Tastes Like Winter Read online

  Me: I made it, no worries, though I’m not sure this counts as an emergency.

  Jake: Felt like one to me. Well, have a great night. Don’t miss me too much.

  Me: I’ll try. No promises. The same goes for you.

  Jake: ; )

  Text flirting with Jake is making me giddy. I throw a hello at my mother, who is sitting at her work desk with the computer open in front of her, as I pass and head upstairs.

  “You’re home early. I thought I was supposed to get you later?” she shouts around the corner.

  “Got a ride!” I shout in return and wave her off as I check my phone again.

  Grabbing a pair of yoga pants and a tee shirt from the top of the pile next to my bed, I head for the shower. I emerge minutes later, scrubbed clean, brushing out my now wet hair so it dries straight and tangle free. I check my phone again, but there are no new messages, and I find myself momentarily disappointed.

  I turn off the overhead light, and my room is shrouded in darkness as I slip into the comfort of down feathers. The bed set is a brand new guilt purchase from my mom, and it feels luxurious against my skin. I shift to the side and reach into the top drawer of my nightstand, moving a paperback out of the way while searching for my mp3 player. After unraveling the ear buds, I shove them into my ears. I search for the album I want to hear—the same one that was playing in the car on my drive home with Jake.

  My mouth turns up as the music fills my ears, and I lean back, nestling myself deep into the new matching guilt pillow. I replay the day with a beautiful soundtrack to accompany the memories and fall asleep with the movie playing in my head on loop.

  ***

  An hour later, I awake positively refreshed from my afternoon nap. I look up to see Mom’s head poking around my doorframe. I guess that’s what woke me.

  “Hey, I wanted to check on you. You’ve been asleep for a while. Are you feeling okay?”

  I grunt and stretch, unprepared for conversation. Once I am alert enough, I respond, “I’m fine. The weather must have made me sleepy. I’m hungry.” My stomach grumbles noisily, as if on cue. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I made tortellini soup. It’s ready whenever you are.”

  “Mmmm. Sounds perfect.” I add, “Soup and a movie?”

  She beams at me. “I’ll go heat it up!”

  She is out the door, her footsteps sounding noisily as she bounds down the stairs. I stretch again and reach for the ear buds, which fell out of my ears during my nap. I wrap them neatly around the machine and tuck the device back in my drawer. Suddenly, I remember the texts from earlier and grin.

  The smell of dinner is already wafting upstairs, a delicious aroma. I throw an oversized sweatshirt over my tee shirt and head down after her.

  We work side by side in the kitchen. Mom dishes up two oversized mugs of soup while I pour us each a glass of ice water. I bring the glasses into the living room and set them on the coffee table then move to the entertainment unit to hunt for a movie from our collection. Mom enters, sets down the soup, and slides a coaster under each glass—a pet peeve of hers.

  “Comedy, drama, or romance?” I ask looking up.

  “How about the new George Clooney flick? I think it’s On Demand.”

  George is a favorite of ours, so I happily oblige. We dip into our soup, and after scraping the last bits, I replace my mug on the table. I pull the throw blanket down from the back of the couch and wrap us up, curling into her for some much-needed maternal warmth. It’s nice spending time with her without worrying about keeping up conversation. In general, she has been more relaxed since Dad left, and it has been great to see.

  Feeling sentimental, I look up and smile. “We'll be okay, Mom.”

  She smiles back with tight lips and nods. We finish the movie in silence.

  As soon as it’s over, I excuse myself, citing schoolwork, and return to my room to finish reading Dante. We still have a month left in the English unit, but I make an exception and read ahead. I want to catch up to Jake so we can talk more about it.

  We haven’t worked many shifts together so far, but I’ve observed the books he reads and the comments I make that catch his attention. When he speaks about his course work or the literature he has read, he is direct and open. However, when the conversation turns to him personally, he is closed off and evasive—it intrigues me, and my puzzle-loving side considers it a challenge. I find myself looking for meaning within the outspoken opinions, reading between the lines to gain deeper insight into what makes him tick. Maybe Dante holds a clue. He mentioned the Seventh Circle earlier today, so I spend extra time studying those lines, looking for the meaning he wouldn’t provide.

