Tastes Like Winter Read online

  “Sorry, Sam!” I rush to say, hoping my apology will smother any outbursts and save me the grief of dealing with her now-constant attitude.

  She spits fire in response. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “Like I said, I apologize. It won’t happen again.” I add a bit of sarcasm this time, frustrated that I am now apparently being full-on bullied by a sophomore.

  “You know what? It better not!” Encouragement from the small crowd behind her spurs her on. “And you know what else? I don’t want to be bumping into you at my house, either! You and Jake can take your make-out sessions elsewhere!”

  Pissed now, I turn on her. “I don’t really give a shit what you want, Sam. My relationship with Jake is none of your goddamned business.”

  I tried nice and it didn’t work. If confrontation is what she wants, then confrontation is what she’ll get. Besides, I haven’t even been to her house since our one and only encounter there, which was forever ago.

  “Your relationship with Jake? You don’t know anything about Jake!”

  That hits a nerve. “I don’t know what your problem with him is, but I am pretty sure it’s your issue alone, not his.”

  “My problem? My problem! He is a no-good stoner criminal. Criminal!”

  “Not anymore. Not since…” I add with less steam, afraid to mention the accident aloud. He told me he changed and didn’t party anymore.

  “Not anymore?”

  Apparently, her tactic here is to repeat everything I say. I roll my eyes.

  “What about when he was arrested for driving under the influence? Him and his buddies all messed up and going for a joy ride? That certainly wasn’t before!”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about, and it scares me. I don’t want to let on that it bothers me so she can use it against me as further ammunition.

  “Still none of your business,” I mumble.

  “Oh, but it is my business! The asshole gets arrested, and what do my parents do? Buy him an expensive therapist and a new PlayStation. He should be in jail! Not living large in my house! My mom and dad treat him like a king, and it’s gotten so much worse since you started coming round.” She bites off at the end, almost as if she’s said too much.

  I stare back at her, mute, unsure of how to respond to that last remark. She throws me a final victorious smirk and turns away, storming down the hall with her friends in active pursuit behind her.

  What a bitch! What did I ever do to be treated this way? I am so tired of feeling like this, and getting over Jake is not any easier with Sam acting this way. I was just beginning to feel better, and now I’ve been pushed down again. When will it stop?

  Even though I’m sure she is reacting to her own jealousy, the news of an arrest has caught me off guard. Jake doesn’t like to talk about the accident, understandably enough, but I thought his reckless behavior was over and done with. I thought the death of his parents would have taught him this lesson in the worst possible way. I wouldn’t associate with someone stupid enough to do drugs, and despite his reputation, Jake promised me that those days were long over for him. Living through something like that and becoming a better person because of it is admirable, but surviving that experience and continuing to act so stupid? That is not okay and goes against everything I believe in, not to mention everything I thought I knew about Jake.

  When I sink into Genna’s plush car seat a minute later, I have decided to keep quiet about my recent run-in with Sam. It was a rather public display, so it will probably get back to her eventually, but I would like to sort out my own feelings on the topic before bringing them up with her. I also don’t want to encourage her to have her own chat with Sam and posse like she has been threatening. Things have already been so confusing, and I don’t want Genna to start to pick up on everything that I have been avoiding talking about with her. I don’t want her to know how much I am still hurting, and I definitely don’t want to hear her tell me everything is going to be okay.

  I try to remind myself of the pain Jake caused me with his constant back-and-forth and at-will decisions to either place himself in my life or remove himself completely, regardless of my own feelings. I try to think about Nolan complimenting me earlier and how well I was beginning to do without Jake, but it’s useless.

  Despite the past, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and ignore Sam’s comments, but I feel like an idiot, and the benefit of the doubt is something that is getting harder and harder to give. I convinced myself that his tendency to crawl back in his shell was a product of his past and that he was a scared little boy, not worth the constant struggle. I rationalized that he was omitting his feelings, not blatantly lying about them. But maybe it’s like Sam said—not all history, and he has actually been deceiving me this whole time. Maybe his off-and-on is actually a cover for the current behaviors he is trying to hide.

  I’ve been trying to convince myself that he isn’t worth it, pushing myself to move on, but I’ve been failing miserably. I don’t want to chase my tail anymore, but I am so conflicted. Maybe Sam’s revelation today is the sign I needed to once and for all move on.

  Yet I can’t help myself, and when I go online later, I immediately bring up Google. I do a number of different searches, trying to find out more about what might have happened with Jake before finding an article of interest. The High Beach Ledger has a section where all local arrests are published, and when I find Jake’s name in the archives, my heart sinks. I click on the link, and it brings me to a news article dated a little over a year ago that describes the arrest of the driver of a car containing four other adolescents. Sure enough, the driver, one Jake Addler, was arrested for driving under the influence of drugs and alcohol, before later being released and brought up on probation charges. Since Jake was an adult at the time, they were allowed to print his name. There is no mention of any other passenger names, presumably because they were still minors, but the article does go on to mention that the police found several empty alcohol containers and marijuana paraphernalia in the vehicle.

