Waiting for December, page 12
New York? When was Jesse thinking about moving to New York?
I suddenly recall our conversation on my first day here, when I asked him if he’d ever been tempted to move anywhere else.
“Once,” he told me.
Was New York where he was referring to? It must have been. I can’t picture Jesse in New York. I’ve only visited once, but when I think of New York I picture people rushing from place to place. I picture late nights. I picture live shows. I don’t picture all the things Jesse loves: early morning with the chickens, cocktails outside by the fire, stars to gaze at.
“Nah, man,” Jesse says.
“Not at all?”
Jesse turns and catches my eye, and I avert my gaze because it seems he didn’t want me to hear that. I wonder why. He’s confided in me quite a bit since I’ve arrived, and there are times it seems we don’t have any secrets between us. But then I remember I haven’t told him everything about my life either. He still doesn’t know about Sky, for instance. Not that I’m intentionally keeping that from him. It just hasn’t come up in conversation. Maybe New York is the same and he’ll tell me about it eventually.
Although, now I’m getting the sense that it’s not the same because he doesn’t seem to want to talk to Will about it either.
“No. No regrets,” he says a second later. And that’s it. He doesn’t offer anything else.
He changes the subject and we all move on.
—
Jesse doesn’t bring up New York on the car drive back to the inn, and neither do I, although it’s on my mind. It seems as if it—or at least something—is on Jesse’s mind, though. I notice him wrestling with it. He changes the radio station six times, even though he keeps landing on songs he seems to like. It makes me think he’s frustrated that he can’t change the station in his own head and is consequently taking out his frustration on the dial. Eventually, he shuts the whole thing off.
“Are you having a good birthday?” he asks, maybe thinking small talk will help.
“It’s great,” I say. “Thank you.”
He nods and tightens his grip on the wheel. We drive in silence the rest of the way to the inn. Once he puts the car in park, he doesn’t get out. He just sits there.
I don’t move either.
I’ve noticed that sometimes Jesse takes a little time to say what he’s thinking, perhaps because he’s so intentional and doesn’t say things just to say them. He wants to say what he really means. Bucket-list item number twenty comes to mind: practice the art of patience. Perfect opportunity to work on this.
“My ex, Madison, moved to New York,” he finally tells me.
His ex, Madison. I should have known the reason he’d consider a move like that was for someone else. Jesse just told me that what he does is never as important as who he does it with. I bet he also feels that where he lives doesn’t matter as much as who he lives with.
“We met in town a few years after college,” he goes on. “We dated up until she left. So we were close. Really close.”
I nod to show I’m listening and because I don’t doubt their bond. Jesse and I have become close after only a few weeks, and we’re just friends. I can only imagine how close he’d get to someone—and how close she’d likely get to him—over the course of many years in the context of a romantic relationship.
“She wanted to experience something new,” he says. “A big city. And she wanted me to come with her. I didn’t want to go because I like it here and my family is here. But I was seriously considering it anyway because it was important to her. I looked for jobs and visited the city with her to look for an apartment and everything.”
His gaze shifts from the steering wheel to his hands. “But then Brendan and Molly had their accident, and I told her there was no way I could leave then. Maybe in a while, but not right then. She left anyway. Two weeks after the funeral.”
I shake my head. “What a bitch.”
I meant to only think it—not say it—because I’m not sure how Jesse feels about Madison now. But the protective side of me couldn’t hold it in.
To my relief, Jesse laughs slightly as he shakes his own head. “It wasn’t very cool, that’s for sure.”
“Have you heard from her since?”
“She reached out once she got there and told me she still wanted me to come. But the fact that she left then, when she knew I wouldn’t leave—and honestly couldn’t—made me feel like she didn’t really mean it. Like she wanted to be there alone all along.” He sighs. “And I couldn’t get over her leaving me only two weeks after I lost Brendan and Molly. The place I was in . . . I needed her more than ever, and she knew that. But she still went.”
I hate that Madison did that.
I’m furious. How could anyone have Jesse’s big heart in the palm of her hand and not be more considerate?
I knew I was starting to care about Jesse when I didn’t sleep well after he told me about Brendan and Molly. And the past few days, I’ve felt myself caring about him even more. But the churning in my stomach from hearing his Madison story tells me I’ve underestimated just how much I care.
“I think I’m over it,” he says, which helps my anger simmer down a bit. “I don’t like talking about it, which is why I haven’t mentioned it. But when I’m not talking about it, I don’t really think about it. I’m not sure what that means. Maybe she did us both a favor. Maybe she wasn’t right for me, after all.” I can’t tell if he’s saying this because he believes it or because he’s trying to convince himself it’s the truth. Either way, it’s the best way to look at it.
When I say so to him, he shrugs and replies, “It is what it is.”
Then he shakes his head and tells me he’s sorry.
“For what?”
“For rambling about an ex. I hope this isn’t bringing up memories of your ex. That’s the last thing I want you thinking about on your birthday.”
“I told you already, I’m over my ex,” I assure him. I briefly debate whether or not to explain how I know this for sure—but since we’re on the topic and Jesse was just so honest with me, I feel I should mention it. “I actually met someone on the plane.”
