Waiting for December, page 14
“Thank you, honey,” Mark says. “But since we’ve stopped working at the inn, we’ve become early nighters.”
“Plus, we don’t want to interfere with your nightly fire ritual,” chimes in Beth after she hugs me.
“You told them about that?” I nudge Jesse with my arm.
“He looks forward to it every night,” Beth answers for him.
“Mom,” Jesse gives her a look that says “please stop,” and this makes me chuckle. It’s cute seeing Jesse blush—he doesn’t do it often. It’s even cuter that he told his parents about our fire ritual. He doesn’t talk much about his parents to me, but clearly he talks to them a lot about what’s going on here, including how we spend our time together.
When Mark starts to mention something to Jesse about maintenance for the pool, Beth turns to me and takes my hands in hers, giving them a good squeeze. “Thank you, honey,” she says. “Not just for tonight, but for everything you’ve done so far to help with the inn.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say. “I’m so grateful to you and Mark for this opportunity.”
She smiles and shoots a glance at Jesse, then turns her attention back on me. “Thank you also for being such a good friend to my son. I haven’t seen Jesse this happy since . . . well . . . I’m sure he’s told you.”
“He has,” I say, squeezing her hands back. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She thanks me. “It’s been a challenging eleven months and hard for me, as his mother, to know how much Jesse has been struggling. I was worried that spending all this time at the inn would be difficult for him because it was difficult for my husband and I after what happened, but I don’t see him struggling right now. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so content. Something tells me you have a lot to do with that, young lady.”
I shoot a glance at Jesse and catch his eye, giving him a brief smile before returning my gaze to Beth. “Your son has played a big role in my experience here being such a positive one as well,” I say. “We make a good team.”
“Yes, you do,” Beth says.
Jesse and Mark finish their conversation, so we wrap up ours too. “All right, then,” she says. “Until next time, honey.”
I watch from the window as Jesse walks them to their car, still in disbelief that I was nervous tonight might not go well. Part of the reason I was so nervous might have been because the last parents I met were Sky’s, and they were the opposite of Jesse’s.
Not that this was the same situation at all. Sky is a guy I’m going to date, and Jesse is one of my best friends.
Still, I could see how my brain might have linked the two scenarios.
And, well, lately the thought has crossed my mind that if I hadn’t met Sky, if I weren’t here to find myself . . . well . . . maybe I would entertain different thoughts about Jesse.
But I did meet Sky. And I am here to find myself. So the what-if is sort of a dumb mental exercise.
When Jesse returns, he’s beaming.
“What’s up? Did they tell you they had a good time?”
His face reads like a headline announcing good news but what’s the rest of the story? What’s he not telling me? “My mom might have mentioned that if things keep going as well as they’re going . . . they’re going to let me continue to run the inn and give partial ownership to me.”
“Oh my gosh, Jesse!” I launch into a hug and he hugs me back, hard. “That is such great news!”
“For both of us, really,” he says. “You wouldn’t have to keep working here if you didn’t want to, but you would have the option to stay if you do. Obviously, I’d love you to stay, but more than that, I want whatever you decide is best for you.”
“I was just thinking tonight how much I might want to stay.”
“You were?”
“Yes, I really was. So thank you.”
“Thank you for all your help.”
This entire conversation takes place while we’re hugging. I’ve felt the rumble of Jesse’s voice against my cheek this whole time, we’re so tightly glued together. Neither of us can seem to let the other go.
When I finally do pull away, I tell myself I held on so long because of the excitement. And any part of me that wasn’t convinced feels convinced the following morning. Because not only did I dream about receiving another letter from Sky, but it’s also Wednesday—which means I get to, and I couldn’t be looking forward to that more.
—
To: Harper
From: Sky
Subject: Letter Number Five
Date: October 17
Dear Harper,
I hate hearing that you’re forgetting details of our time together, but I get it. I’m forgetting some parts of our night together too. On the one hand, I think that’s a good thing, because the farther we get from that night, the closer I get to seeing you. But on the other hand, I don’t like losing the vivid detail.
Which brings me to this question I’m dying to ask: have you found yourself yet? Just wondering, because if you happen to find yourself early, just say the word, and I’ll be on the first flight out.
Typically, days speed up and speed past, but now that I’m waiting for something, it feels like days drag on forever. Have you noticed that too, or am I the only one experiencing this?
I thought I’d like the feeling of time slowing down because life does seem to speed up the older I get, but in this particular case I wish I could skip ahead until Christmas Eve and then press pause.
Do you sometimes wish you could play with time like that? Speed up the bad parts, slow down the good, pause the moments you wish you could live in forever?
I’m thirty-six, by the way. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that. How old are you?
Missing you,
Sky
P.S. Forget what I said about the fantasies. You can send them along. Hopefully those will refresh my memory of our time together ASAP.
