Tastes Like Winter (10 page)

When I look up at the glowing monitor again, I am surprised to find a
response flashing on my screen. So, what’s on for this week? One Christmas? Two
Christmas?

I respond. Red Christmas? Blue Christmas?

Jake: Wouldn’t it be Red Christmas? GREEN Christmas?

Me: Touché! Dr. Seuss would approve.

Me: One Christmas. Dad is out of town on business so it will be Mom
and me.

Jake: Business on Christmas? Curious.

I don’t want to imagine that he may be spending his holiday cozied up
with his assistant instead of busy working like he says, so I push his comment
aside and ask, what about you?

Jake: Same as last year I suppose—watch Sam open a mountain of
gifts and pretend to look interested.

Me: No gifts for you?

Jake: I’ll get some I’m sure, but Aunt B knows I like it simple and
will probably stick to clothes and books.

Me: Will I see you around at all before you go back?

Jake: Maybe. Do you want to?

Me: Yes.

Jake: Well, your wish is my command. Meet me at Harbor Side Park
tomorrow at noon.

Me: Isn’t it supposed to snow tonight and tomorrow?

Jake: Exactly.

***

The next day, I dress carefully in
thick black leggings and a long cashmere sweater. As predicted, it stormed last
night, and while the weather has already tapered off, there are a good five inches
of snow coating the ground. I pull on my black, fur-lined boots and down parka
to keep away the chill. After all, I don’t know what Jake has planned. Mom is
out doing last-minute Christmas shopping, so I jot down a quick note telling
her I went out and will be back before dinner.

I head outside and lock the door behind
me before navigating my way slowly down the icy drive. I manage not to slip
before reaching my car, which to my delight has already been cleaned off. I
suspect Mom is responsible, and I send up a blessing of thanks. Cleaning snow
off my car is one of my least favorite activities. My short arms can’t reach
the center of the roof so my tactic is a rather unsuccessful jump and swoop
motion that usually ends with me frozen and damp, and the car still unclean.

After waiting a handful of minutes for the car to warm up and giving
any remaining ice on the windshield time to defrost and melt away, I ease the
car cautiously away from the house. Growing up in New England has made me more
comfortable driving in the snow than I would imagine most people my age are,
but I still like to be safe. I drive the short distance to Harbor Side, and
when I pull into the park, Jake’s sedan is already there, idling in the empty
lot. He doesn’t notice me arriving, so after I get out of my car, I go around
to his driver’s side window and tap on the glass.

He is fiddling with the buttons on his dashboard, and my knock
startles him. He recovers quickly and grins, throwing me a thumbs-up through
the glass.

I back away, allowing him to open his door and greet me. “You ready
for some fun, my little snow leopard?”

I’m not sure why, but he loves
referring to me as various types of cats. I also can’t help but notice that he
called me “his,” which, I must admit, I do enjoy the sound of. “I sure am. Are
you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

“Your pick. Traditional snowball fight? Or sledding? I have a sled in
the trunk and that hill”—he points to the far edge of the park—“looks
like it would work.”

If I choose the snowball fight, I might end up with a face full of
snow, quite the risk, but flinging packed balls back at him sounds like fun and
might end in snow wrestling, which would be more than worth the chill. However,
if I pick sledding, there will be a lot of tiresome hiking up and down the hill,
but also a good chance I can ask him to go down with me, allowing me to feel
his body pressed up against my back.

I look at him devilishly. “Prepare for battle!”

And I dart away from him before he has
the chance to process my answer. I decide to play tactically, using the jungle
gym as a barrier. I throw myself behind the cover of the slide and begin
packing together snowballs as quickly as I can. He runs after me and copies my
strategy by positioning himself behind the playground’s merry-go-round.

I thought I had time and the element of surprise on my side, but he is
fast, and before I know it, he is flinging balls my way. The first one smacks
the slide beside my head and explodes into icy dust. Crap! He has good aim. I
wasn’t counting on that.

“You’re gunning for blood, aren’t you,
Addler
?”
I taunt, throwing one back at him. While it doesn’t come quite as close as his,
it’s not a bad first attempt.

We continue tossing snow back and forth from a safe distance, trash-talking
and egging each other on. I land a solid hit on the side of his face that
leaves him stunned, and seeing a window of opportunity, I charge at him. I
don’t have another ball prepared, so instead I throw my whole body at his,
knocking him away from the merry-go-round and down into the snow. I childishly
and triumphantly bury his face, shoving heaps of powder down into his jacket as
I go. Once he has sufficiently paid for his smack talk, I sit up, my knees on
either side of him, straddling his body. The position is intimate, and despite
the fact that his face is still covered and he must be freezing, I feel a
stiffening in his pants.

