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After I lead Jemma off the ice, she places her palms on my chest to steady herself and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Trent. This was perfect.”
Twenty-Five
Jemma
It’s New Year’s Eve, the champagne is flowing, my dad has just finished giving his usual toast to wish everyone good health and wealth in the New Year. He lowers his glass, a bright smile still plastered on his face. My mom stands next to him, dressed in a silver gown fit for a ball.
Jordan wedges herself between my parents and three brothers, as my uncle tells all of us to gather as a group for a family photo. It’s tradition to keep our Christmas tree up until after the start of the New Year, as it’s our tradition to host a party at our farm. Practically everyone in town is invited to the affair, everyone dressed to impress and vying for my father’s attention.
I squeeze between my parents, and my dad hugs me close to his side. He’s all smiles, and his breath stinking of his favorite holiday combination, whiskey and cigars. Uncle Cameron snaps a few pictures of my family. It’s nice to be home again, but the distance has made me realize I made the right decision to attend Strickland University. This would have been my life if I’d stayed, and it wouldn’t have been a bad life, just not the one I wanted for myself.
After we finish taking pictures, my dad says, “I’m so proud of you for pursuing your dreams, Jemma. So is your mother.”
I smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
My dad walks away to talk to his friend when my phone dings with a new text message from Trent. A goofy picture of him wearing a Santa hat, shirtless except for a pair of red boxers, pops up on my phone. He’s so sexy and funny. I still can’t believe he’s all mine. And that everything worked out the way it did for us.
I smile so wide my cheeks hurt and raise my phone to take a selfie of me blowing him a kiss. My cheeks are flushed from the heat in the house. There’s a dusting of glitter on my face from when Jordan applied a new eyeshadow she’d forced me to wear for the party.
Jordan saunters over and hands me another glass of champagne. “Drink up, sis. You’re not drunk enough.” She tips her head back and chuckles. “You have a lot of catching up to do with this crowd.”
I survey the living and dining room, where what feels like hundreds of people are drinking and talking loudly over the holiday music. My stomach churns when I lift the glass to my lips. Every time I’ve attempted to drink tonight waves of nausea have made it impossible to get down more than one sip.
“You okay, Jem?” Jordan stares at me, a curious look on her face. “You’re kind of yellowish.”
I cover my mouth, the contents of my stomach apparently attempting to make an appearance. “No, I haven’t been feeling good all day. I think I’m going to be sick.”
Jordan takes the glass from my hand and sets hers down on the table along with mine, before leading me through the crowded house and into the upstairs bathroom, which connects our bedrooms. I flip up the top of the toilet seat and drop to my knees in front of it. My sister is already behind me, gripping my hair in her hand.
She rubs my back with her free hand, moving in a circular motion meant to calm me. “It’s okay, Jem. Let it all out.”
After I finish throwing up the little bit of food and drinks in my stomach, I wipe my mouth with a piece of toilet paper and sit on the tiled floor. Jordan joins me, patting my knee to reassure me that she’s here for me. The room is spinning, even though I have nothing left in my stomach.
“I think I have food poisoning,” I confess.
“I doubt it. You ate the same food as everyone in the house, and no one else is sick.” Jordan reaches into the top vanity drawer and wipes the sweat from my forehead with a hand towel. “You look horrible, babe. We gotta get you fixed up. I think there’s some Imodium in the medicine cabinet. Hang on for a sec.”
I lean back against the cold, tiled wall, which feels good with all the heat circulating through my body. I’m burning up, my skin flushed and growing damper by the second. I haven’t felt good all day, or even week, but this hit me like a ton of bricks.
Jordan fills a small paper cup with water and drops two pills into my hand, telling me to take them. I do as she instructs, the water hurting my stomach.
“You think you can go back downstairs, or do you want to get some sleep?”
