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I spent the rest of the day vegging and trying not to think about James. But, of course, I did just the opposite. I went over everything that happened again and again, combing through the details, trying to enhance and remember those that were blurred with drunkenness. Trying to make sense of him, to imagine what he might be feeling.
Yeah, right. I couldn’t even figure out what I was feeling!
Was he running away because he was ashamed, like me? Because he felt something he was afraid of feeling? Or did he really not care at all? Was I just projecting my own feelings on to him? And if I was, what did that mean about how I felt?
I wanted to scream, to run away from my thoughts, but wherever I went they followed.
I waited another day for the weather to clear and decided it was time for me to go. Maybe the air in New York would cleanse me. But before I left, I drove by Tessa’s for a final dose of girl talk and a big hug.
I picked her up and drove us to the coffee shop on main street, debating whether or not it would be a good idea to tell her everything that happened as I drove. She knew about Dennis—I’m sure everyone knew about Dennis by now—but she didn’t know about what happened on the side of the road on the way back home.
The wheels crunched to a halt on the hard-packed snow as I pulled into a parking spot.
"All right," Tessa said. "What is going on with you?"
"What do you mean?"
We got out of the car and walked to the coffee shop. "Please, girl. I could hear that look on your face over the phone. What happened with James after you guys left?"
I glanced at her in shock.
"Oh shit!" she shouted, just as we walked inside. That drew a few stares and a few shaking heads from a table of older ladies. "I was just fishing!" she said under her breath. "Spill. Now."
"After I get something hot to drink," I promised.
We ordered and I picked the table furthest in the back and farthest from any eavesdroppers. Then I told her, with all the detail I could, what had happened.
There was a pause after I finished. It unnerved me a little bit. "What? Why are you so serious? You’re freaking me out," I said, sipping at my mocha.
"Okay, look," she said, leaning in, much too solemn for my liking. Tessa was never serious. Like, ever. "You have two options here. Option one, forget it happened, go on with your life, and in a few years neither of you will care or remember some drunk kiss the day before Christmas eve. Probably."
"And option two?"
"Do you need an option two?"
"I’d like to hear it," I said, evasively.
Tessa grimaced. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."
"What?"
"So do you like, love him? Or just want to fuck him?"
I almost spat out my mocha. "Do I what?"
"Come on. Seriously. All this ‘I hate you so much’ crap I’ve been listening to for the last five years, it’s textbook. No fucking around. Be honest. Are you or are you not in love with him?"
I held my cup with both hands and stared down at it.
"I don’t know. There is something about him, I guess. I mean I feel something," I sighed in frustration. "It’s complicated..."
"Okay, let me just shut you up right there. Option two is you go to Boston, confront him, and tell him you want to jump his bones."
"That’s not a real option," I told her. "Have you forgotten a little detail? He’s my brother."
"He’s your stepbrother. So what, you two are a little freaky. Who cares?"
"Uhm, the rest of Western society?"
