Waiting for December, page 20
I rest my forehead against his, wanting to find out the answer to that. But instead I mutter, “Bumfuzzle.”
It works.
Thank God it works.
Jesse releases my hand and we both smile as we pull apart. I know nothing between us technically happened, but still, when we rejoin his parents, I feel as if I’m trying to hide a certain look on my face so they don’t think something did. Because of how absorbed I am in that task, I almost don’t hear it.
But Jesse hears it, and his parents hear it, and because they all start walking toward the front door, I turn my attention that direction, and then I hear it.
Someone is knocking.
I don’t know why I feel as if I should be the one to get it. Maybe because they all look confused, as if they have no clue who it could be, and I’ve been surprised once before. I hurry in front of them and get to the handle first.
“Special delivery.”
twenty-seven
“ARE THEY FROM your parents?” Beth is standing beside me, admiring the bouquet arrangement as I set it down on the check-in desk.
I don’t have to open the tiny note card sticking out of the flowers to know these are not from my parents. My parents would never send something this extravagant. They also wouldn’t send roses because they know my favorite flower is a lily. But you know who doesn’t know that and would send a bouquet as big as this? Only one name comes to mind.
I peek at the note card and read it fast: A rose for every day since I’ve seen you last. Only one more holiday to go. Sky
Oh, that’s so . . . so . . . My heart can’t find the right word. It doesn’t know how to react.
“Yeah, they’re from Mom and Dad,” I lie. “They miss me and wanted to mark the holiday somehow.”
“That is incredibly sweet.”
Beth buys it. Mark buys it. But Jesse doesn’t buy it, and I didn’t expect him to. I see him swallow and tug on his shirt collar as if he could use some air.
“How about we get out to that fire, huh?” I suggest. I could use some air too.
Jesse and I end up across the fire from each other because of where his parents sit down, which sucks because I was hoping to whisper an apology in his ear. So I send my message across with my eyes, body language, and facial expressions instead, and Jesse picks up that I’m saying some version of “I’m sorry. I didn’t know those were coming.”
I read him as he silently communicates something back along the lines of “It’s fine. I get it. I already told you I get it.”
Me again: “It’s not fine. That couldn’t have been fun for you to see.”
Now him: “It wasn’t. But I can handle it.”
Me one more time: “I don’t want this to ruin tonight. Today has been so perfect.”
Him: “It won’t. Don’t worry.”
Now, somehow, Jesse and I are smiling and talking to his parents again, and we seem okay. And I think the rest of the night will be okay.
Beth and I discuss Christmas decorations for the inn as we sip on the cocktails Jesse made, and shiver as snow flurries land on our heads. On the other side of me, Mark playfully curses Brendan and Jesse for developing this tradition.
Once the timer sounds, we all hurry inside and warm up by the indoor fire. Mark stokes it as Jesse retreats to the kitchen to cut slices of apple pie. He carries them out in bowls with scoops of vanilla ice cream, and we savor each bite.
After we finish, Jesse and I clear the dishes, and then we walk Mark and Beth to the door so they can get home before the snow really starts coming down. While Mark gives Jesse a hug, Beth turns toward me.
“I know I said this before, honey, but I feel it’s worth mentioning again: I’ve never seen Jesse so happy, and I know a big reason for that is because you’re here.”
Tears instantly spring to my eyes and I try to blink them away, but I don’t do it fast enough.
“Is something wrong?” Beth asks.
No, I think. Everything’s right. And that’s why I’m crying. Because I still don’t know what to do about that.
twenty-eight
WHEN I WAKE up the day after Thanksgiving, I look out my window and see that the entire property is blanketed in white. I step into boots and walk out onto my patio in my robe and a jacket, only to find Jesse already outside in a jacket and jeans.
“What do you think?” he asks, looking over.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit.
It’s gorgeous. In contrast with the snow the red barn looks bright, as if it had a new paint job, the fields are glistening with thick powder, and it’s so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.
“The first day it snows is always my favorite day of the year,” Jesse says. He leans against his railing and gathers some of the snow on the ledge with his hands, packing it into a ball. “Do you ever get snow in Atlanta?”
“Rarely,” I share. “It’s always a big deal when we do.”
It’s also always a day off, I think. A day off from school, from work, and from any other responsibilities. The thought crosses my mind that maybe that’s how I should treat today—as a day off.
Maybe today I don’t think about my dilemma. I can pick that back up tomorrow.
I walk a little farther out onto my porch in my boots so I can hear the snow crunch beneath my feet. Then I turn back toward Jesse. “I know decorating for Christmas is high up on the agenda today. But what do you think about checking off a bucket-list item and teaching me to ski or snowshoe first?”
The faint smile that appears on his lips lets me know that, as always, he’s up for the challenge.
“I’ll do you one better,” he tells me. “I’ll teach you how to snowshoe and ski, and we can check two items off your list.”
