Tastes Like Winter Read online

  “You’re his daughter, and he loves you. You don’t deserve the way he has treated you.”

  “Well, neither do you, Mom. Neither do you.”

  Her fingers stilled in my hair before continuing their caress. “Yes, and I’m trying to learn to recognize that. I promise things will get better around here.” Her words were soft, but they were covered in hope, and it filled my heart.

  “All I want is for you to be happy.”

  “I will be, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. I will be.”

  “Mom?” I faltered.

  I wanted to ask her about Jake and see if she had any motherly advice, but I was afraid of what she would say. Are Jake and I like Mom and Dad? Can he not love me the way I need to be loved? Being with Jake is amazing, and the more time we spend together, the more I fall for him, but I am so scared. What if I get too close, and one day, he decides to distance himself again? If his push and pull is a game, how much can I handle? How much is too much before I have to decide it’s not worth it?

  I thought of his words that night in the city. Don’t fall for me, Em. I don’t deserve it. What if it’s not a game, and he does feel that way? Can someone change and heal and open themselves up again? I looked up at my mom and wondered if she will ever be able to open herself back up and love again.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “Do you think people can overcome their pasts?”

  She didn’t answer for a while, and I appreciated that she took her time to consider her answer. “Yes. I do. It comes quicker for some than others. But I think if you have a good reason to face your demons and try to heal, it makes it easier.” She smiled. “I have you.”

  She thought I was asking about her, and in some ways, I suppose I was, so I didn’t correct her.

  “Did you and Jake leave any hot chocolate behind the other day?”

  I nodded.

  “Great. I’ll go make us some.”

  I watched her leave, listening to Nat sing “Silent Night”, while deep in thoughts of my own.

  ***

  Wrapping up the season, Mom and I decide to make a trip to Target to bring in the New Year. She likes to buy next year’s Christmas decorations when stores have everything marked seventy-five percent off at the season’s end.

  She holds up the umpteenth tree ornament to gauge my opinion. “What do you think of this one?”

  I shrug. “Mom, they are all starting to look the same to me.” I yawn, bored. “Since they are so cheap, why don’t you get them all?”

  She looks at me, confused, as if I have spoken an alien language. “Because, Emma, we don’t need them all.”

  Of course not! Why didn’t I think of that? I roll my eyes and reply, “‘Need’ and ‘want’ are two very different concepts. Speaking of which, I need more shampoo and tissues. I’m going to go grab those while you ponder the ever-important question of Rudolph with his glowing red nose or snowman with his bright orange carrot stick.”

  Distracted, she waves me off with a flick of the hand and returns her gaze to the red and green glittering shelf. I grab a volumizing bottle of the first shampoo brand I see and pick up a new stick of deodorant while I am at it. I aimlessly read the pink-and-white label while I proceed to the paper goods aisle.

  Jake is standing in front of the same tissue display I am heading towards. At first I don’t recognize him, as this is one of the last places I’d expect a run-in. His hair is damp, and his jacket wet with snow. The skies must have opened up sometime between greeting cards and wrapping paper, unbeknownst to me. With a few storms already under our belts, it looks like we are in for a long and snowy winter this year.

  Jake looks intently at the boxes in front of him, studying them as he would one of his philosophy exams. As if sensing my presence, he raises his head and our eyes meet.

  “Hey.” His face lightens, and he looks happy to see me.

  “Hi. I was wondering if I’d see you again before you head back to the city. What are you up to? Debating the values of aloe vera softness versus antiviral microfibers?” I joke and bump him gently in the shoulder.

  “Ha! Yeah, Sam’s sick, and I’m supposed to be getting her cold supplies like a good adopted brother should. I’m clearly unqualified.” He grabs a box covered in pink daisies. “Who cares if they are the wrong kind? At least the box looks pretty. Sam will like that. What about you? What brings you here?”

  I explain my mom’s predicament in the seasonal aisle, and he laughs heartily at my expense.

