Chapter Fourteen
183 days until graduation
My first Thanksgiving, not only in America, but ever, is quite lackluster if I do say so myself.
Logan decided to host a Thanksgiving dinner for the two of us as well as the girls—Genevieve, Winnifred, and Eloise—to mark the occasion of my first true American holiday.
Not only have I had to eat more food than I ever have in one sitting solely because of tradition, but I’ve also had to watch Genevieve and Winnie push food around their plates for most of it. Both have barely eaten anything the entire dinner.
Genevieve and I haven’t spoken since I saw her at the bookstore, which in part has to do with the fact that she’s been avoiding me, but also because I don’t know what I would say to her.
“How do you like it, Jameson?” Eloise asks as I take another bite of turkey.
Most of these foods I’m familiar with, so the meal itself doesn’t seem completely barbaric.
I look up, breaking out of my thoughts. “I don’t know if it’s good enough to have an entire holiday based around it, but it’s okay.” The table goes quiet again.
Wren had called Logan into the kitchen a few minutes ago, and the fact that Logan is momentarily missing from the table is abundantly clear by the lack of conversation.
Winnie looks uncomfortable, dangling her fork over her plate as she looks back and forth between the entrance of the dining room and the table.
Genevieve doesn’t look up from her plate now that I’m sitting across from her, and the only reasonable explanation is she’s embarrassed.She feels as if our interaction at Meet in the Margins has made her too vulnerable, and I can tell it’s putting a strain on her competitive nature.
When Logan comes back to the table after grabbing drinks for everyone, the environment instantly becomes more lively. Everyone sits up, preparing for the next conversation he brings to light.
“What’s with the silence?” He asks the group as he pulls out his chair and sits back down.
Nobody says anything.
“Okay…” He whistles slowly. “Is there some type of feud I don’t know about?”
Eloise speaks up first. “I think there’s been a silent war happening for quite a while now.”
I involuntarily look at Genevieve, who still hasn’t looked up from her plate.
“I think we need everyone to speak their piece,” Winnie suggests, dropping her fork onto her plate.
“That’s a great idea,” I say, which makes Genevieve look at me for the first time, though she doesn’t make eye contact. “Don’t you agree?” I direct the question toward her.
“I don’t see what difference talking about it will make,” she replies curtly.
“It might not make one, but don’t you think it’s worth a shot if it means our friends have a chance to express their emotions without feeling trapped in the middle?”
Genevieve doesn’t answer at first, but when she looks over at Winnie, who’s nodding in encouragement, she relents. “Fine.”
“Jameson and Gen need to be the last to go since they are the parties of conflict,” Logan says, then points a butter knife around the table. “So, who’s going first?”
“I think I should, since I feel least involved in this situation,” Eloise says, looking between Genevieve and me.
“Everyone gets three sentences to express their feelings, after that, nothing from this conversation will be brought up again,” Logan declares the rules quickly before motioning to Eloise with his butter knife. “Let’s hear it, E.”
Eloise takes a breath before starting, “I respect both parties, but I obviously have biases.” Genevieve smiles at the fact. “While I think the competition you two have going on is justifiable, I feel it is unnecessary. I feel, overall, it would be better for everyone if the two of you could come to some type of agreement to solve future issues.”
“Thank you, E.” Logan picks up his butter knife yet again, pointing it at Winnifred. “Win, you’re next.”
She can barely look at me or Genevieve. Her eyes are darting every which way before they land on Logan for a moment. He nods to her encouragingly, giving her the confidence to continue.
“I don’t like confrontation, which is probably obvious.” She winces when she realizes she wasted one of her sentences on opening remarks. “But I am a firm believer that nothing will be solved by avoidance, and if you two can’t eventually work your problems out, it’s going to take a toll on all of us. I think that, if you focused on working together rather than against each other, it would be mutually beneficial.”
By Genevieve’s facial expression, I can tell she doesn’t agree with Winnifred, but she’s only looking at my shoulder. She attempts to aim her frustration at me but refuses to look at my face.
“Okay, my turn,” Logan says, standing from his seat so he can circle the table as he speaks.
Genevieve laughs at his dramatics, but gives him her full attention, nonetheless.
“Both of you are my best friends—no matter the duration—and the rift between you two has seemed to fall on my shoulders in more ways than one. I think it’s important to recognize that I am the most unbiased of the group, and I am not picking sides. All I want is to see you both get along, because I honestly believe you could find common ground and be super great friends if you got past the rivalry.” With that, he sits back down.
I can tell that he and Winnifred have the same feelings on the situation, Logan just happens to be more upfront about it.