“Coming here?” Jesse asks.
I nod. “We’re not formally together or anything. But we did make a promise. We have a second date scheduled for Christmas Eve, when we’ll pick up where we left off. There was so much potential between us that I’m looking forward to it. And that I can believe in the possibility of it tells me I’m over my ex.”
“That’s great, Harper.” He gives me a smile, but it looks forced.
I don’t know how I was expecting Jesse to react to the news about Sky. I didn’t think it through, honestly. But I realize I mildly just gave him the “more fish in the sea” talk, which is never a fun one to hear when you’re bummed about an ex. It’s generic. Maybe he’s disappointed I didn’t have something more meaningful to say, because he looks even more glum now. I’m kicking myself for choosing this moment to bring up my newfound romance.
For a brief moment, I also wonder if Jesse is jealous. Then I shake my head. Whether it’s true or not, calling it out will just make things awkward. Best I don’t go there.
Attempting to pivot, I circle back to his ex. “I know I don’t know this Madison,” I say, wrinkling my nose when I say her name, “but I’m starting to really get to know you. And all I can say is, it’s definitely her loss.”
I clamp my hand over his and squeeze it.
“You’re a good friend,” he says, squeezing mine back.
“You are too.”
“I’m not being the best friend right now, though,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re talking too much about me. And today is about you. So tell me this: after happy hour wraps up, how do you want to continue to celebrate?”
“You’ve already done more than enough to make my birthday special,” I say.
“Come on,” he prods. “I can take you out to dinner. I know all the restaurant owners. I could get us a reservation anywhere in town. Or we can skip dinner and spend all night eating dessert. We could order a different one at every restaurant—like a dessert progression.”
“Both those ideas sound fun,” I say. “But can I be honest?”
“Is that a serious question?” Jesse replies. “I just bared my soul here.”
“I’d rather just do what we always do. Cocktails by the fire, then dinner at your place or mine. I could let you beat me at cards, if you want to change things up a little.”
Jesse laughs. I said it hoping he would. The past five nights I’ve won at cards, but both of us know it’s because Jesse lets me. He beat me in the beginning by so much it wasn’t even close, so we both know he’s capable of winning every time if he wanted.
“Is that all right?” I ask.
“I’d never let you lose at cards on your birthday. But other than that, yeah. That’s exactly how I’d want to spend my birthday too.”
—
“When is your birthday?” I ask Jesse as we start our first game of cards later that night. I definitely don’t want to miss it, given how much thought he’s put into mine.
After cocktails at the fire, he made me steak and a salad for dinner. And then he opened a nice bottle of wine. A really nice bottle of wine. I’m no wine expert, but this is ten times better than any wine I’ve ever had. Jesse mentioned it was a bottle he was saving for a special occasion. I told him not to open it, but he insisted, and I don’t know why because he’s barely drinking any. I’m the one drinking it all. Because it’s my thirtieth. And I’m happy. And this wine is really good.
“March 12,” he tells me.
“Dang, I’ll miss it!” I say this a little louder than I intended, thanks to the wine. Or maybe I’m sadder to miss his birthday than I expected to be. “I’ll find a way to get you something,” I say.
“You don’t need to do that,” Jesse replies. “I’m not a big gift guy. I’m all about quality time.”
“We share the same love language,” I say, happy to learn.
“The same what?”
I should have figured Jesse wouldn’t have taken the love language test, given that it’s straight out of a self-help book.
“There’s this test that helps you identify how you like to receive love from others,” I explain.
“People need a test to tell them this?”
I shrug. “Apparently. Anyway, I value quality time the most too.”
“Well, then, I’m glad we’re getting all kinds of that in on your birthday. Where do you think you’ll be on mine?”
“I’ll take next question, any category, for one hundred, Alex,” I say, as I play my next hand.
“Sorry.” Jesse catches himself as he studies his cards. “You’re taking it one day at a time here. I get it.”
I sigh. “Yeah, but I should probably at least start to think about it.”
“You can’t rush clarity,” he points out.
“True. Have you talked to your parents lately? Do they have any clarity as to whether or not they’re going to let you officially take over the inn?”
“They’ve actually stopped by twice, while you were in town,” he says. “I think they could see what a good job we’re doing. I’m excited for you to meet them. I know they’re going to like you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say Jesse was moving beyond complimenting me to flirting with me.
Wow, I blink. Turning thirty has really given me a big head. Or maybe it’s the wine.
Jesse compliments the guests even. He’s just a complimentary guy. That’s one of the reasons he’s such a great host.
“Thanks, Jesse,” I say, reaching for my wine and taking another sip.
“I mean it,” he says, sincerity stamped all over his features. “I’m really glad it was you they picked for this position.”
I look at Jesse a moment.
I am too.
Best I don’t look too closely at that thought, I think.
“What are they like?” I ask. “Your parents.”
“They’re really sweet. They loved this job because they both enjoy meeting people from all over the world. And because they like spending all their time together. They’re best friends,” he tells me.
I share that my parents are best friends too.