  “Thanks! I’m so glad you find it endearing.”

  “I do. I do.” He gives me a wink.

  “How was your Christmas?”

  “Good. It went as predicted.”

  “Mountains of gifts for Sam?”

  “Yes, but still not enough. Nothing is ever enough to please her, I swear.”

  I harrumph at that. Perhaps Jake’s relationship with Sam is strained, and maybe that is why she doesn’t like me.

  “That looks new. Was it a gift?” I gesture toward his coat.

  “Yeah, Uncle Dan gave it to me. What do you think?” He does a quick spin so I can take in the full effect of the jacket, and I giggle. God, he is sexy when he acts goofy.

  “It looks great! A very flattering fit.”

  “Why thank you. Your fit is also flattering.”

  “Well, my jacket isn’t new.”

  He shrugs in response.

  “Well, I should probably get back to my mom. She’ll be looking for me.”

  Before I leave, he opens his arm, inviting me into a hug. Hugging Jake is still relatively new, and today the embrace lingers, lasting a few seconds longer than ‘just friends’. My belly warms with the now familiar sensation, and I find myself praying he would either make a move or be done with it and stop torturing me. Getting turned on by every little caress is starting to wear me out.

  “I’ll see you around,” he says, and while he pulls away, I sense a new and different hesitation in him.

  His hand slides down my arm and meets my fingers as I turn to leave. As my grasp is about to slip away, he pulls me back, brings his other hand to my cheek, and his lips down on mine in a soft kiss.

  My eyes shut, startled by the connection. If you had told me our first kiss would be in the tissue aisle of Target, I wouldn’t have believed it for a minute. Yet despite my surprise, I find my mouth opening to his. The edges of his lips are still ice cold from being outside so recently, but it melts slowly as my warmth seeps into him. The kiss lasts an instant before he gently steps back.

  “Bye.” He speaks with a rough voice, but there is nonchalance in his posture, as if nothing unusual has happened between us.

  “Bye?” My voice holds question, but I am still too in shock.

  He walks away, and in a daze, I return to my mom’s side, a giant smile now plastered across my face. I reach for a bunch of shiny, plastic mistletoe and throw it into our cart.

  “Now that’s my girl! What do you think of this one?” And she holds up another ornament, grinning with joy that I’m showing a little Christmas spirit. I add the shampoo and deodorant to the cart, and it dawns on me that I never did get a box of tissues. Still stunned, I trace a finger along my mouth, savoring the taste of his winter still on my lips.

  ***

  I don’t see Jake again before classes start and we are both submerged in our schoolwork; me, high school—him, college. Chatting online is something; however, without face-to-face interactions, our conversations have again fallen flat.

  I was hoping that now that he kissed me, our relationship would move forward more quickly and the weirdness he clings to would wear off. But it’s as though nothing happened, and worse, as soon as we begin discussing anything of depth these days, his messages turn cryptic. He usually signs off shortly after that.

  I didn’t tell Genna about the kiss. It’s wrong not to, but I still don’t know what is going on between Jake and me. When I attempt to explain it to her, she frustrates me by trying to make sense of
it. She is such a guy in that way. She doesn’t understand that sometimes all I need is time to vent and get things off my chest. I’m not looking for an answer. I am not even sure there is one to be had.

  She is also still stuck on his high school reputation as a bad boy, and no matter how many times I have told her that Jake is not like that now, she holds firm that I should be careful. So, this year I have gone from having a best friend that I could talk to about anything to having one that I don’t want to talk to at all, at least not about the things that matter most to me these days. It sucks, but in a way, I guess I should get used to it. She will be leaving for college in a little more than six months, and I need to prepare myself.

  What else haven’t I told Genna? Well, I didn’t tell her about the copy of Wuthering Heights I discovered the day after Jake and I kissed, tucked into my cubby along with the question:

  Heathcliff or bust?