—
There’s a large shed near the barn filled with snowshoes, skis, boots, and poles that Jesse opens once we’re both dressed. Everything’s organized according to shoe size and pole height, so it’s easy for him to find our gear.
“Will one of us be out here helping the guests on snow days?” I ask as we take a seat on the bench outside the shed to put on our boots and fasten our snowshoes. Since snowshoeing is easier, we decided to start there.
“That’s how my parents used to do it, yeah.”
“Are they the ones who taught you how to do these winter activities?”
“They used to take Brendan and me up to Spruce Peak or Mount Mansfield every weekend in the winter. Those are the two mountains around here. Once they bought the inn, though, cross-country skiing through these trails became our weekend winter entertainment.” He gestures to the acreage in front of us.
“Sounds like an idyllic childhood.”
He nods and leans down to help me tighten my toe and heel straps. “What was winter like back home for you?”
“It took place mostly indoors. Picture Christmas movies with popcorn by the fire.”
“Sounds pretty idyllic too.”
“No complaints here.”
After fastening his own straps, he hands me my poles and shows me how to step into the binding, then instructs me to lead with the poles and keep my feet wider than I would when walking. After we get going, I’m surprised when he circles back to the topic and asks what kind of childhood I’d like to give my kids, if I want kids. “Do you want kids?” he clarifies.
Jesse and I have covered most topics since I’ve been here, but we haven’t covered this one; I think because it’s more normal to discuss it with a guy you’re dating than with a friend. Given that neither of us is exactly sure what category our current dynamic falls into, it makes sense we’re delving into uncharted conversation territory.
“I do want kids,” I share. “I can’t say I’ve given much thought as to what our weekends, summers, or winters would look like. That would require me to know where I plan on settling, and I’m not sure that’s Atlanta anymore, but I don’t really know. As for how I’d like to raise them, I’d love to give them unconditional love and the tools to help them be the best versions of themselves. That’s partly why it feels so important to me to figure out how to be the best version of myself first, so I have a way to help them on their journeys.”
I briefly take my eyes off the trail and look at Jesse as I ask him the same question.
“I want kids, yeah,” he says. “Several, if possible, since family is so important to me. I suppose I’m open to where I raise them, although I do love the idea of that place being here. As for how I’d like to raise them, I’ve only gotten as far as knowing I’d like to give them an example of a loving relationship to look up to. I think having that foundation is everything.”
I try not to have an emotional response to his answer, but I lose that battle fast. Jesse’s not even talking about loving me specifically, but his words make me wonder how good it would feel if he and I were to ever fully open up our hearts to each other. The idea causes my heartbeat to kick up and my breath to catch. If Jesse notices this, he doesn’t let on. He doesn’t say anything, in fact, for the rest of the loop. It’s not until we’re stepping out of our snowshoes and into our skis that it strikes me that maybe he wasn’t saying anything because the same exact thought was on his mind too.
—
“How are you feeling about the bucket list and your progress?” Jesse finally asks me another question once we reach the bottom of our first hill on skis. I watch as he climbs it, then follow his lead, angling my heels out just as he’s doing.
“I’m learning a lot about myself. But I still don’t know that I’m any closer to discovering my passion.” I pause. “What if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t,” he says with a shrug, as if it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.
I wish it weren’t such a big deal to me, but it is. I’m breathing hard, so I wait until we reach the top of the hill before I share this with Jesse.
He looks out at the snow-covered trees and then down at the slope before responding.
“I think the important thing to remember is that if you’re truly searching for answers, you need to be open to all the possibilities, not just looking for confirmation of what you think you’re supposed to find.”
Jesse’s comment hits me on so many levels. Is that what I’m doing? Am I so set on expecting my newfound passion to reveal itself in some dramatic fashion that I’ve overlooked how I’ve fallen into a career that fits me? And have I been so determined to wait for Sky that I’ve ignored all the signs that it’s Jesse who’s captured my heart?
“Are you saying I should let go of my original intentions?”
“I’m saying I don’t think it’s a bad idea to just trust the ride and see where it takes you.”
And with that he kicks off down the hill.
So much for trusting the ride. Halfway down the hill, I tumble. I wish I could say it was a casual fall, but I roll several times before coming to a stop at the bottom.
Jesse is at my side in seconds, crouching down and asking if I’m okay.
I spit out snow to answer him. “I think so,” I say, doing a quick mental scan of my body. “I just have snow in my hair, and now I’m wet and cold.”
“Here.” Jesse tugs off his gloves and brushes the snow out of my hair, then pulls off my gloves and rubs his hands over mine.
Funny thing: I’m not cold anymore. I also decide maybe falling isn’t so bad, after all. In fact, for this kind of treatment, I’d consider falling on purpose on the next hill we climb.
Okay, maybe not. The fall hurt.
Jesse brings his lips to our hands and blows on them a couple of times as if he’s trying to make everything better. And he does. Jesse always makes everything better. And he has since I got here.
He blows one final time and then looks at me.
“Better?” he asks.
I feel a burst of yearning and then a rush of something more. Something deeper.