I gasp at the contact. My momentary distraction gives him time to
recover, and he twists, pulling his body over mine and throwing me to the
ground. He hovers over me, locking my wrists above my head and pinning my body
down, sinking us deeper into the snow. I cower, afraid of his retaliation and
waiting for my own onslaught, but he doesn’t move to enact his revenge. Instead
he pants heavily over me, trying to catch his breath. His cheeks are spotted
with redness, and his hair sticks up from the dampness of the snow.

“You little hellcat, you. You are so lucky you’re a girl, or I’d
totally be annihilating you right now.”

I squirm under him, trying to free myself before he changes his mind
and stops taking pity on me. The movement presses my hips up against him,
making contact again with his physical excitement. It doesn’t go unnoticed,
this time.

“Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?”

He rolls off and kneels beside me in the snow. His breath continues as
a series of sharp inhales before finally slowing and returning to a normal
pace. I don’t even try to get up, but rather I continue laying there, the
warmth in my lower belly enough to shield me from any cold. I imagine pulling
him down, kissing him hard on the mouth, and having ourselves another roll
around in the snow, but I already decided I wouldn’t throw myself at him and
risk getting shot down again. I’d rather wait for him to make the first move.
So that’s what I do, quiet on the outside, but with my mind screaming at him.
Kiss me, Jake! Kiss me!

Unfortunately, Jake does not appear to be telepathic.

After giving himself enough time to recover, he lays back on the
ground, close but purposefully not touching. “You know what would be good right
now?”

Your tongue in my mouth? I silently reply.

“Hot chocolate covered in whipped cream and piled high with mini
marshmallows.”

Wrong answer, Jake. Wrong answer. While hot chocolate is not the first-choice
liquid I’d like to be savoring right now—that honor would go to more
salivary fluids—it is one of my favorite winter staples, and I happen to
have all the
fixin’s
at home.

I sigh louder than I want, releasing some of the sexual frustration
with my outward exhale. “Okay, Jake. I wouldn’t mind some hot chocolate. Let’s
go to my house.”

We leave the park, and I instruct him to follow behind me in his own
car. I still have a little while before my mom should be returning from her
shopping trip, but I plan to cut the evening short so that I don’t have any
untimely run-ins between the two. That would lead to a whole lot of questions
that I have no desire to answer, if I even could.

When we arrive, I shuffle him into the kitchen and park him on a barstool
at the counter while I go heat up the milk.

I pull the whipped cream from the refrigerator and the marshmallows
from the pantry and set them in front of him. “You are in charge of these. No
skimping.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I pull two mugs from the cabinet by the sink and place them next to
the stove.

“Emma? You home?” I hear Mom shouting from the doorway.
Damm
it! She’s early.

“Yes, Mom! I’m in the kitchen!” I glance at Jake, and he looks
delighted by the possibility of another encounter with Martha, his new best
friend.

“Shut your eyes, and keep them shut! I’m bringing in gifts, and I
don’t want you peeking while I carry them upstairs.”

Jake chuckles and motions for me to comply with her orders and lower
my lids.

“All right. They’re shut. You can come in.”

I hear her moving through the house, and once her footsteps signal
that she is ascending the stairs, I open my eyes again. Jake is laughing at me.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You wipe that smirk off your face right now,
or you’ll be drinking your hot chocolate without any of those.”

I point to the can and bag in front of him, and looking worried, he
circles his arms around his treasures, and pulls them close to his body,
protecting them. Mom casually walks into the kitchen as I pour the steamed milk
into our mugs.

When she sees Jake at the counter, joy overcomes her. “Jake! How nice
to see you again!”

“Hello, Martha. It’s nice to see you, too. You look lovely today. Have
you done something different with your hair?”

The way he insists on charming the pants off her is eye-roll inducing.
He is so full of shit.

“Why yes! It was time for a change, so I went bold and let my
hairdresser have at it. It’s so sweet of you for noticing.”

My mother may be more into Jake than I am. When she came home from the
salon last week, I complimented the new do, and she wasn’t nearly as
appreciative of my recognition.

“What are you kids up to? Hot chocolate? Sounds delicious!”

“Would you like us to fix you a cup?” Jake helpfully volunteers.

