Tastes Like Winter (11 page)

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.

***

When Genna picks me up the next morning, I decide that I should
practice what I preach and stop dodging her like Jake has been dodging me. I
tell her about the Sleeping Beauty tickets, and when it comes across as
completely out of left field because I haven’t shared much about Jake recently,
I have to tell her about how he and I have been speaking online quite a bit. I
am, however, careful to leave out some of his more mysterious moments so she
does not have a reason to give me further grief about him.

She nods her approval. “See! He was probably just being a guy before.
It sounds like he’s coming around now. The show sounds right up your alley, but
it might be painful for him. Make sure to lay a big good-night kiss on him to
make up for it.”

I blush and move my hair to cover my
red face, causing Genna to pester me until I spill the beans about my ‘oh, so
romantic’ Target kiss.

“You little shit! You’ve been holding
out on me for over a month?”

I knew she would be mad, but she sounds downright pissed—she’s so
pissed, in fact, that she proceeds to ignore me for the rest of the day,
including the drive home.

One day is as long as she can hold out, and the following morning, she
is
squeally
and excited and wants details. I indulge,
and she makes it her mission to plan my attire for the night of the ballet.

I sit on her bed that evening, watching her root around in her closet
for the perfect outfit for me to don on my first official date with Jake. At
least, I think it’s a date. Crap! Is this a date?

“I think you should wear a dress,” Genna insists. Her voice is muffled,
her head shoved into the depths of her closet as she searches for something
specific in the back.

“I hate dresses. They make me uncomfortable. And it’s still cold
outside. I’ll freeze to death in a dress.”

“Women all across the world wear dresses in cold weather,
Em
. You’re being ridiculous. Do you want Jake’s jaw on the
ground or not?” She has found the item she was looking for and stands, holding
it in her hands in front of me, waiting for a serious answer.

“I can think of many places I would like Jake’s jaw, and on the ground
is not one of them,” I deadpan.

Her own mouth drops open in shock. “What? Wow! Who are you, and what
have you done to my best friend? I see bad boy Jake is bringing out the bad
girl in you!”

I roll my eyes. “Jake doesn’t come across like much of a bad boy to
me. I’m not sure where that reputation came from.”

“No? From what I hear, he never made it through a high school class
unless he was stoned.”

“Well, I’ve never seen him stoned.”

“Do you even know what stoned looks like?”

I raise my brows, letting them silently ask, “What kind of idiot do
you think I am?”

She laughs. “Have you met any of his friends? Rumor is he didn’t hang
with the best crowd.”

“No.” I can’t even remember him mentioning a friend, let alone friends
plural or meeting them. Realizing how little I know about some aspects of his
life rattles me, and my discomfort makes me defensive. “What is this,
Gennna
? Are you happy for me and excited for my date and
want to help, or do you just want to lecture me about him again?”

“
Geesh
! Sorry. Yes, I am happy. Yes, I am
excited. But I love you, and this is the first guy you have ever been genuinely
interested in, and I’m trying to be a good best friend and look out for you.”

 
“Okay, I get it,” I say. “Thanks
for looking out.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, and if his reputation does have merit,
I don’t want him corrupting you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not corrupted yet. I’m still me, still Emma.”

“Yeah, a new sassy, sexpot Emma who is going to look drop dead
gorgeous in this dress.” She thrusts a black number at me. “Go try that on.”

I groan but head to her in-suite
bathroom anyway, knowing there is no way of avoiding it. I pull off my tee shirt
and slip the soft material over my head, letting it pool around me before
unzipping my jeans and sliding them down. I don’t even bother to glance in the
mirror before coming out and displaying myself for
Genna’s
inspection.

“Oh god, I’m good!” She literally pats herself on the back. “That
looks fantastic on you. Now we need to figure out shoes.”

“Can’t I wear tights and my new black riding boots?”