  I am speechless. How can I not remember hearing about this? Why hasn’t Betsy, or better yet, Jake, mentioned it before? I suppose because it’s not the easiest thing to insert into conversation. “Oh and then that one time, I got messed up, drove my buddies and me home, and got taken to county…” Still, I am sideswiped.

  He lied to me.

  As soon as I close the search window, a new box pops up on my screen with a message from Jake.

  Jake: Hi.

  I stare at the two small letters for several minutes in complete shock, wondering if he is contacting me now because he already heard about what happened at school or if this is simply him inserting himself back into my life again after months of absence. I am confused and sick and I don’t know what to think anymore.

  I shake my head as a tear breaks free and rolls over the rim of my glassy eye, sliding slowly down my cheek. I can’t do this with him anymore. I force myself to close out the window and power down my laptop before I am stupid enough to respond and fall back in.

  I want to be strong, but my throat burns, and another tear soon makes it past the gates. My resolve weakens, and I decide to allow myself one moment to feel, to mourn. I push myself out of my chair and flop down onto the bed. Not even bothering to remove my shoes, I pull the comforter over my head and curl up into a ball. Once inside the safety and darkness of down feathers, I allow myself to experience the heartache I have been trying to hold at bay.

  Sobs rack my body, and I shake while cursing his name. “How could you, Jake.”

  ***

  Even though my heart has been put on pause, the world does not stop turning, and June continues on. Instead of hanging out at High Street, risking a run-in with Jake, I have taken to the library. I spend every waking hour there studying, and so far it has done wonders for my classwork, not that my GPA needed it.

  But the library is full of books, and books remind me of him, and no matter how much I try, he won’t g
et out of my head. The library is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but some days my thoughts scream so loud, I am paranoid even the librarian can hear them.

  I have this idea that the more I learn and the smarter I become, and the more I can remind myself that I am smarter than this. I can rationalize my grief away. Yet while my brain fills quickly with new trivia, my heart remains empty.

  When finals come, I am beyond prepared and easily ace all of them, but my success is short lived. My dad invites me out for a celebratory dinner, and since we haven’t seen each other since January, I accept. Dmitri’s, a fancy new Italian Steakhouse, opened up downtown, and if nothing else, I can get a great meal out of the evening.

  I change into a simple black dress and add a set of my mother’s pearls, given to me when I turned sixteen. I don’t often dress up, in fact, I haven’t worn a dress since the ballet, but this is a no-jeans type of restaurant, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass him or myself. I round out the outfit with black sandals that have little red jewels on the ankle strap and a matching red cardigan. I picked this outfit out all on my own and think Genna would be proud.

  Since it is a weekday and Dad will be coming straight from work, we decided that I would meet him there. When I arrive and tell the hostess the reservation name, she informs me that the rest of my party is not yet here, but our table is ready and I can be seated while I wait. I thank her with a polite smile and follow her to the table. She leaves me with a menu and lets me know she will show my father over as soon as he arrives.

  I scan the room, taking in the dark wood and golden walls. Each table is lit romantically with a flickering candle, making the restaurant look rich. Yet sitting alone at the beautiful table makes me nervous, and I anxiously adjust the napkin on my lap. I take a few sips of water from the large crystal glass in front of me, but when I notice that the overly attentive server rushes to refill my glass after each sip, I find myself doubly self-conscious.

  I glance at my wrist to check the time and to calculate how long I have been waiting, but I removed my watch earlier since it didn’t go with this outfit. I reach for my wristlet to consult my cell instead, but it appears that I left that in the car, as well. It feels like forever has passed waiting, but I can’t be sure. Each minute that passes increases my anxiety, and I find myself fiddling, straightening the crystal salt and pepper shakers, the heavy silverware, and ivory bread plate in front of me.

  I am about to give up and timidly make an exit, convinced that I have been stood up, when I hear my dad bustle into the restaurant in a huff.

  “Hi, sweetie. So sorry I’m late.”

  I’m already half standing from planning to make my escape, and he takes this as me moving in to greet him and pulls me into a rushed half hug.

  “Hi, Dad.” I sit back down, smoothing the napkin over my legs and resigning myself to staying.

  “Got caught up with a few last-minute work e-mails and must have lost track of the time. You haven’t been waiting long, right?”

  Before he allows me to respond, he gestures to the server who’s waiting and orders himself a glass of Merlot. Would I like anything else to drink? No, water is fine. He opens the large green menu and begins reading over his options in a way that does not offer room for conversation. I do the same and quickly settle on the spring vegetable and Parmesan risotto. I shut the menu and perch it on the corner of the table, a delicate balance for such a large book, the small space made smaller by the various glasses and bread plates.

  Dad lingers a bit longer and, once he is decided, gestures again to the waiter. The young man, dressed neatly in black and white, appears again, and I shift in my seat, searching for the hole behind me that he keeps popping out of.

  “How’s school?” Dad asks plainly as soon as the waiter has taken our order and retreated again.

  “School’s over for the summer, Dad.”

  He nods automatically and takes a sip of his wine in response.

  “We’re celebrating my final grades, remember?”

  “That’s right. How did exams go?”