I panic for a moment, afraid that she will say yes and I will have to
spend the next half hour watching the pair of them charm each other and praying
Jake would spend as much effort charming me as he does her. Thankfully, she
takes mercy on me and politely excuses herself to take care of a few things in
the office. I love you, Mom!

But knowing now that she is within earshot in the other room makes me
self-conscious. We drink our cocoa at the counter, sticking to safe topics like
what the next semester has in store.

“When will you get final grades?” I ask.

“Not sure. Probably not for a few weeks.” He shrugs.

“How do you think you did?”

Another shrug.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Does that shrug mean you think you did
good or bad?” I challenge.

“I probably did all right.”

After emptying his mug, Jake excuses himself, saying he has to head
home for dinner. Betsy was making a roast. Of course, he makes sure to say good-bye
to my mother before leaving and telling her again how nice it was to see her.

“You are welcome here anytime, Jake. I’m so happy to see Emma has made
such a nice friend.”

He gives me another hug, but still no kiss, good-bye and heads out
into the winter wonderland.

Dinner that night with Mom is nothing short of torture as she riddles
me with questions about Jake.

“I didn’t know you and Jake were spending so much time together.”

The question is innocent enough, but I am compelled to correct her. “We
aren’t. It was one afternoon.”

She raises her brow, not believing my response. “Well he comes across as
a very nice boy, and I’m happy to see you smiling again.”

Self-conscious, I try to turn down my lips and appear less obvious. “It’s
nothing, Mom. Besides, I think he wants to be your friend more than mine. ‘I
love the new haircut, Martha’” I tease, which earns me a laugh.

“I doubt that!” She looks delighted by the fact that Jake and I may be
more than friends.
 

She pesters me for more detail throughout the meal, but I stay strong,
dodge her questions as best I can, and make it out on the other side still
alive. Things with Jake are still too unsure and too new to want to get Mom
excited over nothing. Besides, I don’t need her lecturing me like Genna has
been.

When the night ends and I head up to bed, changing into pajamas and
plugging my phone in to charge, I notice a text I missed that Jake sent hours
ago.

Jake: You’re fun.

And there is that smile again.

JANUARY

Christmas comes and Christmas goes, fortunately for us, without any
drama. I wasn’t sure what our first Christmas alone would be like, but it
turned out not too much different than normal. The pile under the tree was
larger than usual, despite the lack of gifts for Dad.

Predictably, Mom went overboard and stocked my closet full of clothes,
as well as a new pair of boots and my favorite body cream. I bought her a
pretty red-beaded necklace from the same local artist selling cards at High
Street, and she
ohhed
and
ahhed
over it as expected.

I bought Dad an obligatory tie, but I didn’t place it under the tree, for
fear that seeing it might set Mom off. I called him Christmas night to wish him
a happy holiday and to make a plan to give him his gift.

“Thank you, sweetie. I have something for you too. We can arrange a
day to get together, maybe have dinner, and exchange gifts. Does that work?” He
sounded about as excited to receive the gift as I was to give it.

“Sounds good, Dad.”

“Great. I’ll have my secretary set something up.”

Ouch.

No longer able to continue the charade of thinly veiled civility, I
begged an apology and excused myself, saying that Mom needed my help in the
kitchen.

The extended family did not come over, which was not a bad decision
considering how terribly our last meal together went. Instead, Mom and I had an
intimate dinner for two at the smaller kitchen table. It would have been
wasteful to cook an entire roast for the two of us, so we decided to go
non-traditional and had fettuccine Alfredo with broccoli and asparagus chunks
mixed in. As always, her cooking was delicious, and since she cooked, I
volunteered to do all of the cleaning.

After eating dinner and finishing cleanup, I caught her sitting in the
glow of the tree lights, staring thoughtfully out the window. A Nat King Cole
Christmas album played softly in the background. When I joined her on the couch
and asked her what was wrong, she surprised me by pulling me into her.

“I’m sorry I have been so nutty lately. Learning how to live without
your father has been so hard on me.”

Her honesty choked me up, and I felt it was time for some of my own.

“I know Dad is gone now, but Mom, hasn’t he been gone for a while?”

She looked down at my face in shock.

“Sometimes I forget how observant you are.” She caressed my cheek and
pulled me down so that my head rested in her lap and she could rub my hair, the
way she did when I was younger. “But you’re right,” she continued. “He has been
distancing himself for years, and I am so, so sorry for that.”