  ***

  The following afternoon, I bound into High Street excited. Jake mentioned that he would be working today, and since the storm has passed, I have no reason to think Betsy would tell him to stay home. I am confident after yesterday’s connection, and when I spot him in the self-help section, I immediately approach.

  “Hey, I couldn’t sleep much last night, so I stayed up finishing that book. And, guess what? I’ve made my decision! I pick the Ninth Circle, right in the center with the Devil himself. He sounds scary as hell, but seeing his vulnerability trapped in the ice like that is too intriguing. I never considered that even Satan might want to escape Hell. Besides, all that ice is probably a lot like New England.” I chuckle at my own joke.

  “I bet.” Jake smiles weakly and resumes stocking the shelf.

  I blink, unsure of myself. I look right, then left, half hoping for a fellow observer to agree that that reaction was not only cold but also strange in light of yesterday’s flirting session. “What’s up? Need help? Let me throw my bag down.”

  “No. It’s okay. I am done anyway.” He turns from the shelf and walks towards the front.

  I follow behind.

  “Now, that you’re here I’m actually going to head out. I have to write a paper.” He pulls his jacket on and picks up the Moleskine journal he is always carrying about, folding it in half and shoving it deep into his pocket.

  “Oh. What on?” I push.

  “Nothing interesting. See you later.” He passes through the door, and it shuts abruptly in my face.

  I freeze. What the hell? My mind flashes back to the previous afternoon: playing with his shoes, exchanging commentary on the Damned, flirting over text. I didn’t dream that, right? No, definitely not.

  So, why the cold shoulder today?

  Maybe he is busy.

  But even as the thought forms, I realize it doesn’t feel right.

  ***

  The next day after school, Genna drives me home and, since she has the day off from practice, decides to stay and hang out. I lie across my bed, flipping through channels, half watching and half talking. Genna is on the floor with her back pressed against the nightstand, painting her toenails a sea foam green.

  “So did you work this weekend?” she asks.

  “Yup.” I change the channel during another commercial break.

  “You’re always working these days.”

  I sense a bit of attitude and move my gaze from the television to her face. Her head is down while she runs the brush delicately along her big toe.

  “You’re always at practice!” I snap back.

  She looks up, surprised by my sharp tone.

  “Well, I’m not at practice now!” She arcs the hand holding the brush in a gesture around my room as proof.

  I follow the brush with my eye, hoping it won’t drip polish on the carpet. “Yeah and I’m not at work.”

  She huffs and goes back to painting. I click the channel button a few more times before settling on a sitcom rerun. I toss the remote back down on the mattress and try to look interested in the scenes flashing on screen.

  Genna finishes the last nail and screws the bottle shut before looking back up at me.

  “Sorry,” she says meekly, adding, “But I feel like we don’t see much of each other these days, and it sucks.”


  I frown. “I suppose we should get used to it, considering you’ll be graduating and going off to college soon.”

  I didn’t realize how much her past and future absence has been bothering me, but the dread slips out with my voice.

  Genna frowns now. “Yeah, it sucks.”

  She buys a moment by glancing at the television screen before putting on a smile, and with determination says, “We’ll be fine. We always have phones and the Internet, plus weekends.” She fixes her face to display her usual confidence. “You’ll never be rid of me completely. Don’t worry.”

  “No matter how hard I try?” I tease.

  “No way!” She grabs the pillow I have been resting on and smacks me over the head with it before settling back down. Her eyes dart to her toes to make sure she didn’t mess up the impromptu pedicure. Once she establishes that no damage has been done, she asks, “Any chance Jake was working this weekend?”

  She waggles her eyebrows at me suggestively, and I lift mine in return.

  “Well? Spill! Have you seduced him yet?”

  “Ha! Seduced him? Hardly…” I go on to explain the flirting step forward and the cold shoulder step back.

  “Hmm… a bit weird, but maybe you’re overreacting?”