“Okay,” Genevieve picks up Logan’s butter knife with a smile. “Is it my turn now?” I wave her on, giving her the silent go ahead.
“I think it is ridiculous that you are all attempting to cease our rivalry, especially when I’ve already tried to explain how important this is to me, but I will not get into that. The way I go about competition is not up for your skepticism, and it’s difficult for me to even try to explain why I am the way I am, but all I know is it’s not up for your interpretation. Jameson and I are not friends for good reasons, and while I can compromise on the ground of attempting to be more civil for the sake of our friend group, that is all I am willing to give.”
I scoff, not believing she’s serious.
Genevieve immediately looks at me with a face of disgust. “Do you have something to add? Or is your cave dweller dialect all you’re willing to contribute?”
“I will gladly speak my piece.” I take the butter knife from her hold, clearing my throat. “While I understand Genevieve’s concerns and why she is hurt, I find it immature that she has not attempted to make amends on any ground or come to any type of compromise. I’m not in the business of fighting fire with fire, but it seems that’s the only way for me to get my point across without falling into the lion”s den at dinner.”
The butter knife clanks in the center of the table between all of us. There is no formal declaration, but the fallen knife seems to be enough to end the conversation indefinitely.
The delegation feels nice for a moment, but the feeling quickly vanishes.
The few weeks leading up to Thanksgiving break went by with no issues.
Jameson and I haven’t spoken since I saw him at Meet in the Margins, which I had been temporarily relieved by. We saw each other at school, and both of us had caught one another’s gaze more times than I care to admit, but other than that, I had been avoiding him like a fatal disease.
Until tonight.
Not only were the events over dinner highly unexpected, but they brought a sense of closure to everyone at the table.
I haven’t been able to look at him the same since he came to Meet in the Margins, and I don’t think I ever will. Jameson saw a different side of me that day. He didn’t see the girl who was guarded and devoted to defeating him. He saw me focused and breaking down.
I’ve been worried that it could have given him an odd power trip over me. That is the last thing I need.Except, that’s beyond my worries now that I’m sitting directly across from him, eating Thanksgiving dinner.
“Are you okay?” Eloise asks, resting a hand on my kneecap under the table.
I nod, keeping my eyes trained on the Callaghan family portrait behind Jameson’s head. None of us are talking as much as usual. There was a bit of small talk after everyone spoke their piece, but it still isn’t the type of conversation we normally have flowing.
“I’m sorry if anything we said hurt your feelings,” she apologizes, which makes Winnie catch wind of the conversation.
“Evie,” she states, forcing me to meet their gazes. “Are you upset?”
“No, no,” I respond truthfully. “I was lost in thought.”
The conflicting issue about this event Logan has hosted is that it feels like it’s supposed to be reserved for family members. Most people have Thanksgiving dinner with their family. Meanwhile, my sister is in the other room with Mae, and my parents are thousands of miles away, in two separate countries.
I’m not angry about the situation, it’s just hard to comprehend.
“Who wants pie?” Logan breaks the momentary silence.
We all nod and he disappears into the kitchen.
“Has this dinner been super awkward, or is it just me?” Jameson asks the three of us.
I look up at him, locking eyes for the first time tonight, after spending all dinner forcing myself to only look at him from the neck down. All I do is shrug. I’m not in the mood to converse with him; I don’t even bother to insult him.
Partly because I’m embarrassed, but also because I feel as if I’ve crossed a line between us, and I’m desperately attempting to backtrack.
“Genevieve.” Jameson’s rough voice cuts through the air like a hot knife, and he stands from his seat. “We need to talk.”
My eyes widen as he rounds the table, nearing my chair. “What?”
“We need to talk about this before we both explode.” He pulls my chair out from the table. “Come on.”
There isn’t much resisting I can do to his plea, so I follow him.He leads me out of the dining room into the sitting room that is hardly ever used. The last time I was in here was when Mrs. Callaghan convinced me to go to homecoming with Jameson.
I sit on the same leather chaise I did that day. “What do you want to talk about?” I ask as he shuts the glass, French doors behind us.
Jameson takes a seat on the couch across from me. The only thing separating us is a small, round coffee table. “You’re being unreasonable,” he says flatly. “And I didn’t blame you before, but now I’m getting frustrated.”
“Why?” I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. “Because we haven’t become best friends?” My sarcasm is evident.
He rolls his eyes at my exaggeration. “We both know that would never happen.”
“Then, what?” The volume of my voice raises without my permission, but I barely notice.
