Tastes Like Winter (13 page)

“I’ll figure it out and let you know.” Jake settles into the passenger’s
seat.

I open my own door, but before I join Jake inside, I do a little happy
dance that I pray he does not see.

***

After another week full of school, homework, and bookstore shifts, I
help Betsy close for the night again. As I am turning the sign on the front
door to read “closed”, my phone buzzes with a text. I reach into the back pocket
of my jeans, pull out my cell, and read the screen.

What are you wearing?

I smile and type back, You know what I’m wearing. You picked out my
outfit.

Genna: Just checking to make sure you didn’t change.

Me: Wouldn’t dare!

Genna: Good! Enjoy your night : )

After our day at the mall, Jake followed through on his promise of
another date. He even took the lead and arranged it—dinner and a movie.
Genna was kind and let me wear jeans and a sweater, though she did insist on
cashmere. Jake wanted to pick me up, but last month he decided to sell his car,
since most of his time is spent in Boston where he doesn’t need one, thanks to
the many efficient public transportation options within walking distance. My
car is a no-go because my mom is borrowing it again. Hers is in the shop, this
time investigating a check engine light that has her worried. Betsy has been
kind enough to let us borrow hers.

Since we are closing together tonight, she decides it would be easiest
to take me home with her, where I can meet Jake after he gets home from class.
Since the ballet, Betsy caught on about me and Jake… Well, me and Jake being me
and Jake, whatever that is.

I broached the subject with her once. Not wanting her to think I was
unprofessional, I asked if she was okay with Jake and me being friends. She
waved me off and said, “Don’t you worry about that for one second. Jake needs a
nice girl like you.” She has since been kind enough to not make me
uncomfortable talking about it, and I am happy we have her support.

But as soon as we pull into the driveway of the Addler residence, I
can see Sam throwing a fit through the living room window. Betsy has given me
her support, but I do not have Sam’s, a fact she has made rather obvious around
school. She is the only girl on
Genna’s
team that is
anything less than friendly towards me.

I can see her through the window, red faced and shouting while waving
her hands around. I can’t make out her words until the door is pushed open and they
become clear. Tonight her anger is directed at Jake, who is slumped against the
living room doorframe, looking resigned while she flings insults at him.

“Just because you decided to take my parents and commandeer my whole
fricken
’ house when you came to live with us does not give
you the right to take the car, too!”

As soon as her mom moves through the doorway, I see Sam move to
redirect her anger at Betsy. She shouts, “Mom! Tell Jake he does not get to
take the car tonight. Julie and I are meeting up with the team for pizza and
then a movie. I told you last week, remember?”

As Betsy moves into the foyer, she sighs as if this is a recurring
debate that she no longer has the patience for. “Sorry, Sam.” She shakes her
head. “I must have forgotten. I told Jake he could use it to go out with Emma.”

Betsy half-heartedly motions behind her, towards where I have frozen,
half in and half out of the door. Sam’s eyes are filled with fury, but before
she can explode on me, I throw in an attempt at peace.

“It’s okay. Jake and I can do something else. Or hang out another
night?” I do not need any more ill will with Sam. I try to meet Jake’s eyes,
questioning if that is an okay alternative.

“No!” Betsy cuts in, more forcefully. “No, you two go out and have
fun. Sam, I am tired of your mouth and your disrespect. I don’t want to imagine
what other nonsense you spewed before we walked in, but it is enough! Now go to
your room!”

That puts an end to it, but Sam storms into the kitchen instead and
grabs the phone with the nastiest, most hate-filled “Fine!” I imagine has ever
been spoken.

I make it all the way into the house and shut the door behind me. The
tension between them is on a completely different level than I expected, and I
am afraid their issues are larger than misdirected snootiness because Jake and
I are dating.

I cross the foyer and lean into Jake’s
ear. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

I continue pleading, and it takes Jake a while to answer, but he
eventually lets out a deep breath and asks, “Are you sure?”

I nod.

“B, it’s okay. Let her have it,” he says to his aunt, who shakes her
head, full of defeat, but doesn’t speak. He then grabs my hand without another
word and leads me upstairs.

When we reach the top of the stairs, I
brace myself. I haven’t been in a boy’s bedroom before, so I am not sure what
to expect when he opens the door and pulls me inside. On the right, I notice a
small desk with a lamp and an open laptop. The computer already has a playlist
going, a soundtrack playing to an empty room. There is a half-full bottle of
soda and two empty water bottles, along with a stack of journals like the ones I
have seen him carry around before and a few pens scattered about.

On the left side of the room, the wall tilts in at a long, deep angle,
not high enough to stand under. There is a simple bed frame tucked underneath
it. The comforter is plain blue and is pulled up in a half-made attempt. There
is a television tucked in the opposite corner, perfectly lined up to watch
while lying down.

I scan the walls, which are covered with band posters. Popular bands,
indie bands, bands I know and love, bands I have never heard before. Some of
the pages are past concert fliers, while others are cd inserts with lyrics and
photos. They hold my attention, and Jake gives me time to take it all in.

“Welcome to my abode!” He gestures
around the room as he flops into the desk chair. I gingerly sit on the edge of
the bed, unsure of myself. He picks up his guitar, which was propped in the
corner beside his desk, and mindlessly strums a few notes, playing a chord here
and there while pausing now and again to scroll through an endless stream of
music on his computer, searching to find the right song.

“How about you play me something instead?” I ask.

“Nah, these guys do it much better than I ever could.” He picks a song
I’m not familiar with before turning back to me. “So…”

“So,” I repeat.

