Chapter 7
Jenna
Seeing Nate talking to Abby hurts more than I thought it would. I want him to ignore her. To treat her the way he treated me, with a dismissive “it’s better this way” as he walks off into the sunset.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, since my window is up, and she doesn’t look at me at all, so I don’t have to wonder whether or not I should acknowledge her. Of course I’m going to. I’m not going to snub the woman who is going to be my shop neighbor.
She has a candy store, and we’re not competitors at all. In fact, we complement each other, but I want to keep it that way.
When Nate gets in, I don’t look over. I don’t know what I’m doing in here. I should have stuck with my no. He already had the opportunity to break my heart, why am I putting myself on a path where he could do it again? It seems like the dumbest thing I could ever do.
“So Abby owns the shop next door?” he says quietly as he puts the truck in drive and checks over his shoulder for oncoming traffic.
I look at the decorations hanging over the sidewalk, sparkling Christmas lights promoting cheer. The huge Christmas tree in the middle of the town square, which had fallen over and trapped Jake under it not that long ago. It turned out well for him, since from what I understand, he and Tessa, who stayed with him until he was rescued to keep him from getting hypothermia, are now a thing.
And they make a cute couple too.
I sigh. I was once a part of a cute couple, but the other half of that couple didn’t stick.
“She does,” I say, remembering that Nate had just asked me about Abby. I don’t want to talk about Abby. At all, ever, not with Nate. He probably has no clue how many hours I spent staring at the picture of him kissing her in our yearbook when I really wanted to torture myself. It was almost pleasurable pain. To remind myself that all of my moping around was pure stupidity on my part, since he obviously did not have the same feelings for me that I had for him if he could break up with me one day and the next week be locking lips with someone like Abby.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, his tone low, curious, like he knows he didn’t do anything wrong and if I’m angry, he shouldn’t have to grovel in order to get my forgiveness.
I find maybe I am still a little bit mad about what happened eight years ago, but I’m not angry over what happened today.
“No. I guess it was just a good reminder of why I should have stuck to my no, and I shouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
“I apologized for that,” he says.
“I know. And I forgive you.”
“You’re not really acting like it.”
That makes me mad. Why should he be telling me how I should act? “No. I am totally fine with what you did. I wish you the best, and I can talk to you without being angry, but the idea that you might do it again is not something I’m willing to entertain. And so therefore, I don’t want to get too close to you. It’s that simple.”
There. I said it like a rational adult, not like the preteen I want to be, screaming at him about how he hurt me, never apologized, and I didn’t see him for eight years.
Of course, the fact that he was in California going to college for four years, and then I moved away after college for four years, explains why we didn’t see each other. It was hardly his fault.
“I see. I guess that makes sense. I don’t blame you for being leery of me. I did something stupid. And something I told you I regret.”
“I get that. And that actually makes me feel a little bit better. I’m glad you regret it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it happened or that I’m not going down that road again.”
I want to ask why he broke up with me. Why he got tired of me. I feel like if he ditched me for someone like Abby, I could never measure up to that type of person. She’s just not who I am.
He pulls in front of Christmas Tree Treats, our famous downtown restaurant and the best food in town.
I should have known he would bring me here. This was our favorite place to go, although as teenagers, we couldn’t afford to go much.
Most of our dates consisted of McDonald’s drive-through and ice skating, or swimming, or hiking. Both of us love hiking in the mountains.
“I don’t know if this is still your favorite restaurant, but I thought it would be a good place to eat tonight. Not too far to drive, and a good place to talk.”
“I agree,” I say, pushing my bitterness behind me. I want to say I’m not bitter at all, but I suppose when the subject of Abby comes up, I’m always going to have some hard feelings. Not against her, she’s probably a really nice person, and not against Nate, but just because of the whole situation and the memories of the pain.
“My parents recommended that I break up with you. They said that you were going to be here in Pennsylvania, that I was going to be in California, and that a long-distance relationship just wasn’t going to work,” he says after he puts the truck in park and puts an arm over the steering wheel, looking at me. His gaze is intense, and his face sincere. I want to believe him.
“Your parents suggested it?” That feels like a betrayal because I thought they liked me.
“Not because they didn’t like you. They loved you. They thought this was best for you. I also had a couple of other teachers say the same thing, and... I truly thought I was doing the best for both of us.”
I want to believe him. And I want that to make my heart feel better, but it really doesn’t. I...suppose maybe it does in a way, but just because everybody was telling him it was a good idea doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have at least talked to me about it.