“You change your opinion of me daily.” He doesn’t really yell, but his voice is loud enough to prove his exasperation. “First you hate me, then you ignore me, then you push me in the pool. Finally, I think we could be civil after the night in the bookstore. I decided to give you the chance to interact, which you didn’t seem exactly angry about.” He sighs heavily. “And now you’re completely icing me out!”
He’s right. I had thought that my opinion of him has always remained constant. I thought I was doing well, hating him.But I keep slipping up, and each time, it becomes harder and harder for me to convince my brain that I hate him.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” My voice is barely a whisper, practically quivering at my realization.
“Anything you’ll give me!” He stands, running his fingers through his hair before locking his hands together behind his head. “God, Genevieve. I’ll take anything!” His voice falters, like he knows his request is a sinking ship, and the two of us might as well be captains.
His reaction fuels my reaction. I stand so he’s no longer towering over me. “I have nothing left to give you, Jameson.” My voice is pained, and I know he notices.
“Nothing left?” He asks with a satirical laugh. “You haven’t given me anything to begin with!”
“Because I want to hate you!” I finally break, forcing Jameson back, making his shin hit the couch.
I walk over to the bookshelves that line the far left wall, clutching onto the wooden shelves as I take a deep breath and try to recollect my thoughts.
Jameson takes a few steps forward, but I hear him sigh and stop in his tracks—as if he knows it’s not a good idea for him to approach.
“I never intended for it to be this way,” he tells me. I can tell that he’s attempting to regain his composure. “It never had to be like this.”
“What did you think it was going to be like between us?” I turn to face him. “Did you think I was going to welcome you with open arms when you’re vying for my spot as Valedictorian?” I don’t even realize I’m yelling until I bring my hands up to my face and feel how hot my cheeks are. I feel as if I’ve been set aflame.
“This wasn’t my choice!” He yells back.
“But you could have done something about it.” My teeth clench and unclench as I try to control my volume. “You’ve known since the beginning how important it was to me.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe being Valedictorian was my dream too?” His voice is full of hurt. I know his intentions aren’t to hurt my feelings, but it sends a dagger straight through my heart.
Jameson is overwhelmingly good. Deep down, I know it, but every time our lives overlap in a new way, it’s like we’re weaving ourselves a dangerous bracelet, and while I know Jameson wishes it could be one of friendship, it can’t be.
It never will be.
I can’t help what comes out of my mouth next. “Well, maybe you should have stayed in London.” I’ve gone completely numb, to the point where my cheeks don’t feel like they’re on fire anymore.I’ve dipped myself into a cold bath of animosity, and it’s chilling me to the bone.
“I don’t understand what you wanted me to do, Genevieve.” He runs his hands roughly over his face. “I never knew I would be competing against someone until you were sitting next to me in the office.”
I feel tears well behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “You could have defended me. You never did, not once.”
“I told you I was sorry on the first day!”
I roll my eyes. “You did that to placate me.”
He sighs, as if I’m not understanding. “I did that because I understand where your frustrations are valid, and I don’t want to take this victory away from you.”
“You already did!” I’m almost at the point of screaming. “You took away my victory the moment you got here.”
Jameson takes another two steps, nearing me yet again. This time he doesn’t stop until he gets within arms’ length. “I know you want me to be the villain in your story, I get that, but if you think for a second that I would ever intentionally make you feel lesser than you are, then you are completely fucking wrong, love.”
There he goes again with the nicknames.
“Stop it.” My eyes well as he takes another step closer. “Jameson.”
The air between us thickens when he doesn’t listen. He takes another step, and my breaths become shallow at his proximity. Our feet are nearly touching, and if I leaned forward at all, my forehead would hit his chin.
His height is intimidating. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because with my 5’8” frame, he towers several inches above me.
Jameson’s eyes lock with mine, and my heart spring-loads itself in my chest. I can hear it beating in my ears.The way he looks at me makes me feel like my skin is on fire, in danger of melting right off. Then, he grips both of my wrists.
He leans down enough to make the breath I was inhaling catch in my throat. “If you want to hate me, that’s fine.” His lips brush against mine, making me gasp as I feel his breath against my lips. “Just don’t forget, Genova, you and me.” He forces my wrists to connect with the bookshelf behind me. “We bleed the same.”
“Jameson.” The faint sound of his name is barely audible, and by the time I gain the courage to say more, he’s already backing away from me and releasing my wrists from his grasp.
He turns toward the door with the slightest smirk on his face before he makes his way toward the French doors and out of the room.I practically fall onto the leather chaise in front of me, my heavy breathing the only sound echoing off the walls as I comprehend the fact that I came within millimeters of kissing Jameson.
All it would have taken was one brisk movement, and I would have kissed my biggest rival.