“Better,” I grin.
Then he pulls me up and helps me get back on my feet.
twenty-nine
BY THE TIME Jesse and I make it back to the shed after our last run, the temperature has seemingly dropped five to ten degrees. My guess is the wind chill is just making it feel a lot colder than when we set out, but my teeth won’t stop chattering, and my fingers and toes are numb. At this point, I don’t think even Jesse’s magic touch could warm me up. It’s going to take more than that. It’s going to take a warm bubble bath, a cup of hot chocolate, and a crackling fire. I suggest the hot cocoa and fire idea to Jesse as we hurry to pull off our gear.
“I’m in,” he says. “Meet me in the inn in half an hour?”
“Deal.”
I beat Jesse there even though I take longer to bathe than usual. Maybe he decided to take an extra-long shower. I heard his water turn on and wasn’t paying attention to whether or not it was still running when I walked out. I was too busy trying to figure out how to get over here without undoing all the progress I made warming up in the tub. The snow started coming down again, and the wind is currently whipping through the trees, causing them to bend and blow in all directions. I decide to start the hot cocoa.
It’s ready by the time I hear Jesse walk in. Or, rather, stumble in. I’m in the kitchen, so I can’t see him, but when I hear him grunt as if he’s in pain, I hurry out into the parlor.
He’s not in pain. He’s hauling in a Christmas tree. A big Christmas tree.
“Where did you get that?” I rush over to help him carry it to the corner near the mantle.
“Last week I ordered it to be delivered. Since we have so much decorating to do today before we reopen tomorrow, I thought it would save us some time. I’m glad I did, because with today’s weather, cutting one down would be a challenge.”
He grunts again as we set it down, and the sound reverberates through me, catching me off guard.
“What do you think?” Jesse steps back to assess the tree while I assess my feelings, something I said I was not going to do today. Although maybe that was an unrealistic expectation. On an average day, it’s hard to turn off that little voice in my head. Add the extra challenge of trying to turn it off when everything Jesse is doing and saying is stirring up so much emotion and I suppose I should have known I was setting myself up for failure.
“I think it’s a keeper.” I train my eyes on the tree and not on Jesse.
“I agree.”
“Where can I find lights and ornaments?” I ask, deciding staying busy might help.
“In the hall closet.”
I head in that direction. “Hot chocolate’s in the kitchen,” I call out.
“Want soup and a grilled cheese too?” Jesse offers.
“Sure.”
When he returns with our food and drinks twenty minutes later, I have one strand of white lights untangled and all the ornaments out. I found an old record player with Christmas music in the closet too, so Nat King Cole is currently serenading us in the background.
“Where are all the ornaments from?” I ask, turning one over in my hand. They’re all different shapes and sizes, an eclectic collection that looks as if it’s been gathered over a lifetime.
“Each year we all gift each other a new one,” he tells me.
“That’s a sweet tradition.” I set the ornament down and join him at the table, stealing a glance out the window as the wind continues to whistle and howl, kicking up snow. We certainly picked the right time to ski. It would be miserable out there now.
“My parents started it in their early marriage and have kept it going since,” he tells me.
“Where did they meet?”
He swallows a bite of his sandwich, then shakes his head as he picks up his mug.
“What? You’re not going to tell me?”
“It might weird you out to hear it.”
“You can’t start a story that way! Now I only want to hear it more.”
He hesitates, then says, “They spent one holiday season working together at an inn.”
I shouldn’t have doubted Jesse. He’s right. I didn’t want to hear that. It is too weird given everything going on in my head right now.
He must read the expression on my face because he grins and says, “Told ya.”
“You know me well.”
“I do.”
I pick up my sandwich, pulling off the crust just so I have something to do besides look at Jesse. “Well, now that it’s out there,” I say softly, “tell me the rest.”
Jesse takes another sip of his hot chocolate and says, “They both got hired at an inn in Burlington during their sophomore year in college. On their first day of work, they met and hit it off right away. They fell in love with the place and with each other, and that experience taught them that one day they wanted to open up an inn together.”
My voice is even quieter than before. “That’s sweet.”
“Yeah,” Jesse echoes.
Neither of us says anything the rest of the meal.
We do go back to talking again once we get the lights strung on the tree and start hanging ornaments. But for the most part we just listen to Christmas songs, occasionally humming along to the ones we like.
Every so often Sky’s roses catch my eye. They’re still on the check-in table. I left them in here last night because I felt weird bringing them back to my room since Jesse and I walked to our cottages together after his parents left. I want to move them, but I don’t want to draw attention to them either. I haven’t figured out how to do that—I only remembered them after Jesse emerged from the kitchen—so I’m forced to live with them sitting there for now. But each time I see them, I can’t help but ruminate on the clear difference between what I have with Sky and what I have with Jesse.
Everything about the way Sky shows he cares is so big, so loud, so dramatic, and what Jesse and I have is a lot quieter. But that doesn’t mean I feel it any less.
