Waiting for December, page 10
Jesse returns a few moments later and hands me a mug before retrieving another blanket out of the basket for himself.
“What are we drinking tonight?” I ask.
We. When did I decide Jesse and I were a unit? Last night, I guess. I suppose we are the innkeepers—at least, until I head home. I wonder what Jesse will do then, assuming his parents agree to let him take over running the inn. Will he hire someone else? Jealousy flashes through me. I wonder why I’m already jealous of my replacement. It’s not as if my forever dream is to run an inn. Well, I don’t think it is. I suppose anything is possible in my life at the moment.
“We’ve got spiced cider tonight,” Jesse says.
I bring it to my nose, inhaling the scent of apples and cinnamon before taking a sip.
“Good?” he asks.
It tastes like fall in a cup. “I wouldn’t complain if part of your nightly routine included making me this. Although I don’t know if I can sit out here every night and drink it,” I confess. It feels colder out here tonight than it did last night. And the temperature is only going to drop. In another month or so, the average low will be below freezing.
“Here.” Jesse stands and sets the blanket that was on his lap on top of mine. He kneels down then, tucking it in on both sides of me so that it’s snug.
I assume he’s going to grab another one for himself, but he sits back down. When I peek at the basket, I see why. There aren’t any more blankets left. Some of the guests must have taken the others off to their rooms or abandoned them inside after sitting out here earlier when it was warmer.
“I can’t hog the only two blankets,” I say, starting to take off the one around my shoulders, but Jesse stops me.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Honestly.”
I do remember him saying he runs warm, but there’s no way he’s warm right now. He’s just being nice.
“When Brendan and I were younger,” he says, “he and I would see how late in the year we could make it sitting out by the fire at night. The rule was we had to be out here for at least fifteen minutes for it to count.”
Picturing this makes me smile. “How far into the season did you get?” I ask, thinking I probably wouldn’t make it past mid-October.
“December 2. But we didn’t have alcohol.” He lifts up his mug before bringing it to his lips.
“Are you thinking that with it you could beat the record?” I ask.
“I’d be willing to try.” His eyes land on mine like he’s trying to gauge whether I’d be up for joining the challenge.
“What do you say?” he asks a second later, confirming that I read him right.
I surprise myself with my answer. “I’m in.”
“Really?”
Apparently, I surprised Jesse with my answer too.
“Why not?” It wasn’t on my Vermont Bucket List, but it sure sounds like a bucket-list item. “As long as you buy more blankets. And promise to always make stiff drinks.”
“Anything you want.” I get the sense he means this. I know I haven’t been friends with Jesse for long, but I’m starting to think he’s the kind of friend who goes above and beyond for those in his inner circle. I recognize that devotion in him because it’s the same way I operate. I’ve never been popular or had a lot of friends, but the friends I do have, I’d do anything to help them.
He scoots in closer to the fire and gazes into the flames, apparently thinking seriously about something.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask eventually.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Come on.” I too scoot in closer to the fire with the aim to nudge him to open up. After last night, he should know I’m a good listener.
“No, seriously,” he says. “I was thinking about nothing.”
I raise a brow. “People do that?”
He nods and grins. “Sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy the moment. Isn’t there a lesson on how to do that in one of those self-help books?”
I grunt and wrinkle my nose. “I’m starting to think those books are only going to teach me how to overthink everything.”
“You see my problem with them. Oh, which reminds me.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a worn paperback. “I brought this in case I ran into you.”
He brought this in case he ran into me. Even more confirmation that he’s the kind of friend I thought he was.
When he hands it over, I take it, running my thumb over the bent and faded cover.
“East of Eden,” I read.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he says.
“And this book will teach me how not to think?”
“It will help you get lost in a moment. Reading a good novel does that to you. And I think once you learn how to do that, you’ll get better at appreciating the good moments rather than overthinking them.”
I’m willing to give it a shot. “Thank you, Jesse.”
“No problem.” He takes another sip of his drink and I do the same.
“Now I feel like a bad friend. I don’t have something up my sleeve for you,” I say. “I’d give you my painting if it were better.”
“I’d hang that.”
“You would?”
“Heck yeah.” I’d set the painting down beside my chair earlier, and Jesse now picks it up. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked it.”
The way he’s looking at it is convincing. Okay, then.
“Look at us, exchanging gifts way before Christmas.”
Jesse sets the painting down on the opposite side of his chair before cupping his mug with both hands again. “Trust me,” he says. “I’ll get you something way better than a book for Christmas.”
I’m not sure what he means, but I make a mental note to get him something really good too.
twelve
AFTER WE WRAP up at the fire, Jesse walks me to my room. Part of me wants to invite him in for dinner because I’d like to keep hanging out, but we already spent the better part of the day together. He might want some time to himself. So I just say goodnight.