  “Yeah, maybe. But he’s so hard to read. Sometimes I’m sure he’s flirting, others times I think maybe he’s teasing me.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m a couple of years younger than him, and I do work for his aunt… Maybe he sees me like a kid sister? A silly high school kid?”

  “Yeah but don’t you guys talk about literature and philosophy and stuff? That’s pretty deep. Sounds to me like he sees you as an equal. Plus I saw the way he looked at you at Ryan’s party, and how close he was standing to you…”

  “No, the party was crowded, is all.” I wave the observation off.

  “Not that crowded.” Her eyes tell me she thinks I am being purposefully dense.

  “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess he will remain a mystery for now.”

  “A very sexy mystery!”

  And it’s my turn to whack her over the head with my pillow.

  After she’s recovered, she asks, “Sleepover at my house, next Saturday after the game?”

  We haven’t had a sleepover since before the field hockey season started, and it sounds nice. Having her here this afternoon reminds me how much I miss our time together. How much I miss talking and joking and being carefree. I have known Genna forever, and I have never felt as though I need to put on an act for her. That is, not until lately, but I remind myself that that’s not her fault.

  No matter how much time I like spending alone, I like spending time with Genna more. We are a good fit, despite our differences. We can talk for hours, but even in silence, it is never uncomfortable between us. I can be my sometimes goofy, sometimes neurotic, always nerdy self, and she doesn’t judge. I wonder briefly how her field hockey friends perceive our friendship.

  As if reading my thoughts, she timidly adds, “Some team members are coming over, too. Since I’m co-captain this year, Coach wanted me to reach out to some of the younger players and bond.”

  Ugh. I groan, and after I finish cringing, she adds, “Don’t worry. It’ll be totally fun. Movies and pizza.”

  Missing my best friend and not wanting to miss out on Genna time because I am anti-social, I accept the offer by saying, “Okay, next Saturday.”

  ***

  That week at work, Jake is noticeably absent. I do, however, see Sam a few times. We haven’t yet worked a full shift together, but we have been overlapping here and there. Mainly, she has been coming in with Betsy to drop off shipments, and each time, she ignores me completely. With holiday season nearing, Betsy and Dan have been bringing in extra stock, additional copies of bestsellers and Christmas-themed books, and little trinkets. We have set up special gift displays and even a small rack with handmade greeting cards from a local artist.

  So on Saturday night, I am not surprised to walk into Genna’s and see Sam curled up on the living room couch with a few other girls. I greet everyone with my friendliest hello and toss my overnight bag by the fireplace as I kick off my shoes and nudge them into the corner. Being in Genna’s house should be second nature because I spent so much of my childhood here, but having Sam there puts me on edge. I might be projecting my disappointment in Jake going MIA or maybe I am paranoid, but I swear she gave me another less-than-welcoming look when I walked in.

  The evening carries on as Genna promised, with Ryan Gosling and pepperoni. While I am not a team member, my place by Genna’s side goes unchallenged. The newer faces I’m less familiar with are all outgoing and friendly, and nights like this make me wonder why I don’t open up and extend myself more often.

  I am reminded exactly why not when Sam comes into the bathroom while I am brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed.

  I meet her eye in the mirror and mumble hello around my toothbrush. Toothpaste dribbles down my chin, and I use my free hand to wipe it away.

  Instead of excusing herself, she leans against the jamb of the open door and stares at me. “So, you and Jake, huh?”

  Her question shocks me, and her tone is less than polite. Having my name placed next to Jake’s in that way is confusing and inappropriate, after our budding friendship was cut so short by his abrupt distancing.

  I spit out my mouthful.

  “What?” I ask, not sure I heard her right.

  She doesn’t say anything, and I resume brushing.

  She turns to leave then pivots on her heel and adds, “You know, Emma, he isn’t as cool as everyone thinks.”

  I blink, and she is gone.

  ***

  As Thanksgiving approaches, I find myself lingering around the shop before and after my shift to see if I might catch Jake. Sam’s comment has continued to confuse me, and when I mentioned it to Genna, she looked concerned.

