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It’s at this moment that something inside of me pops. Figuratively of course, but it’s like the air that’s been trapped using my chest as a balloon and adding pressure over the past year slowly starts escaping, and I sense all the frustration and hostility I’ve felt toward so many things—mostly her—leak out and float away.
I can’t do it anymore.
I don’t want to.
Holding grudges, ignoring her, the tension that’s been created among us and our friends, feeling this awkwardness not only toward her but toward myself—I think in many ways it’s my own reactions and emotions to her that are the problem.
But I don’t know where that leaves me, leaves us.
I don’t trust her.
Martin Luther said, “Each betrayal begins with trust.” I felt betrayed, but I can’t control her, what she says, doesn’t say, or does; all I can control is me. I don’t need to trust her in order to be cordial with her. The Dalai Lama says, “Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.”
I can be kinder to her. At least I can try.
“Do you want to go again?” she asks, taking a step toward the line for the lift.
I nod in agreement and follow her.
13
EMMA
Ididn’t think Clay could get any sexier than he already is. After all, I’ve seen him naked, but then he had to go and show me just how agile and powerful he is on a snowboard.
There’s really no other way to describe him than this: Clay snowboarding is hot.
Like so hot I could barely tear my eyes off him the entire time we were out on the mountain, from the way those snow pants perfectly fit him and highlighted the strength of his thighs to the way he handled his board, and don’t get me started on the glimpses of the guy I knew before that peeked out. Messy blond hair, pink cheeks, and a smile from ear to ear, it’s like that lightness that drew me to him in the first place made an appearance for a few hours, shined, and I just wanted to bask in it. I didn’t expect to react to him like this, yet here I am, and I’m happy the Clay I met last year is still in there somewhere. However this makes me even more nervous around him than I already was, mad that things can’t be like they were, and a little turned on just thinking about how great I know we could be together.
Then last night, after we got back, he slipped back into his brooding silent self, made us both dinner—during which I tried to engage with him, but he wasn’t a willing participant—and then he went to bed. At seven o’clock. I wouldn’t say he was mean or rude. His energy felt different, but any progress I thought we had made disappeared the second we climbed back into his truck.
Now, I’m here for the third day, and I feel about as welcome as a family of mice, although I’m trying not to let that show.
Coffee was made when I got up, but instead of fixing a cup and heading back to my room, I put the dishes away from last night, wiped down his kitchen, and found my spot on his couch. The plumber is finally able to stop by the house today. I’m certain the power was restored pretty quickly after the outage, so if the house has warmed, maybe the pipes didn’t take too long to thaw and they can see if there are any cracks.
Is it bad that I hope there are cracks so I can stay a little longer? Then again, I don’t feel overly welcome. I keep trying to think of ways to work on step one, but it feels near impossible when he hides all day. Maybe I can cook dinner for us tonight? He’d feel a little obligated to stay and talk to me, right?
Then again, who knows, and this is when the doubt sets in. As much as I thought there was once something with us, maybe from his side there wasn’t that much. I know he was into me, but maybe it was just for fun. Maybe he never expected it to grow into something more and that’s why it was so easy for him to walk away. Maybe all this time I’ve been missing him for nothing.
Then again, he made assumptions about my character without really speaking to me. Cheating is a deal-breaker for him, and I always assumed it was for me too, but looking back, isn’t that kind of what Justin was doing? Just because he ended things over and over, I’m not stupid—I know the reasons.
But I wasn’t cheating on him. I wasn’t.
How did I let things get this bad?
I’ve done nothing but stare at my computer while he’s been holed up in his office, and it’s just past eleven when the front door bursts open. Moose, who was lying next to me, immediately startles, starts barking, and then leaps over the back of the couch to make his way to the front door.
“Uncle Clay, we came to see you!” says a tiny voice I know belongs to his nephew Bryce.
Clay emerges from his office, and I drink in the sight of him. He’s in a worn pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. His feet are bare, he has scruff on his jaw, and he’s so handsome it hurts just to look at him.
And then he makes it hurt worse. He smiles full-on at his nephew as he pushes Moose out of the way and scoops him up in a hug.
“Hi, buddy.” His words are warm and affectionate.
“Sorry! So sorry,” Juliet says as she comes running through the door and slams it shut. “I told him to wait for me, but you know how he is. Between you and Moose, I will always come in last.”
“It’s fine,” he tells her as he sets Bryce down.