I toss my purse on my bed as well as my bucket list and run a bath, thinking I’ll enjoy dinner more after a quick soak. Once I get out, I pull on a cozy sweater and leggings and brush my hair. I’m just about to start the stove to warm up some soup when there’s a knock on my door.
I open it and see Jesse holding a bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. “I had extra,” he says.
I wonder if that’s true or if he purposefully made extra because he too was bummed we ended the night early and was looking for an excuse to come by. I suppose the reason doesn’t matter. I’m just glad he’s here.
“Thanks,” I say, opening the door wider to let him in. “Did you already eat?”
“No, mine’s in my room.”
“Do you want to get it and join me?”
“Sure.” The speed at which he accepts my offer lets me know he came knocking because he wants to spend more time together. I take back what I said about the reason not mattering—it does. I’m happy to know he’s been enjoying my company as much as I’m enjoying his.
There’s a two-seater table by the window in the corner. Jesse sets the soup and the sandwich down, heads back to his place, then reemerges a minute later with his soup, grilled cheese, and a deck of cards.
“Any interest in playing a round?” he asks as he joins me at the table.
“Sure, what game?”
“Do you know gin rummy?”
I nod and tell him I used to play with my parents growing up.
“Great.” He deals us both in, and we get the game going as we start our meal.
I’m rusty, so Jesse has to remind me of some of the rules the first few rounds, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He also doesn’t seem to mind when I end up winning both rounds, thanks to his help. I appreciate that he’s a good sport. I’ve never been overly competitive and find games more fun when the goal is enjoyment. By round three, we’re both focused and quiet as we study our new cards.
As much as I like talking to Jesse, sitting quietly with him feels just as comfortable—which is not the case with everyone.
“So is it helping?” Jesse asks, finally breaking the silence.
I give him a blank stare. “Is what helping what?”
I know we’re becoming good friends fast, but we’re not quite at the point that I know what he’s saying when he speaks completely out of context.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head—I guess he was half-focused on his hand and half-focused on his question. “Is being here helping you get over the job you got let go from and the guy?”
The guy. How does he know about Sky?
He doesn’t. Oh, he must be referring to Jake!
It’s nuts that when I now hear “guy,” my mind goes right to Sky. I guess that means I really am over my breakup with Jake.
“That I’m loving this job so much makes it easy to not look back on the one I lost,” I tell him, and it’s an easy truth to share. “And, yeah, I’m over the guy. As soon as I got on the plane, I pretty much knew that.”
Because I met this other guy, you see. But I don’t say that out loud. Maybe I should mention Sky. But the window to share passes before I have the chance.
“Good,” Jesse responds as he lays down a hand. “You don’t want to waste time working for a company that doesn’t make you a top priority.”
“Amen,” I chime in.
“You also don’t want to waste time on a person who doesn’t prioritize you.” He says this with so much conviction, it makes me wonder if he’s speaking from experience.
I’m about to ask him about it when he sets his cards down and says, “Are you cold?”
Before I can reply, he gets to his feet. “I can get the fire going.”
“Okay.” I watch as he wanders over to the wood rack and pulls out a few logs, then sets them down on the grate before turning on the gas and lighting it with a match from the box on top of the mantle. When he goes to turn off the gas, I refocus on my cards to determine what hand to play next.
“What’s this?” he asks a moment later.
“What’s what?” When I raise my head, I see he’s pointing to my Vermont Bucket List. I can’t believe I forgot I left it on my bed. I also can’t believe it doesn’t bother me all that much that Jesse spotted it.
“I came up with a list of things I want to accomplish while I’m here,” I explain.
“May I take a look?”
“Okay.” I hadn’t wanted anyone else to see it, but now that he’s holding it, I’m kind of glad he is. Since we’ll be spending so much time together over the next couple of months, it might be nice if he knows what I’m up to.
“This is really neat,” he says. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s being sincere. Feeling confident that Jesse isn’t the kind of person who would make fun of my bucket list is another reason I didn’t care he found it.
I suddenly remember I didn’t show the list to Sky. I feel a little bad about that now. It’s not that I thought Sky would make fun of it. It’s just that, on the plane, I didn’t know him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t. Yes, some of the items are silly—but I still don’t want to be laughed at.
Jesse doesn’t laugh once as he scans it. When he rejoins me at the table and I explain my reason for creating it, he doesn’t laugh about that either.
“I really like that you’re carving out time to figure out what matters to you,” he says, folding up the list and handing it back.
I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I’ve never been great at receiving compliments. “I’m trying,” I say.
“A lot of people don’t even get that far. You should feel good about that.”
I smooth back a strand on the other side. “Thanks.”