“It’s not your fault.” The words were out of my mouth, and while I
hadn’t previously realized it, somewhere along the way I’d forgiven her. It’s
not her fault she fell in love with a man who couldn’t love her back the way
she needed. I never should have blamed her, and I am sorry I did.

“You’re his daughter, and he loves you.
You don’t deserve the way he has treated you.”

“Well, neither do you, Mom. Neither do you.”

Her fingers stilled in my hair before continuing their caress. “Yes,
and I’m trying to learn to recognize that. I promise things will get better
around here.” Her words were soft, but they were covered in hope, and it filled
my heart.

“All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I will be, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. I will be.”

“Mom?” I faltered.

I wanted to ask her about Jake and see if she had any motherly advice,
but I was afraid of what she would say. Are Jake and I like Mom and Dad? Can he
not love me the way I need to be loved? Being with Jake is amazing, and the
more time we spend together, the more I fall for him, but I am so scared. What
if I get too close, and one day, he decides to distance himself again? If his
push and pull is a game, how much can I handle? How much is too much before I
have to decide it’s not worth it?

I thought of his words that night in the city. Don’t fall for me,
Em
. I don’t deserve it. What if it’s not a game, and he
does feel that way? Can someone change and heal and open themselves up again? I
looked up at my mom and wondered if she will ever be able to open herself back
up and love again.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Do you think people can overcome their pasts?”

She didn’t answer for a while, and I appreciated that she took her
time to consider her answer. “Yes. I do. It comes quicker for some than others.
But I think if you have a good reason to face your demons and try to heal, it
makes it easier.” She smiled. “I have you.”

She thought I was asking about her, and in some ways, I suppose I was,
so I didn’t correct her.

“Did you and Jake leave any hot chocolate behind the other day?”

I nodded.

“Great. I’ll go make us some.”

I watched her leave, listening to Nat sing “Silent Night”, while deep
in thoughts of my own.

***

Wrapping up the season, Mom and I decide to make a trip to Target to
bring in the New Year. She likes to buy next year’s Christmas decorations when
stores have everything marked seventy-five percent off at the season’s end.

She holds up the umpteenth tree ornament to gauge my opinion. “What do
you think of this one?”

I shrug. “Mom, they are all starting to look the same to me.” I yawn,
bored. “Since they are so cheap, why don’t you get them all?”

She looks at me, confused, as if I have spoken an alien language.
“Because, Emma, we don’t need them all.”

Of course not! Why didn’t I think of that? I roll my eyes and reply, “‘Need’
and ‘want’ are two very different concepts. Speaking of which, I need more shampoo
and tissues. I’m going to go grab those while you ponder the ever-important
question of Rudolph with his glowing red nose or snowman with his bright orange
carrot stick.”

Distracted, she waves me off with a flick of the hand and returns her
gaze to the red and green glittering shelf. I grab a
volumizing
bottle of the first shampoo brand I see and pick up a new stick of deodorant
while I am at it. I aimlessly read the pink-and-white label while I proceed to
the paper goods aisle.

Jake is standing in front of the same tissue display I am heading
towards. At first I don’t recognize him, as this is one of the last places I’d
expect a run-in. His hair is damp, and his jacket wet with snow. The skies must
have opened up sometime between greeting cards and wrapping paper, unbeknownst
to me. With a few storms already under our belts, it looks like we are in for a
long and snowy winter this year.

Jake looks intently at the boxes in front of him, studying them as he
would one of his philosophy exams. As if sensing my presence, he raises his
head and our eyes meet.

“Hey.” His face lightens, and he looks happy to see me.

“Hi. I was wondering if I’d see you again before you head back to the
city. What are you up to? Debating the values of aloe
vera
softness versus antiviral microfibers?” I joke and bump him gently in the
shoulder.

“Ha! Yeah, Sam’s sick, and I’m supposed to be getting her cold
supplies like a good adopted brother should. I’m clearly unqualified.” He grabs
a box covered in pink daisies. “Who cares if they are the wrong kind? At least
the box looks pretty. Sam will like that. What about you? What brings you
here?”

I explain my mom’s predicament in the seasonal aisle, and he laughs
heartily at my expense.

“Thanks! I’m so glad you find it endearing.”

“I do. I do.” He gives me a wink.

“How was your Christmas?”

“Good. It went as predicted.”

“Mountains of gifts for Sam?”

“Yes, but still not enough. Nothing is ever enough to please her, I
swear.”