We stare in awkward silence for a
minute, his fingers moving along the guitar neck in time with the music while
not actually playing it. I distract myself by looking at his walls again,
trying to ignore the fact that I am sitting on Jake’s bed and that the whole
room smells like him.

My gaze returns to the journals in front of him. For someone who
doesn’t speak about himself much, there sure are a lot of them. What I wouldn’t
do to find out what he has written inside. As I sit, I debate various plans to
get Jake to leave me alone for a moment in his room so that I can flick through
them and see if they hold any secrets about his feelings for me, feelings he
refuses to vocalize.

“Sorry about that.” He brings me back
into the room and away from my scheming while pointing downstairs. I nod and
divert my eye to a particularly colorful graffiti-designed poster to my right,
hoping he won’t notice the holes I was burning through his
Moleskines
.

“Sam doesn’t like me being here.” He sounds remorseful. “I think she
used to like me, but now that I live here—not so much.”

“Why?”

He casts his eyes downward and toes the carpet with his shoe. He
doesn’t answer.

“You know you can talk to me, Jake, about anything.”

He keeps his head down, and I don’t know what else to say. I grope
around inside my head for a minute, scrambling to find words, but instead he
saves me by looking up and smiling.

“Want to watch a movie?” The sadness is completely gone from his eyes,
and I wonder how much of Jake is an act.

“Okay, whatever you want.” I can’t force the man to talk if he doesn’t
want to.

With renewed purpose, he powers down the music, jumps up, and heads to
the console, where the DVD player rests. He picks up a newly released comedy,
throws it in the player, and starts it up. Joining me on the bed, he props
himself up against the wall. He tosses me a pillow, and I slide myself into
position next to him.

Any uneasiness lingering from Sam’s outburst downstairs passes, and we
are soon leaning against each other, laughing. Betsy pops her head in to check
on us halfway through, and after seeing that we are watching a movie, offers us
popcorn and sodas, which we gladly accept. By the time the credits roll, I am
tucked under Jake’s arm with one leg wrapped around his. Neither of us moves to
get up while the credits end and the screen goes black.

His breath hitches, and he shifts, moving his body so it is over me
and holding himself up on his arms. I look up at him, and I’m greeted by warm
blue eyes looking down at me, the heat of his breath falling on my cheek. He
stares at me a while, making no move forward. I reciprocate.

I’m tired of being quiet about my feelings for him. I remember my
previous desperation to read his journals and suddenly feel like a hypocrite,
because I’ve allowed his behavior to prevent me from speaking up. Maybe all he
needs is a little encouragement to continue opening himself to me.

“I like you, Jake. I really like you.” My voice is shaky.

Lying in the dark room underneath him makes my confession echo against
the walls, and I am overwhelmed by the vulnerability of the card I am playing.
His eyes hold my own. They stay constant, no relief, no regret. I watch his
steady poker face, and the suspense kills me.

I watch as a flicker of decision passes across his eyes, and he shifts
forward, covering my mouth with his own. His kiss is desperate, and while no
words have passed his lips, his mouth pours everything unsaid into me. I use my
own mouth to tell him that I am here for him and I’m not going anywhere. His
hands are in my hair, on my breasts, pulling my leg to the side so he can move
his own thigh further between mine and grind his body harder against me. I rub
my own hands up his biceps and along his back, feeling the hard muscles that
flex beneath my fingers.

I want to pull off his shirt and trace his neck and chest with my
tongue, but there is a tap on the door, forcing Jake and I to shift away from
each other as fast as we can. Betsy leans through the doorway, takes in the
darkened room, black television screen, and our labored breaths, and grins
knowingly.

“Need a ride home, Emma?” She purrs with delight. It’s obvious that
she likes the idea of the two of us together, but as a parent and guardian
knows it’s time to call it a night.

My mouth is dry, and it takes me several attempts before I can get the
words out. “S-Sure. Thanks.”

Her disruption is probably for the best, and I should get out of here
before things go further than I am ready for. He didn’t tell me he likes me
back like I wished he would, but it sure felt as if his kiss was telling me
something. I count it as a success, and begrudgingly, I leave the soft cocoon
of Jake and his bed.

***

When I get home, I am surprised to see Jake is already messaging me.
My laptop screen lights up with his words.

Jake: Kitten? You home yet?

I sit down at my desk and type out a response, smiling happily to
myself. Why? Do you miss me already?

Jake: Something like that.

I touch my lips, which are still swollen from our heavy make-out
session on his bed. That’s nice to hear. What are you doing now?

Jake: Sitting here thinking. Wishing Aunt B gave us more time alone before
driving you home.

I take a minute to envision where more time would have left us. The
thoughts excite me.

Me: Oh, yeah? What else are you thinking about?

His next message takes several minutes before it comes.

Jake: Thinking about how much I love lions.

What? That was not at all what I was expecting. Is Jake watching
Animal Planet again?

Me: Huh? Are you watching TV? A little Big Cat Diary?

Another minute passes before he types:

Jake: No, you = lion.

Without thinking, my eyes dart to the bag at my feet and the inked
drawing Jake left on it months ago, a beautifully sketched lion head that I
have happily been carrying around. My jaw drops, and my mind clouds over in
confusion.

Me: What’s that supposed to mean, Jake?

Jake: Nothing.

My heart pounds in my chest.

Me: Not nothing. What are you trying to say?

Each second I am forced to wait is an eternity.

Jake: Fuck. Forget I said anything.

No, no, no! I am not letting him run from this.

Me: No, Jake. Are you saying you love me?

He doesn’t respond, and I am gripped with panic.