“You know,” Jesse says, “if you need help with any of these items, I’d be happy to assist. I can loan you my car for the road trip with no destination. And there’s a soup kitchen I know of that I could recommend for volunteering. Oh, and I’m happy to teach you to ski or snowshoe. I know it says here you want to learn how.”
I’m overwhelmed by his support and am not sure what to say.
Jesse misinterprets my silence. “Of course, I can also stay out of it completely,” he says, reaching for his cards and shifting his focus back to his hand. “I didn’t mean to insert myself into something so personal.”
“No, no,” I rush to explain. “I appreciate the help, Jesse. It just means a lot to me—both your offer and my list.”
“As it should.” He peeks over the top of his cards, meeting my eyes again. “Life’s short. If you don’t start doing the things now that you’ve always thought about, you might never have the chance.”
—
I think about what Jesse said throughout the rest of our game. If you don’t start doing the things you’ve always thought about, you might never have the chance.
It makes me even more glad that I’m here. And, as soon as we wrap up, it makes me want to do something spontaneous.
“Will you read item number seven on the list?” I say, holding it out to Jesse once we’ve done the dishes.
Jesse takes it and unfolds it, scanning down the page and reading the item out loud.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“You want to do this now?” he replies. To be honest, I was thinking this item would take me until the very end of my trip to cross off because I’m afraid to do it. But right now I feel brave, so why not jump on that wave and see if I can ride it?
“No time like the present, right? Do you know anywhere that might still be open?”
Jesse checks his watch. My guess is it’s around nine o’clock. “Yeah, I think I do,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
“Could you take me there?”
He hesitates before responding. “I’m not doing this with you,” he clarifies.
“I didn’t expect you to. I just need a ride.”
I press my palms together.
“All right,” he says. “I’m in.”
thirteen
SPONTANEITY ISN’T ALL it’s cracked up to be. I’m learning this lesson now. And it’s a painful one. “How much longer?” I ask.
“It would be over a lot faster if you’d calm down,” the tattoo artist replies. I glance at my wrist and see that I’m bleeding again. Apparently, this happens when you’re nervous. This whole process was only supposed to take a couple of minutes, but because I’m nervous, the tattooist has to keep stopping and blotting up blood so the ink doesn’t smear.
Jesse squeezes my hand even tighter, which was something I did not think was possible. He’s already gripping it so firmly, you’d think the needle was being driven into his wrist, not mine.
“Tell me a story,” I say. Maybe if Jesse talks to me, I’ll calm down and we can speed things up.
“This one time,” he says, “I let a girl convince me to take her to get a tattoo, and it was the worst decision I’d ever made.”
I smack his arm. “Come on. A real story.”
“I can’t think of a real story right now. I’m too preoccupied thinking about how much I want this to be over for you.” It’s sweet how concerned he is. I try to focus on that rather than on the incessant needle, which feels like a hundred bees stinging me at once.
“Why are you doing this?” he clarifies. “I mean, I get that you’re doing it because it’s on the list. But why is it on the list?”
“All of my bucket-list items are supposed to challenge me in some way.”
“What’s the point of this challenge?” he asks. “To see how much pain you can endure?”
“To do something I’m afraid of.”
I must start bleeding again because the woman gives me a look as if to say “calm down.” Jesse returns her look with a glare that says “back off.”
I can’t help but smile. I’m so glad I told Jesse about the list. And I’m so glad he’s here. This is not something I would have relished doing alone.
“What was the challenge behind the painting you did earlier?” he asks.
“I was trying to discover my passion. Do you have a passion?”
“I’m passionate about wanting this to be over soon.”
“You and me both,” I say as I shoot a glance at the tattoo gun. Why am I looking at the tattoo gun?
Jesse reaches out and turns my chin. “Eyes right here,” he says, pointing to his own.
I do what he says because I know he’s looking out for my best interest. Jesse’s eyes also aren’t a bad place to have to stare. I had thought they were brown, but now I can see flecks of blue too. More noticeable than the color of his eyes, though, is the way they make me feel: seen. This is equal amounts nice and unnerving, but I concentrate on how nice it is given that I can’t afford to feel any more unnerved than I already do.
“Seriously, though,” I say, circling back to our earlier conversation. “Do you have a passion?”
“I like to think I’m a passionate guy,” he says.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I mean are you passionate about something specific, like a skill or a hobby?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Is this something the self-help books have convinced you that you need to find?”
I sigh and explain that everyone seems to have a passion except for me.
He narrows his eyes even more. “Who cares what everyone else has? That seems like a bad reason to want something.”
“You know, for someone who doesn’t read self-help books, you know a lot of self-help speak.”
He shrugs. “I just think everyone’s journey is different. Read a few novels and you’ll see that. There’s no point in comparing stories.”
“Well, on your journey, have you developed any particular passions?” I don’t let up. I’m not sure if it’s because of my curiosity or because this conversation is providing a nice distraction.