I harrumph at that. Perhaps Jake’s relationship with Sam is strained,
and maybe that is why she doesn’t like me.

“That looks new. Was it a gift?” I gesture toward his coat.

“Yeah, Uncle Dan gave it to me. What do you think?” He does a quick
spin so I can take in the full effect of the jacket, and I giggle. God, he is
sexy when he acts goofy.

“It looks great! A very flattering fit.”

“Why thank you. Your fit is also flattering.”

“Well, my jacket isn’t new.”

He shrugs in response.

“Well, I should probably get back to my mom. She’ll be looking for
me.”

Before I leave, he opens his arm,
inviting me into a hug. Hugging Jake is still relatively new, and today the
embrace lingers, lasting a few seconds longer than ‘just friends’. My belly
warms with the now familiar sensation, and I find myself praying he would
either make a move or be done with it and stop torturing me. Getting turned on
by every little caress is starting to wear me out.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, and while he pulls away, I sense a new
and different hesitation in him.

His hand slides down my arm and meets my fingers as I turn to leave. As
my grasp is about to slip away, he pulls me back, brings his other hand to my
cheek, and his lips down on mine in a soft kiss.

My eyes shut, startled by the connection. If you had told me our first
kiss would be in the tissue aisle of Target, I wouldn’t have believed it for a
minute. Yet despite my surprise, I find my mouth opening to his. The edges of
his lips are still ice cold from being outside so recently, but it melts slowly
as my warmth seeps into him. The kiss lasts an instant before he gently steps
back.

“Bye.” He speaks with a rough voice, but there is nonchalance in his
posture, as if nothing unusual has happened between us.

“Bye?” My voice holds question, but I am still too in shock.

He walks away, and in a daze, I return
to my mom’s side, a giant smile now plastered across my face. I reach for a
bunch of shiny, plastic mistletoe and throw it into our cart.

“Now that’s my girl! What do you think of this one?” And she holds up
another ornament, grinning with joy that I’m showing a little Christmas spirit.
I add the shampoo and deodorant to the cart, and it dawns on me that I never
did get a box of tissues. Still stunned, I trace a finger along my mouth,
savoring the taste of his winter still on my lips.

***

I don’t see Jake again before classes start and we are both submerged
in our schoolwork; me, high school—him, college. Chatting online is
something; however, without face-to-face interactions, our conversations have
again fallen flat.

I was hoping that now that he kissed me, our relationship would move
forward more quickly and the weirdness he clings to would wear off. But it’s as
though nothing happened, and worse, as soon as we begin discussing anything of
depth these days, his messages turn cryptic. He usually signs off shortly after
that.

I didn’t tell Genna about the kiss. It’s
wrong not to, but I still don’t know what is going on between Jake and me. When
I attempt to explain it to her, she frustrates me by trying to make sense of
it. She is such a guy in that way. She doesn’t understand that sometimes all I
need is time to vent and get things off my chest. I’m not looking for an
answer. I am not even sure there is one to be had.

She is also still stuck on his high
school reputation as a bad boy, and no matter how many times I have told her
that Jake is not like that now, she holds firm that I should be careful. So,
this year I have gone from having a best friend that I could talk to about
anything to having one that I don’t want to talk to at all, at least not about
the things that matter most to me these days. It sucks, but in a way, I guess I
should get used to it. She will be leaving for college in a little more than
six months, and I need to prepare myself.

What else haven’t I told Genna? Well, I didn’t tell her about the copy
of Wuthering Heights I discovered the day after Jake and I kissed, tucked into
my cubby along with the question:

Heathcliff or bust?

No
freakin
’ way was I going to try to sort
that one out with her. I can’t even imagine what her response would be. Hell,
two weeks later and I don’t even know what my own response is.

One thing is for sure. The structure behind Jake’s behavior is
becoming more apparent as the months move on. Pull. Push. Forward. Back. What
I’m still not sure of is if he is cycling because of simple cowardice or a
deeper fear. Or maybe he’s still playing and not that into you, my low
self-esteem pipes up.

When I pair this novel with the
previously gifted Ethan
Frome
, I can see a pattern.
We covered Bronte in English last year, so I am already familiar with many of
Wuthering Height’s themes. It is full of internal conflict—struggles of
love, life, and revenge. Much of the character’s story is haunted by ghosts of
the past. I think about the tragic loss Jake faced and possible ghosts that
might be holding him back. He did tell me not to fall for him, and maybe this
is his way of reinforcing that message, that he’s undeserving.