  I look up at him through narrowed eyes. I always knew but maybe never fully and consciously realized how little he gave a shit. We haven’t had much contact since he moved out, obligatory phone calls and two holiday-forced get-togethers, but sitting at this table with him now is frustrating. The risotto better be worth it.

  “Splendidly. Straight As. Number one in my class. Aren’t you so proud?”

  He nods. “Have you thought any more about attending BU?”

  “A little. I still have time to decide, and there are a few other schools that have caught my interest and I would like to explore.”

  He nods again, but he isn’t listening. Instead, he alternates between fingering the stem of his glass and surveying the other patrons in the room. He checks the door, as if he’s hoping for someone better to walk in.

  He completes another scan of the room before finally meeting my eyes and asking, “And what are your plans for this summer? Will you be working?”

  I remind him about my job at High Street and further explain that another family asked me if I would babysit a couple of nights a week now that school is out. I finish up and, taking a risk, go in for another sip of water, turning in my seat to look for the mystery waiter as soon as I replace my glass. He approaches the table bearing entrees instead of water. Thankful for a distraction, I quickly dig in. The food smells divine and tastes even better. With delicious cheesy rice in mouth, my evening begins looking up. Maybe I can spare a few extra minutes and go for dessert.

  While swallowing a bite of his steak, Dad takes another sip of wine and completes another room scan. This time his eyes settle on a beautiful brunette approaching us. He pushes away from the table and stands to greet her.

  “Marissa, I didn’t expect to see you here.” He clears his throat as she approaches, and they share a familiar hug and cheek kiss.

  “Michael, so nice to see you!” she sing-songs. “I was over at the bar, having a drink with a friend, when I saw you sitting over here. I thought I’d come over to say hello.”

  I go unacknowledged and, realizing that I most likely will never be introduced, decide not to let my risotto go to waste and get cold. I pick up my fork and return to eating. With my dad still rudely standing next to the table, they begin discussing work and an apparently important meeting that occurred that day. I guess that they must be colleagues. But when he instructs her to leave her typed notes on his desk Monday morning, my ears perk up. Is this his assistant? The assistant?

  What a bold move, coming over and interrupting dinner with his daughter. I pause mid-bite to study her profile. She is pretty and young and looks both smart and eager. My initial inclination is to call her a home wrecker and find a way to accidently spill my father’s wine on her dress, but I kick myself inside. It takes two to tango, and his crisp white shirt deserves the red liquid even more. While this new fantasy plays out in my head, she excuses herself (still without ever saying hello), and he sits back down. He cuts off another bite of his steak.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  He opens his mouth to begin, before cutting himself short. “No one important.”

  And the conversation is dismissed. I finished my meal while he chatted away with his harlot, so even though more than half of his steak remains on his plate, I am officially ready to leave. I don’t have the energy to play nice, and frankly, I am pissed off that after everything that has happened this year, he can act so casually with that woman in front of me. I am ready to put another failed evening behind us.

  “Well that was a lovely meal,” I say to him sarcastically. “Thanks for dinner, Dad.” And happy now for the magically appearing waiter, I signal for him. “Check, please.”

  ***

  When Genna graduates the next day, I stand alone on the sidelines, cheering her on. Her parents are watching up in the bleachers, but after last night, I’m not feeling particularly chatty. Once Genna has accepted her diploma and thrown
her hat, I meet her on the field and pull her into the biggest, longest bear hug I can muster. She leaves for college at the end of July to start field hockey training for the collegiate team, continuing down her athletic path of greatness, now with a much-deserved scholarship!

  Even though she has a few weeks to go before she packs up and heads out, I already miss her. We have fought so hard to maintain the easy friendship we have always had, despite our busy schedules and different outlooks on life, but so much has changed this year. We have already begun to grow apart, and this past month, the separation has grown even more pronounced. It’s almost as if we subconsciously agreed to pull back, to lessen the absence looming around the corner.

  With my dad gone, Jake gone, and now Genna soon to be completely gone, I am more alone than ever. But I like being alone, don’t I? I’m not sure anymore.

  Last week, in a moment of weakness, I messaged Jake a short imissyou, omitting the spaces as if the less room it occupied on the screen, the less vulnerable I would be. He never responded, and most of me didn’t expect him to.

  Fortunately, I still have Mom, and for that, I’m grateful. It is amazing to see the progress we have made this year. I went from avoiding and blaming her for her part in the divorce, to being embarrassed by her weakness and reverting to tough love, to recently seeking her out and leaning on her more than I have in years. I haven’t opened up to her about Jake, mostly because I don’t want her to worry about me and my heartbreak when she is still working through her own, but having her around has been comforting. This spring she has taught me how to make every Forrester family recipe in her book, and I am several pounds heavier for it.

  So when Mom suggests we take a trip to Colorado now that school has finished, I’m happy to go. We spend a few days at a gorgeous resort in the mountains, where I am able to soak up some much-needed sun and try to revive myself. Mom goes to the spa, and I opt to hike the trails through the forest directly behind the hotel instead. I hope the exercise will strengthen me, though physical strength is not the type I need right now. Being outside and away from High Beach is revitalizing, and exploring a new part of the world reminds me how much joy there still is in the world. I need to get out of my head, stop feeling sorry for myself, and live again.