Chapter Twenty #2
She laughs and looks back at the ceiling, tucking the sheets under her arms. “No.”
I glare. “Real convincing.”
She grins and runs her hands down her face, peeking at me through her fingers.
“I swear, this isn’t why I texted you.” I arch an eyebrow, unconvinced and not even remotely upset if it was the reason.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad about it.
I just thought it might be good to see you.
To catch up properly, you know? See how you’ve been. ”
I prop myself up and look at her. “I don’t believe for a second you weren’t looking for a repeat.”
She smacks my side. “Oh, shut up.” She groans and throws her arm over her eyes. “I think I’m in love with my roommate.”
“Your roommate?” Jesus, I thought I had it bad having feelings for my best friend. But living with someone you’re in love with and watching them bring other people home? “Are you going to tell her? That you, you know, love her?”
Her arm slides off her face, and she takes a deep breath. “I did. About two months ago. She said she was flattered, but…”
I wince. “Ouch.” There is nothing that smarts more than pouring your heart out to someone, only for them to tell you they don’t feel the same way. One of the million reasons I’ve kept my mouth shut when it comes to Jules.
“We’re still friends. Though I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to find a new place to live because yikes, is it awkward.”
We lie silently, listening to the city sounds coming from the street below.
I stare at the ceiling, at the tiny shadows created from the singular wall sconce beside the bed in Simone’s hotel room.
My mind drifts to another hotel in another city, in another life, with another girl.
Somehow, everything always comes back to that moment. To her. My throat feels tight.
“Julia’s engaged,” I whisper.
Simone inhales sharply. “Yeah, I heard.” Her fingers brush along my forearm in a gentle, comforting touch. I can feel her gaze. “I’m sorry, Alex.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. She’s happy.”
“Are you?”
I close my eyes, wondering how once again conversation has somehow managed to circle its way back to my happiness. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Telltale sign you probably aren’t.” Simone leans over the side of the bed, snagging some of our discarded clothes. Clearly, our romantic moment has ended. She slips on her cami, followed by her underwear, then hands me my shirt.
I pull it over my head, grateful not to be so exposed. “Thank you, Dr. Howard,” I joke.
She just shrugs and motions at the kettle on the other side of the room. “Tea?”
I nod. May as well. She fills the pot with water, plugs it in, and opens a box of locally purchased tea bags.
“I thought I was,” I tell her honestly. “Happy, I mean. At least, I thought I could be.”
Once the mugs are turned over and ready, she leans against the table and crosses her arms, giving me her undivided attention while she waits for the water to boil. “Explain.”
I draw up my knees and rest my forearms on them, leaning forward. “I thought by putting space between us, it would make it easier to forget.”
“Forget what?” she asks gently.
“Forget that I’m in love with her.”
She tilts her head and looks at me curiously. “Did it work?”
I’ve never really let myself think about it.
I guess because when I do, I realize that running isn’t really getting me anywhere.
“Maybe I just assumed it was working because I didn’t have to see her every day.
I didn’t have to see her in love with someone else.
It’s easier to pretend when it’s not staring me in the face.
And going home, all those feelings come rushing back, you know? ”
The smallest hint of a smile appears on her lips “So you stay away.”
“So I stay away.”
The kettle beeps, and Simone busies herself preparing both mugs. I hang my head and rub at the back of my neck. Staying away isn’t working.
Nothing is. And I don’t know what to do.
When Christmas comes back around, I spend it with Mason, planning our trip to see the Northern Lights.
He swears Alaska is fine, but if we’re doing this, we’re going to do it right.
So I map out all the best places in Norway and plot out a five-day trip with everything from the aurora borealis to driving the Atlantic Road.
I’m determined to make this the trip of a lifetime.
Jules spends the holidays with the Prescotts, skiing in Aspen.
She promises we can watch Alien when she gets back, and I promise her that it’s fine, but I’m pretty sure she can tell I’m lying.
I watch it with Mason instead, curled up on the couch under a thick blanket, with a plate of semi-burnt cookies that I didn’t take out of the oven in time.
When the chestburster makes its appearance, it just doesn’t feel the same.
Jules calls a few minutes before midnight on Christmas Eve.
I sit by the tree in the living room and stare at the lights while I listen to her tell me about how she almost broke her leg going down one of the beginner slopes.
Usually, hearing her voice carries a feeling of longing and an ache that settles deep in my chest. But tonight, it somehow doesn’t hurt as much.
It makes me wonder if I’m finally starting to be okay with the fact that the type of love I feel for her isn’t the same as the love she feels for me.
Or maybe I’m just numb. I can’t seem to tell the difference anymore.