To: Sky
From: Harper
Subject: Re: Letter Number Five
Date: October 17
Dear Sky,
I feel the same way about time. It’s surprising that more people don’t talk about how irritating it is that we can’t seem to figure out how to manipulate it better. If I could have one superpower, it would be to do exactly what you wrote: speed up the bad parts, slow down the good, and pause the incredible.
I’d pause the moments I receive your letters, slow down how long it takes me to read them, and speed up the amount of time until I could see you again.
Well, half of me wishes I could speed it up. If I’m being honest, the other half wishes time would slow down because I don’t feel like I’ve found myself yet. I wish I could tell you that I had so we could reunite sooner rather than later, but that’s just not the case.
I’m sorry because I hate that the wait feels hard. I appreciate your patience. As a token of my gratitude, I thought I’d do you one better than reciting my fantasies. I’ve attached a photo that is for your eyes only, mister!
Hopefully this makes the wait a little easier.
Harper
P.S. I’m thirty. I had a birthday recently.
nineteen
“CAN’T FIND WHAT you’re looking for?”
Jesse approaches me in the produce section of the grocery store. I’ve been standing in front of the limes for a solid five minutes now. I don’t even need a lime. I just stopped here to refresh my email again. And then again. And then I got in a trance because it’s Sunday and I still haven’t heard from Sky.
He never emailed me this past Wednesday. I went to Milk & Maple at the same time I always do, and there wasn’t anything from him in my inbox. I waited around for as long as I could but still hadn’t heard from him by the time I had to leave for happy hour. I was disappointed that night but figured he must have gotten tied up at work and I’d have an email the next morning.
When I popped into town to run an errand on Thursday, however, I checked my email on my phone and there was still no letter in my inbox. That night I did start to worry a little. Not about us. I didn’t think there was a reason to. Since Sky and I started writing letters, he’s always seemed as eager for Wednesdays as I am. What troubled me was that something might have happened to him. I didn’t want to jump to worst-case scenarios, but what if he had been in an accident?
I used the work computer that night to look up both car crashes and plane crashes (the news would have definitely covered that), but there was no mention of Sky’s name anywhere in the papers, which momentarily eased my concerns.
But then it raised others. If he was fine, what was the deal? Why hadn’t he written?
I realized he could be really busy with work or something. But how hard is it to shoot a girl an email and just say that?
Not that hard.
When Friday rolled around and I still hadn’t heard from him, I started to worry that the reason he hadn’t emailed was because something else was going on. Something that was hard to say in an email.
Like that he met someone else. Or that he’s tired of waiting for December. His last email did mention what a challenge waiting has been. I thought he was just venting. But what if he was dropping clues instead?
I went ahead and emailed him yesterday, just something short and sweet.
Sky,
Just checking in . . .
I know it’s Saturday, but thought I’d write and see what’s going on.
And even with that, still nothing has arrived in my inbox today.
Not hearing back would have bothered me any week, but given that I sent him a picture of me totally exposed in my last email, his lack of response is particularly painful. I felt vulnerable sharing that. I’m comfortable with my body, and Sky’s already seen a lot of me, so I’m not embarrassed that I sent it on that front. It’s more that I would have never sent it if I knew he was on the fence about us. I was hoping for a really great reaction from him, not no reaction at all.
“Harper?” Jesse prompts again, bringing me back to the now.
I sigh then, because while I don’t want to get into this in the middle of a grocery store, there’s no point in trying to withhold what’s on my mind from Jesse. He knows me well enough by now to tell when I’m lying. Better to confide in him than make him pull it out of me.
“No, I can’t find what I’m looking for,” I say.
“What is it? Can I help?”
I refresh my phone one more time. No new emails.
“You remember that guy I said I met on the plane?” I ask. Since my birthday, I haven’t really mentioned Sky again to Jesse, but he nods now.
“We’ve been emailing once a week. And I haven’t heard from him the past week and a half.” As soon as I say this out loud, I feel like I’m completely overreacting. It really hasn’t been that long. Although time does seem to slow down in anticipation of something. Not only does Sky know this, but he’s the one who made the observation in the first place. Which makes me think he should be sensitive to it.
“Has he ever responded late before?” Jesse asks.
“Once,” I say. “But just by a couple of days. And that was before we decided we’d write on Wednesdays.”
“Can you call him?” he suggests.
“I don’t have his number.”
“Have you tried emailing him?”
“Yeah, yesterday. I don’t want to be annoying and seem needy by emailing him again.”
“Wondering why you haven’t heard from someone who told you he’d write to you once a week isn’t needy, Harper,” Jesse tells me. “It’s a normal reaction to finding out someone hasn’t followed through on something he told you he would do.”
I appreciate Jesse for validating how I’m feeling. It makes me more accepting of my current emotional state. Although now that I know I’m not overreacting, I feel worse that Sky hasn’t written.
“I’m sorry you have to sit in the uncertainty,” Jesse says. “But it sounds like that’s all you can do.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “If it helps, I’ll sit in it with you.”
