon as I arrive at her house, she
and her parents greet me at the door, pulling me into a group hug with well
wishes and more promises that things will get better soon. Genna slips a Ben
and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia bar into my hand with a wink and leads me upstairs. I
don’t want to talk anymore, so I nibble on my frozen treat and watch as Genna
picks out outfits for us. To further distract her, I allow her to do my makeup
and hair and smile at all of the appropriate times so that she knows I am okay.

An hour later, we pull up to Ryan
Mickleson’s
house and park behind a half dozen other cars.
Despite being early to the party, I see the festivities are already in full
swing. Lights illuminate the yard, spotlighting a few partygoers. Ryan is High
Beach High’s quarterback, and he comes from an ancestral line of High Beach
football players. His older brother was the last QB and passed on the title
when he graduated a few years ago. Everyone loves Ryan and his brother. They
are relentless on the field, but otherwise they're big teddy bears, round faced
and always laughing. Because of their widespread popularity, this party is sure
to reach capacity.

Instead of going for the front door, we walk around the side yard,
following the sound of music to the back. At Genna’s insistence, I’m wearing
dark skinny jeans and a peach tank top that has a sheer overlay and hangs open
in the back. She forced me to leave my sweatshirt behind, and I am already cursing
her because October in New England is cold, and tonight is no exception. At
least I got away with wearing my worn-in riding boots, which provide some much-needed
warmth to my legs.

As soon as we step onto the back porch, Genna and I are handed beers.
She accepts hers, but I nudge mine off. I guess I’m driving us home. Great. The
porch is crowded with people, and looking through the sliding glass doors, I
can see the kitchen and den are packed, as well. There is a fire pit in the
corner of the yard, and already desperate to warm up, I move towards it.

“Gen, I’m going to hang out by the fire”—I motion with my head—
“because somebody forced seasonally inappropriate clothing on me!” I shout the
last part over the sounds of party chatter as I put distance between us.

She laughs and innocently bats her lashes at me. “Oh hush. You look
gorgeous, and that outfit is totally worth a little chill! I’ll be over in a
minute. I want to make the rounds.”

I see somebody vacating one of a few Adirondack chairs arranged in a
circle around the pit and snag it before anyone else can. This, I decide, will
be my spot for the evening.

I’m warming my hands, watching the reds and oranges of the fire dance
before me, when I sense someone plop down on the ground next to me.

I assume it’s Genna coming back for me, so I am surprised when I hear
Jake’s deep voice.

“Hey.”

I am caught off guard, but I try my damnedest not to appear like I am.
“Hi, Jake.”

There are plenty of college kids around tonight, but I wouldn’t have
thought the jock crowd to be his scene. I say as much and ask him what brings
him out tonight.

“Yeah, it’s not my scene… Not anymore, at least. I was dropping Sam
off, saw a couple guys I knew from high school and got talked into coming in.”

I notice he is holding a water bottle, and his fingers fidget, picking
at the label as he speaks.

“What about you? You often come to parties to sit in dark corners by
yourself?”

“I try to avoid it, but I’m not always so lucky. My best friend is a
bit of a social butterfly. I’m her awkward and stunted sidekick.”

“I doubt that. In fact, as far as I can see, you don’t appear to be
awkward or stunted at all.” He winks at me before adding more seriously, “How
are things with your parents?”

The light from the fire reflects off of his cheekbones. It is paired
with a genuine look of concern in his eye and causes the attraction that I
can’t shake to fire up again and my breath to catch. “Much better.”

“That’s great to hear.” His lips lift in a sincere smile, and the
butterflies in my stomach flap their wings. “Are they working things out?”

“Ha!” My sudden outburst confuses him, so I clarify, “Not at all. My
dad is actually moving out. They sat me down and told me last night.”

“Oh.” I don’t think he expected that answer. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it will be good. Great, actually. The fighting should stop,” I
tell him.

“Hey, sometimes that’s the most you can ask for. I’m glad to hear
things are looking up. You do look better today, more relaxed.”

“Thanks?”

“Sorry, that was an attempt at a compliment.” While looking down at
the bottle in his hands, he adds, “I meant you look pretty tonight.”

A blush rises to my cheeks, and I try to hide the smile creeping up.
Genna is forgiven for dragging me here. I glance across the circle of chairs,
looking for a distraction, and notice a pair of guys across the way, lighting
up what looks to be a joint. They soon proceed to pass it around. Crap!

This is why I hate parties. I groan. Jake notices my shift in posture
and follows my gaze. Knowing him, he will probably want to partake, and I will
be stuck being the uptight one once again. This always happens to me at these
types of gatherings.

He looks noticeably uncomfortable himself, shocking me. His body is
tense, and the rise and fall of his chest has stopped, suggesting that he is
holding his breath. His reaction confuses me, but I am compelled to rescue us
both from any distress.

“Want to show me where you got that water?” I gesture to the bottle in
his hands, the label now completely in shreds.