  “I understand the allure of a smart and sexy older guy, but maybe Sam is right. He doesn’t have the best reputation, he blows you off, and now his own cousin is warning you to stay away? Be careful with him.”

  “I thought you were excited for me.”

  “I am excited for you, but I can be excited and concerned at the same time. I’m not saying ‘Don’t.’ I’m saying ‘Be careful.’”

  I let her lecture me without arguing, usually the best tactic with Genna, but I’m not entirely convinced about what to do.

  Betsy made it sound as though Jake would be around more during the holiday season, helping out, but so far I only saw him once since he blew me off almost two weeks ago. He was heading out as I arrived, and despite my friendly greeting in the parking lot, I got little more than a grunt before he jumped into his car and drove away.

  I try to convince myself that between the pressures of school and having to commute home to help out at the store, maybe he’s stressed. But saying ‘hello’ is not stressful, and his not making the effort is rude. It leaves me wondering if I have exaggerated our connection. My unease, paired with the strain of an approaching holiday season, has created a less-than-pleasant tightness in my chest.

  When Thanksgiving Day arrives, my mother, despite a rough year, pulls out all the stops. A beautiful table greets our guests; Gram and Gramps are up from New Jersey, along with Aunt Ellen and her two boys.

  All my favorite foods have been prepared according to family tradition.

  Green bean casserole. Check.

  Cheesy potatoes. Check.

  Ellen’s homemade cranberry sauce. Check.

  I even saw Mom picked up a big bag of granny smith apples, no doubt for Gram’s famous caramel walnut pie. Yet despite all the mouth-watering delicacies, it still doesn’t feel quite right without Dad and his brother’s family around.

  Mom warned me earlier in the week that she extended an offer for him to stop by for dessert, should he want to see me. I sensed it was nothing more than a pleasantry to make the transition less unpleasant for us all. I had no expec
tations that he would actually show, so boy am I surprised when I answer the doorbell and see his face.

  “Hey, Dad!” I reach out for a hug. “You know you don’t have to ring the doorbell. This is your house too—or rather, it used to be.” I cringe as the last few words slip out.

  “I’m just respecting your mother’s wishes. How are you?” he asks.

  Balanced in his hands is a store-bought baked good. The box is tied with a checkered string and gold stamp signaling that it is from Lilac’s, a bakery in the next town over.

  “Here let me take that. Come in.” I point him into the living room, where the others are relaxing, already half asleep from the effects of the early meal. I drop the box on the counter and follow him in.

  We spend the next thirty minutes trying to avoid the giant elephant in the room as best we can. I give my dad credit for making an attempt, but almost wish he hadn’t. Gramps is flinging a stream of passive-aggressive comments his way, while Mom and Aunt Ellen nervously keep trying to coax the conversation in another direction.

  Things have improved since Dad moved out, and Mom is stronger every day, but all the hurt is coming back now, and it is bringing back that feeling of bitterness deep down in my gut. I should be used to it by now, and I suppose I am. It was always there, but has become less biting.

  Regardless, my grandfather’s ruthless comments anger me. However true they might be, voicing his opinions like this isn’t helping anyone.

  The pent-up tension comes to a head when Ben, Ellen’s youngest son, asks my dad why he likes his secretary better than his Auntie Martha. “Mommy and Auntie Martha said it’s because she has better toys for you to play with.”

  Everyone in the room collectively slaps their hands over their mouths and freezes in shock. Ellen stammers out an apology as my dad rises from his seat and leaves the room with balled fists, fighting to control his anger. My mom rushes after him, and I can hear them argue in the foyer.

  “What the hell, Martha! I figured you would tell your sister, but you thought it was appropriate to inform her in front of her five-year-old son?”

  His disgust is palpable. I can’t tell if it’s the pound of potatoes and dinner rolls I dumped in it earlier or the constant strain of the past half hour, but I instantly want to hurl. I beg an apology from my remaining family members who are perched on the edges of the couches looking alarmed, and go through the kitchen and out the back door.