“That’s nice,” he says. “That’s what I’m looking for in a partner. My best friend. Someone I like spending all my time with.”
Not only do Jesse and I have the same love language, but we’re looking for the same things in a significant other.
I reach for my wine glass and take another sip. “Did I mention this wine is really very good?”
—
“Whoa, birthday girl, let’s get you to bed.”
Jesse reaches out for my arm as I stumble while trying to close his dishwasher. I can’t believe I just stumbled. Jesse’s probably going to think I’m drunk. “I’m not drunk,” I say. “Honestly.”
Jesse smiles. “I’m sure you aren’t. But I’ll walk you home just to be safe.”
I’m glad he does, because even though my cottage is right next door, it seems further. Maybe I am a little drunk.
When I tell this to Jesse, he laughs and says, “It’s your thirtieth birthday. If you weren’t a little bit drunk, I’d be worried we didn’t celebrate enough.”
I’m already in a cozy long-sleeve shirt and sweatpants that could double for pajama bottoms, and I wasn’t wearing any makeup, so I climb right into bed once we make it inside. Jesse helps me under the covers even though I don’t need him to because I’m fine. Totally fine. I don’t object, however, because I like that he’s here and that he’s tucking me in and that he’s sitting down on the edge of my mattress now. Sometimes when I say goodnight to Jesse, I find myself counting down the minutes until morning when I get to see him again. I know I’m going to do that the moment he leaves tonight.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks.
“This was the best birthday ever,” I say. And I mean it. I don’t know if it’s because birthdays are usually overhyped and not as fun as expected and this time I didn’t have any expectations, or if I just spent this one with the right person who knew exactly how to make it the best day it could be. I’m thinking it’s a bit of both. “You’re great,” I say.
“You’re great too.”
“Today was so great!” I’m not sure why I just exclaimed that, but it’s true.
“Goodnight, birthday girl,” he says, smiling.
It’s the smile that does it, I think. There’s so much affection in it. Or maybe it’s that I don’t entirely want the day to end. All I know is one moment I’m tucked in bed and the next I’m sitting upright, pushing back my covers, and leaning in to hug Jesse. For a moment, he’s still, and then his arms slide around me, and something in me just . . . settles.
A perfect day.
“Goodnight,” I say, as I pull back and slide under the covers again, curling up into a ball. I can feel the contentment settling in as I shut my eyes. Jesse quietly rises from the bed and turns off the light on his way out. When I hear him shut the door, I snuggle deeper into the pillow. The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I wake up, and when I wake up it will be Wednesday. The best day of the week.
I cannot wait to read my letter from Jesse—I mean Sky.
How much wine did I drink?
A good bit, I think, but I shrug it off and think of the minutes until morning.
sixteen
To: Harper
From: Sky
Subject: Letter Number Three
Date: October 3
Dear Harper,
It’s Wednesday and here I am in your inbox. I wish I were at your doorstep instead, but I’m trying to honor your wishes (which, by the way, feels like a harder and harder task each week). On the bright side, I’m getting a lot of practice at exercising willpower over here. At this point, I could teach a class on it.
I’ve also attached photos of each room in my house, like you asked. I started snapping pictures of just the rooms themselves, but then I remembered you said you are very visual and wanted to be able to picture me in each room, so I switched to using my self-timer and inserted myself into the photos. (The shot of me in my bedroom is for your eyes only, babe.)
Now, on to the photo you sent me of you in the coffee shop. THAT was one of the sexiest photos I’ve ever seen. I look at it way too often. I had to delete it from my phone so I don’t pull it up while I’m flying. Imagine that headline: “Plane Knocked Off Course, Pilot Distracted by Beauty He’s Dating.”
Sorry not dating. Soon to be dating. I know the arrangement. I just got ahead of myself.
I zoomed in and saw your tattoo, by the way. VT? Does this mean you’ve fallen in love with Vermont? Are you asking me where else I’d be up for living because you want to officially relocate to my hometown? The things I’m starting to consider for you . . .
I’ll tell you this: it is an option for me to move elsewhere. It just takes time to put in the request and see about getting it approved. I have thought about living in places other than Atlanta, although Vermont has never been on that list. But, like I said, I’m now considering all kinds of things I never thought I’d think about before I met you.
I’m open to seeing where life takes me. That’s part of the adventure, right? You can only have so much of a plan in your head for where you’re going to end up. The rest is left up to fate and timing. Do you believe in fate? Do you believe in timing? (Am I using too many rom-com terms back-to-back?)
Maybe it’s because a rom-com was on TV the other night: Sleepless in Seattle. I let it play while I was cooking dinner and definitely did not roll my eyes this time around. At least not until the end. But that was to be expected. I will never not roll my eyes at the end of that film. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great movie. Out of all the rom-coms I’ve been roped into watching, I’d even go so far as to say I think it’s the best. But I just can’t get over how Tom Hanks reaches for Meg Ryan’s hand on the top of the Empire State building and that’s it! Neither of them explains to the other all the lengths they’ve just gone through to be there, including the fact that Tom Hanks’ son hopped on a flight all by himself!