  No freakin’ way was I going to try to sort that one out with her. I can’t even imagine what her response would be. Hell, two weeks later and I don’t even know what my own response is.

  One thing is for sure. The structure behind Jake’s behavior is becoming more apparent as the months move on. Pull. Push. Forward. Back. What I’m still not sure of is if he is cycling because of simple cowardice or a deeper fear. Or maybe he’s still playing and not that into you, my low self-esteem pipes up.

  When I pair this novel with the previously gifted Ethan Frome, I can see a pattern. We covered Bronte in English last year, so I am already familiar with many of Wuthering Height’s themes. It is full of internal conflict—struggles of love, life, and revenge. Much of the character’s story is haunted by ghosts of the past. I think about the tragic loss Jake faced and possible ghosts that might be holding him back. He did tell me not to fall for him, and maybe this is his way of reinforcing that message, that he’s undeserving.

  As if fate was sending me a message, the first line I turned to while flipping through the book read:

  “I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.”

  I stared at the page for a long moment, stroking the letters, and considered these words as they related to our relationship and what they might be foreshadowing. Maybe this exact line was what Jake wanted me to see. Maybe he is telling me, in black and white, that he is going to break my heart.

  Or maybe seeing this sentence is a complete coincidence and he meant another, more upbeat and romantic line for me.

  I can speculate all day, but eventually, I have to give up and stop grasping at straws. Conflicted or not, damaged or not, I wish Jake would stop speaking in tongues. And mostly, I wish Jake would stop holding back.

  ***

  Exactly a month after Christmas, my dad and I get together to exchange our holiday gifts. I haven’t spent any time at his new apartment since he moved out, so when he asks me over for Chinese takeout, I agree, out of curiosity. I take the stairs up the two flights to the top level of the building housing his newly leased luxury condominium. When I reach his door, I raise my hand and knock. Not a second passes before he answers and ushers me inside.

  I step into a modern kitchen, all granite and stainless steel, and notice that there are already takeout containers arranged on the countertop. I take a brief moment to wonder what he ordered for me, hoping he got my favorite, veggie lo mein, before shifting my focus and taking in the rest of the apartment.

  His new place is on the smaller side, but with the open floor plan, it looks bigger than it is. The kitchen opens up to a living room, with a two-person table set up in the dining area on the right. The table holds several boxes, which I guess to be client legal files for cases he is working on. The apartment, while sparse, is not uncomfortable, and it looks as though he may have gotten some help from the Pottery Barn sales rep with decorating—at least, I hope it was a sales rep.

  “I took the liberty to order a few things since I wasn’t sure what your preference was. Orange chicken, sesame beef, broccoli, and lo mein? Does that work?”

  I look back at him and nod before moving beside where he stands at the counter opening boxes.

  “Sounds good. Plates?” I turn towards the cabinets but fumble, unsure which drawer holds what. I hate feeling such a sense of not belonging.

  “The one closest to the fridge. Forks are in the drawer below it, and glasses are by the sink.”

  I move as instructed and pull down two of everything before returning to his side and scooping some of everything for both of us, adding extra lo mein to my plate.

  “So classes have started back up? How is junior year going? Did you get your grades for last semester back yet?”

  “Yes, good, no.”

  He narrows his eyes at my abrupt answer.

  “Use your words, Emma.”

  I grumble, but since school is a safe subject, I decide to oblige. “Report cards come out next week, and I should be getting all As again.”

  “Good girl.” He nods his approval before moving to the table and setting his file boxes aside, so we have a proper place to sit.

  We eat mostly in silence, and I find myself looking around the apartment, considering how we got here and how, in this new situation, we fit together. I finish eating first and push my plate aside, before reaching in my bag to present Dad with his gift. The rectangular box is brightly wrapped, and the Santa design looks weird and out of season this late in January.

  “Thank you, Emma. Let me go grab your gift from the bedroom.”

  He leaves me for a second before quickly returning with a small box of his own. It’s covered in shiny gold foil and looks store wrapped.