“The ones you got for Christmas?” I nod and watch her consider this
suggestion for a moment. “No, sorry, you can’t wear riding boots to the ballet.
If it was a simple dinner and a movie date, yes, but the ballet calls for
heels.” She says this as if it’s law, as if there is some guidebook that
decides these things, and for a moment, I wonder if there is such a thing. I
wonder if we sell a copy at High Street.

She goes back to her closet and roots around some more before pulling
out a pair of leopard pumps. I see them and start shaking my head.

She chuckles. “You’re right. Too much.
How about these?”

She presents me with a shorter, much
tamer pair of black heels that have a thin strap that loops around the ankle. I
take them from her outstretched hand and slip them on. I return to the mirror,
and I am pleased by how delicate they look around my ankles once buckled up.

“I like these.” I walk back and forth around her room, testing my
stability, and find they aren’t terribly painful. “Good work!” I congratulate
her.

“Thank you, thank you! We can discuss
hair and makeup later. But I feel a lot better now that we have your wardrobe
picked out.”

I find it comical that she can go from
warning me off of Jake to taking complete responsibility for how I will look on
a night out with him so quickly.

“I’m excited for you.” She is genuine.

“I’m excited for me, too.”

***

Jake and I agree to meet in the city since he has classes this
afternoon and the theater is right next door to the Emerson campus. I was
hoping to extend the evening by having dinner beforehand, but by the time I leave
class, head home, change into what Genna has since dubbed my “bring him to his
knees” dress, and take the train into Boston, it’s almost show time. I navigate
the walk from the station by myself easily, remembering the streets from my
Emerson campus tour, as well as a few previous visits to the theater district
for other types of performances.

I spot Jake in the distance. He is leaning against the brick wall, lit
by the overarching marquee. He is wearing khakis and a light blue button up. He
has opted for no tie but has stylishly matched his brown dress shoes to a belt
of the same color. The silver buckle peeks out below his tucked-in shirt,
forcing my eyes down in appraisal. I long to take a moment and savor the
captivating sight before me, but he notices me approaching and looks up. He reciprocates
my bodily appreciation and takes me in from head to toe. I will have to thank
Genna and let her know that her hard work did not go unnoticed.

After stopping in front of him, we take a moment to quietly bask in
each other.

Minutes pass before he breaks the spell and juts out an arm for my
acceptance. “Good evening, my dear.”

And, like the perfect gentleman, he leads me inside.

An usher scans our tickets at the door, and another shows us to our
seats. Jake excuses himself and goes to grab us drinks while I take in my
surroundings. The theater is ornate with an ethereal mural of the most delicate
pastel pinks and blues on the ceiling, set within a frame of gold leaf.

Being dressed up, and in such a beautiful setting, makes this first
date feel extra special. I’m hoping that I can take tonight as a sign that Jake
is finally done playing hot and cold and will start to take me, take us,
seriously. I nervously twist the jeweled bracelet that Genna lent me especially
for tonight around my wrist, while considering what tonight might mean for us.

When I look up, Jake is making his way back down the aisle, begging
forgiveness as other patrons squirm and push up their knees to get out of his
way.

“Miss me?”

“In the last five minutes? No, you’re going to need to be gone longer
than that.” I bite my tongue. What the hell am I doing hinting at the idea of
him disappearing again? I change the subject. “Are you nervous? Do you think
you can make it through this performance without falling asleep?” I tease.

He cocks his head. “Are you doubting my love of the art of dance?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“How about my love of women in tights?” He winks.

“Oh, no, that I can believe. But now I’m wondering if I should spend
the next two hours feeling self-conscious while watching all the lovely ladies
on stage.”

“Not at all. You can watch the men prancing around in their tights
instead.” He smirks before adding, “However, I would like to point out that
you, kitten, are also wearing tights.”

I blush, but before I can respond, the theater lights dim, and he
turns his attention to the stage before us.

He sits beside me, wrapping his arm around my seat back while the
curtain opens and the dancers come out on stage. They look gorgeous in their
elaborate costumes, and their movements are fluid and full of emotion. The
prima ballerina, playing Aurora tonight, exquisitely fills her movements with
love and longing.