“Thanks,” I say, letting him walk me out of the produce section.
—
“I’m heading into town,” I tell Jesse.
“You want me to come with you?” He’s in his cabin reading at the dining table, and he looks up from his book and to the doorway where I’m standing.
After Jesse and I got back from the grocery store on Sunday, he suggested I wait until Wednesday to go back to town to see if Sky had written so that I didn’t drive myself crazy. I liked the idea and have stuck to it, keeping busy around the inn and checking items off my bucket list. But now that the day is here, I’m in my head again.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I should go alone.”
“You sure?” I know Jesse would stop reading and drive me into town, even though he told me last night he’s really into his current novel: The Road by Cormac McCarthy. He’s planning on giving it to me once he’s done since I just finished and enjoyed his last recommendation, East of Eden.
But I don’t want to drag him into this anymore than I have already. I talked his ear off about it even more on Sunday once we got back from the store. I didn’t let him know about the photo I sent that made me feel extra vulnerable in the face of Sky’s silence. But I did continue to vent about my frustration and confusion.
And this morning, as we were getting eggs from the barn and making breakfast, I mentioned several times how nervous I was to find out whether or not I’d have a new email today.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I say.
“You will be, no matter what,” Jesse reminds me as he goes back to his book. “Here for you when you get back.”
I walk fast into town because of the cold and also because of my sense of urgency to get the email ordeal over with. But as soon as I make it to Milk & Maple, I’m surprised by my self-control. I could pull up my email on my phone, but I don’t. I walk to the counter first and order.
As I wait at a table near the fire for my latte, I realize it’s more likely fear than self-control that’s keeping me from looking at my phone or opening my computer. And caring that much about a relationship I’m not even in yet and didn’t even want makes me annoyed with myself. It makes me annoyed with Sky for putting me in this position by not writing when he said he would. I’m even a little annoyed with fate for sitting me next to Sky on the plane when I was flying out here to take a trip for myself. I don’t want to focus on a guy right now. And look at me. Totally focused on one!
I sigh. Maybe that’s just life. You can’t pick and choose when you want to work on what. We’re constantly having to work on everything all at once: ourselves, our relationships to ourselves, our relationships to others, our emotions, our finances, our sanity. It’s a lot. It’s exhausting!
And wow, why am I on this rant in my head?
I have my latte in front of me now and my laptop out. Rip off the Band-Aid, Harper, and just check.
I pull up my email and . . . my heart stops.
There is a new email from Sky. And there’s nothing suspicious about it. At least so far.
I’m just seeing the subject line and it says: Letter Number Six. It should say Letter Number Seven because this is the seventh week. But whatever. If he were writing a letter to call off the arrangement or say he’d met someone else, he probably would have titled it differently, right?
Well, I don’t actually have any idea what he’d do because I don’t know Sky. I’m just getting to know him. One night and a handful of emails isn’t enough to really know a person. It takes time. It takes spending day in and day out with someone, as I’ve been doing with Jesse. I know Jesse.
Jesse would write something different for the email subject. Absolutely. Because he would know I’d appreciate having a heads-up before I opened a letter containing bad news.
But Sky . . . I have no clue. I guess I’m about to find out.
To: Harper
From: Sky
Subject: Letter Number Six
Date: October 31
Dear Harper,
I realized the tone of my last letter was a little depressing, so I thought I’d liven this one right up and start off with some good news. This is Letter Number Six, which means only eight more weeks until I see you!
I scan the rest of the email. It doesn’t contain an apology for not emailing me last week. And nothing about another girl or wanting to call off the pact, so he hasn’t met someone else. It’s a completely normal letter.
Am I somehow getting this letter late?
No. I read a reference to the email I sent him on Saturday. He wrote, I wanted to respond to the message you sent over the weekend, but you said don’t email twice in one week, so I resisted. That means this letter was written after that email, not before—it wasn’t delayed in the outbox in his phone or by some other unlikely but technically possible situation. And if it had been, there would be two letters in my inbox now.
No, I can firmly cross that possibility off.
So what, then?
I sit back in my chair as the revelation fully hits me. Sky didn’t . . . he didn’t even realize he missed a week. I’m not sure whether that makes me feel better or worse. On the one hand, I’m relieved that he didn’t intentionally skip sending an email. On the other, how did he forget a week?
I wouldn’t forget a week. And doesn’t he have a countdown going on his fridge? I guess he’s no longer checking it.
Wow.
I sit back in my chair as my mind races. I don’t want to overreact, but this stings. He says he can’t wait to see me, but his actions don’t reflect that. If he were as excited as he keeps saying, he wouldn’t have forgotten to write. At least that’s how I see it.
I don’t want to chew him out, and I definitely don’t want to write him off because of this issue alone. But I do want to call him out for it and let him know how I feel. If Sky and I are ever going to have something—really have something—honesty has to be at the foundation. I owe it to Sky, to myself, and to us to say that I don’t like what he did, and to share all my reasons.
