Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
The emergency is Kristen. Apparently, she and Hailey got into a screaming match on the dance floor and the bouncers kicked both of them out. And now Kristen is crying into a pint of vanilla bean H?agen-Dazs on Noémie’s couch. Corie and Wayne flank her shoulders. I’m kneeling in front of her, telling her that it’s okay to be upset, that she’s better off without Hailey. Noémie sits on the far end of the couch. Her expression is blank as she absentmindedly pets Céline.
In five minutes, it will be the New Year. We’re off to a great start.
Corie kisses Kristen’s temple. “Hailey sucked. Good riddance, I’d say. She wasn’t even hot.” Kristen bawls harder.
Noémie rises from her seat. “I … I’m going to sleep. You guys are all welcome to stay the night. I have guest rooms, but if you prefer the couch, there are some throws in the chest.” Noémie cocks her head towards the wooden storage crate near the window.
“Thanks so much, Noémie.” Wayne smiles sadly at her.
Noémie returns his smile for a second, and then she turns to leave the main room. She doesn’t even look at me.
I know I should stay with Kristen, but I owe Noémie an apology. And while I hate to have hard conversations, I can’t sweep what I did under the rug. Noémie is my friend, and what I did to her was wrong on so many levels. I would understand if she never wanted to talk to me again. I would understand if she asked me to move out. I have to own up to what I did and beg for her forgiveness. Hopefully, she forgives me. I don’t want to imagine a life without her—without her friendship.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” I say, standing up.
Wayne’s giving me a look that says, Girl, where the fuck are you going? But he doesn’t say anything aloud.
I catch up with Noémie just as she’s reaching to open the door to her bedroom.
“Hey, Noémie, can we talk?”
Noémie makes a sound. It’s the kind of noise someone makes when they’re annoyed—a cross between a groan and a grunt. She turns and looks at me. Her grey eyes seem vacant—tired. “What do you want, Jordan?”
“I … about what happened?—”
“I can’t talk about this right now, but Happy New Year,” she says, opening her bedroom door. She steps inside and closes it behind her.
I stare at the door for way too long before making my way back downstairs to console my friend.
Kristen falls asleep minutes before one, and Corie decides to sleep beside her on the couch. Wayne announces that he will be sleeping in the same guest room he used when he housesat over the holidays.
As Wayne and I head up the stairs, he asks, “What happened between you and Noémie? What did you do?”
I don’t respond. I go to my room.
Wayne follows me and tugs on my arms. “Seriously, spill the tea. Something is off. What happened?”
I shrug out of his grasp and throw myself down on my bed. Usually, I change out of any clothes I wear outside before going anywhere near my bed, but I’m too drained to care. Staring up at the ceiling, I wonder if Noémie is still awake. If she is up, is she reanalyzing all of our past interactions, looking for further evidence of my predation? Is she reconsidering our friendship?
“I fucked up,” I say, rubbing my eyes.
The bed dips beside me. Wayne’s face hovers over mine. Concern wrinkles his forehead. “What happened?”
I tell him what happened, but downplay what I felt in the moment.
“I told you not to make any moves on Noémie. I’ve begged you not to,” Wayne says, sighing loudly. “But … maybe if you tell her how you feel that will make everything better.”
“Tell her how I feel?”
“You care for her, right? Like, more than just a friend?”
I don’t answer him. Telling Noémie that I have feelings for her would not help the situation. It would only make things worse.
“I made a mistake, and I won’t do it again,” I say.
Wayne groans and shoots up to his feet. “Whatever, I tried.” He leaves my room, shutting the door behind him.
The next few days, I barely see Noémie. Actually, it’s worse than that. Noémie switches her day shifts for nights, so we really don’t see each other except in passing. When Noémie is home, she hides out in her bedroom, only leaving to work out in the basement or grab a delivery from the front door.
I’ve tried talking to her, but each time I manage to get her alone, she finds an excuse to escape. I worry that she’s scared of me. I worry that I’ve ruined everything. I start to expect the worst—that Noémie will ask me to move out. And I can’t blame her. She’s got every right to not want to be around me. I would understand.
By Saturday afternoon, I decide that I can’t anymore—I need to talk to Noémie. The coldness is killing me.
Heart racing, I ascend to the top floor and knock on her bedroom door. Noémie tells me to come in. I’m taken aback by her tone, it’s upbeat—happy.
I step inside and scan the room. It’s the first time I’m seeing it. The walls are a muted beige. Exposed wooden beams section the ceiling, giving the room cozy cottage vibes. The drapes and the large area rug are a soft grey colour like Noémie’s eyes. Most of the wood furnishings are bleached. To be expected, there are pops of orange everywhere—the bedding, the cushions, and the artwork. The portrait I gifted Noémie with on Christmas is mounted on the wall next to a slim bookshelf and an armchair.