  “Open yours first,” he insists.

  I tear the paper, revealing an e-reader tablet. I am taken back by the thoughtfulness of the gift, not as personal as an actual book selection for me, but at least it shows he knows I love to read.

  “Thank you, Dad. This is awesome.” I get up and give him a stiff hug before settling back into my seat.

  “You’re welcome. I know you probably prefer real books, but e-reading does have its conveniences.”

  “It does. Open yours now.” His gift makes me wish I put forth more effort than a simple tie, but he is thankful and comments that it will see a lot of use, so I am pleased.

  As soon as our gift exchange is through and I have helped clean up, he mentions casework requiring his attention, and I tell him I have a ton of homework to get through myself. We end our evening and part ways, and I am unsure of when we will see each other again.

  FEBRUARY

  When I walk into High Street on Valentine’s Day, I am not expecting anything.

  That is a complete lie.

  I am telling myself I do not expect anything while I secretly really, really hope for something. Anything.

  Therefore, I am not disappointed when nothing awaits me in my cubby. No books. No flowers. No big box of chocolate. Heck, not even a small box of chocolate. But, no, I am not at all disappointed.

  This is what I tell myself. Another lie, of course.

  So when I walk into High Street the day after Valentine’s Day, disappointment still lingers in my system, making what I find even more of a surprise.

  I pick up the small brown package and rip into it. Inside is a copy of Sleeping Beauty—not the illustrated children’s story, but rather Anne Rice’s erotic The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty—along with two tickets to the ballet performance of the same title. No note.

  As soon as I get home, I throw my bag down and log on to Messenger. Sure enough, Jake is on.

  Me: Hi!

  Jake: Hello again, my little kitten.

  Me: I do believe I may have gotten a lovely present from a certain secret admirer today…

  Jake: Oh yeah? What did you get?

  Me: Acting coy, I see.

  Jake: You love coy.

  Me: HA! Hardly!

  Jake: Oh?

  Me: No, I don’t think so.

  Jake: I beg to differ.


  This is becoming uncomfortable, so I turn the topic back to the conversation at hand.

  Me: I didn’t take you for a ballet lover.

  Jake: I’ve never been, and hopefully the gift won’t count less by saying this, but I actually got the tickets for free from school. Some students and the arts partnership. I figured it was probably something you would enjoy.

  Me: I have also never been, but thank you, I’m excited. The gift still counts. Though if you were shooting for Valentine’s Day, you missed the mark.

  Jake: Sorry. Couldn’t get to the shop in time. Forgive me. :)

  Me: I suppose.

  Jake: Thanks.

  Me: Am I allowed to mention the book?

  Jake: What about the book?

  Me: Err… the erotic nature of the book?

  Jake: Hahahaha. Erotic? I thought Sleeping Beauty was a children’s story? Maybe that’s why Aunt B gave me such a funny look when I was asking for it… Not intentional, I swear.

  Me: Hmm, I was hoping it was :(

  Jake: It could be???

  Me: Nice try, but too late, I’m afraid.

  Jake: Damn.

  With a surge of boldness, I finally bring myself to ask,

  Me: So does that mean my other books were randomly selected, as well?

  Forever passes before my screen flashes with one simple word,

  Jake: No.

  A few more moments, and he adds, I thought those were obvious.

  Me: Oh, Jake. Nothing about you has ever been obvious.

  Jake: Hmm…

  Me: So, why don’t you spell it out for me, once and for all?

  Jake: You know, Em. You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.

  Me: Trust me, I’m not that smart.

  Completely ignoring me, he changes the subject.

  Jake: So, I have two big philosophy papers due this week, and I probably won’t be working a whole lot before then. We can figure out details for the show when it gets closer. I actually need to work on those papers now. Talk later?

  Me: You can’t dodge me forever, you know.

  Jake: Ah ha, but I can try.

  And his name greys out, signaling he has signed offline.