“Hey, what’s up?” Noémie asks.
Blinking, I turn my gaze on her. For a moment, my mind goes blank, and I forget how to breathe.
Noémie’s dressed in a dark-blue romper with a gold chain belted across her waist. She’s sporting a full face of makeup. Smoky eyeshadow makes her eyes pop—they look more silver than grey. Her lips and nails are painted in her signature colour. Her long auburn hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail. There’s a pair of teardrop earrings with stones the colour of a sunset laid out on the dresser. Noémie reaches for them. “Jordan, I have somewhere to be, so?—”
“Do you want me to move out?” I blurt. Fuck, I hadn’t meant to start with that question—the plan was to apologize first.
“What?” Noémie almost drops her earring. She frowns at me. “Why are you asking me this? Do you want to move out?”
Okay, so this is definitely not how I saw this conversation going. But I’m so confused, isn’t Noémie mad at me?
“You’ve been ignoring me,” I say, swallowing and scratching the back of my neck. “I figured you were mad and avoiding me because of what happened on New Year’s Eve. I … I don’t know what I was thinking, and I’m so sorry, Noémie. What I did was not okay, and I …” My voice cracks. There’s a lump in my throat, and I’m not sure I can speak past it. I look down at my socked feet.
“Jordan, it’s okay,” she says. “We were both a little tipsy. It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“It really is though.” My stinging eyes snap up to hers. “I know what it feels like to …” Her eyes widen with understanding, and I can’t finish my sentence. It’s too hard. This is not something I talk about. I can feel the tears gathering to drop. I turn to leave, but a hand around my wrist stops me.
“Jordan,” Noémie says, her voice is more tender than I’ve ever heard it before. When she twists me around to face her, I fall into her arms and cry.
It’s so pathetic—I’m pathetic. But I can’t stop.
Noémie wraps her arms around me tightly. “Jordan, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeats. “And I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you, but I guess I was kind of freaking out and embarrassed. Like, you’re one of my closest friends, and I just—I don’t know. Things got kind of weird, and I panicked a bit. But I should have talked to you. I’m sorry too.”
I’m glad she’s not asking about what I revealed to her. I think she knows I don’t want to talk about it. It’s hard to pretend something didn’t happen if I speak about it.
Sniffling, I step out of her arms and wipe my eyes. The shoulder of her romper is wet from my tears.
“Yeah, communicating would’ve been good,” I say, clearing my throat. “But I’d rather walk into traffic than have a tough conversation sometimes.”
“I guess we are the same in that sense,” Noémie agrees. “Moving forward, let’s make a promise to always be honest with each other. Maybe we can both try to communicate better instead of running away.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Noémie looks at me expectantly, as if she’s waiting for me to expand and say more. But there’s nothing more that I can actually say. I can’t be completely honest with Noémie. I’m head over heels in love with the woman, and she will only ever see me as a friend.
Then again, could the reason for Noémie’s panic be that she’d wanted me in that moment too? Thinking back, I remember how she’d inched towards me and said my name, almost pleading. I remember how she licked her lips. I remember how she gasped and shivered. If I kissed her, would she have kissed me back? Would we have stopped at just one kiss or would Noémie have let me go further?
Was Noémie freaking out because she’s questioning her sexuality? Could it be that she possibly wants me too? Kristen said Noémie looks at me like I hang the moon. If I told Noémie the truth … If I was completely honest with her, what would be the outcome?
I think about Noémie telling me to go for what I want on the night I met Francois. More than anything, I want her. I want to be with her in every way, but I’m so scared of opening myself up to heartbreak again. But I’m choking on my feelings for her. I’m already hurting so much right now, and we aren’t even together. So maybe I should just take the risk and be honest.
“Noémie, I?—”
The doorbell rings.
Céline hops off the bed where she’d been sleeping and begins to bark. She paws at the door, her tiny nails scratching the wood.
Noémie’s gaze drops to the shoulder of her romper. It’s still wet from my tears. “I’m going to have to change,” she says. “Jordan, can you please let Felix in?”
Felix? The douchebag from the Christmas market? What’s he doing here?
All my muscles tense. “Yeah, sure,” I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant. “You guys going out?”
“Yeah, for drinks,” Noémie replies, disappearing into her walk-in closet.
“Like a date?” I ask, knowing that I really don’t want to hear the answer.
“Yeah,” Noémie says. “Like a date.”