Chapter 1 #2
She wasn’t a local like me—something about her ease just told me that. She didn’t have a shoulder’s weight of obligations in Albuquerque like I did. She was just having fun. Her smile was so free I wanted to capture it, hold it, squeeze it for juice, take a shot and let it warm my blood.
And now, those same words rise in my mind, swirling like the flurry of snow around me: Tessa is perfect.
She’s different now, but exactly the same.
Her hair—a tawny brown that shines red in sunlight—flows over her shoulders, gathering snow.
The nose ring long retired, but there are still peeks of that punk girl in her mature state: a row of silver adorns the curve of her left ear, patches from bands and national parks cover the pack hanging over one shoulder, and she’s in black, scuffed Doc Martens.
Her expression is blank—with shock, or anger, or something messier like the wringing of nostalgia and regret that twists in me when I lack the self control to change the channel when she’s on TV, is yet to be determined—but I can still make out the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.
On the screen she’s all smoothed out, but now she’s real.
Each crease around her eyes taunts me, reminding me that I gave up my chance to see the Tessa I knew become this gorgeous woman standing in the doorway of our cabin.
For years I would have done anything to see her in person again.
I imagined the scenario an embarrassing amount of times, wondering if we’d cross paths at an airport or the trail of a national park.
When I went with my brother and his kids to Disneyland, I did a double take at each auburn-haired woman we passed, just in case Tessa was there with her nieces at the same time.
And yet I never imagined it happening here, at the one thing we still share.
The snow is coming harder, clumping on my eyelashes and cheeks, drifting around my immobile feet. I came up ahead of schedule, afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it up at all if I delayed, and being here January first has been close to religious to me these last few years.
I’m staring. She’s staring. Then she shakes her head like she’s waking from a dream and narrows her eyes. “You’re early. It’s not your time yet.”
Her voice is husky and tense. A thousand memories light up all over my body. How, after so long, is this woman still just right under my skin?
Maybe because I’ve never loved anyone like I loved her.
“Yeah.” I close my car door and shuffle toward the cabin. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Her head tilts. “It doesn’t matter what you thought. This is my time. Even if I wasn’t here, this is my time.”
This is why Tessa is a professor extraordinaire with a side gig as a genius talking head on TV. She doesn’t back down.
It’s hot as fuck.
“Wait,” she spits. “How often do you come on my time, assuming I’m not here?”
“I don’t do that,” I shoot back. And I truly don’t. Because as much as I long to see Tessa back here in the cabin filled with memories of us laughing, cooking, and fucking, I’ve known my stupid heart couldn’t take it, so I’ve kept clear six months out of the year.
“You’re doing it now.”
“This storm is a big one, I was worried about the roads after today. I figured it was so close to the end of the year you wouldn’t make it, especially with the weather.
” As if summoned, a swirl of wind upends snow from an oak branch over me, dumping cold over my head and down my neck.
Wincing, I brush off my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come, but it’s cold as shit out here. Can we talk about this inside?”
With nothing more than a sigh, Tessa turns and heads back inside, confronting me with her wide hips and perfectly round ass.
She’s put on weight since we were younger, and it looks good.
Healthy, grabbable, soft. When the door isn’t slammed shut behind her, I take it as an invitation and bound up the steps, stomping the snow off my boots before I step inside.
I shut the door and turn to see Tessa standing in the middle of the room, chewing her bottom lip as she watches me, and it hits me: we haven’t been in this room together since the before times.
Before the California job, before the fight, before the move and the divorce and the divvying up of cabin time because we didn’t have kids or pets but we did have this place that both of us love.
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it. I know her cabin time is as sacred as mine, and I messed up. “I really am sorry. Let me, um, warm up a little and take a piss and I’ll get out of your hair.”
I haven’t been in the same room with this woman for 20 years and I’m talking about taking a piss? Tessa still muddles my fucking brain.
“Yeah, okay.”
I’m committed now, so I fold myself into the tiny bathroom in the corner and close the accordion door behind me.
It’s just large enough in here for a toilet and sink, both run off a well.
The tub has a place of honor in the living room, situated next to a window for a perfect view of the forest. I don’t actually have to take a piss—I turned off the mountain road not long ago to do just that—but I take a minute to splash cold water on my face and neck, then grip the sink as I stare at the mirror.
What did Tessa see when I got out of my car?
I’m not active on socials, and after years of activism and troublemaking, I’ve settled into the routine of teaching high school outside Albuquerque.
Did she notice my newly acquired wrinkles, the gray at my temples and in my short beard?
How my haunches are even wider and softer now than when she used to hold on to me as I moved above her?
When I step out of the bathroom, she’s unpacking groceries into the cupboards. “So,” I clear my throat. “You have a good Christmas?”
She throws a look at me over her left shoulder, almost like she’s surprised I’m still here.
“It was fine,” she finally answers. “Saw my sister, played the fun aunt for a couple of days.” She picks up a box of cereal and swaps its place with some Wheat Thins, then does it again to return them to their original spots. “Um, how about you?”
“Oh, yeah, it was good. Made my family happy by going to Mass.” My mom is Mexican and my dad second generation Irish. The disparate sides of the family don’t share a lot of traditions, but Christmas Mass is definitely one of them.
Tessa rises to her tip toes to stash the honey. She always did this, storing the little jar in the highest possible spot. When I asked her why once, she didn’t have a clear answer, just shrugged and said, “That’s just where it’s supposed to go.”
She’s struggling to tip the container onto the high shelf, and before I can think better of it, I’m behind her, stretching my arm against hers to help. Her body is warm—a contrast to the wind outside and the snow fluttering against the windows.
“Here,” I murmur, way too close to her shiny hair. That I haven’t been this close to her in decades is an absolute tragedy, and giving myself a taste of it now is equally idiotic. But she is so warm. “I got it.”
Tessa freezes, her body tensing in front of mine as I slide the jar safely onto the shelf.
She sucks in a breath but doesn’t move, and neither do I.
As I curve over her, listening to her breathe, time is nothing.
Two decades melt like snowflakes warming in the palm I yearn to touch her with.
Muscle memory has me almost wrapping an arm around Tessa’s waist to tug her into me.
Instead I grab onto reality and step away, bumping into the wooden butcher block island and raising my hands like I’m in a robbery.
“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry again about this. Make sure you get the stove going soon, the temp is only going to keep dropping.”
She turns to me with a steely glare. It’s the kind she gives Conservative assholes on TV, but her fingers tangle in front of her stomach. “Yeah, I know.”
“Right.” Because this place is hers as much as it is mine. Because she knows how to heat up the damn cabin, and doesn’t need me. Has never needed me like I wanted her to.
I tip back on my heels and let myself take her in one more time before I leave.
Hopefully the nearest town will have somewhere for me to stay and wait it out.
I’ll hole up in some tiny motel room and call up this moment—Tessa, in our cabin, in jeans and a grey thermal shirt, her green eyes bouncing around the room, settling on anything but me, looking so damn beautiful I could cry.
“Well, I’m outta here I guess.” My hand goes up in a pathetic little wave, and I hate it. But what else can I do? Close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her?
Christ. Absolutely not.
And to make sure I don’t, I turn and stalk to the door.
As soon as I twist the handle, the whole thing blows open, almost clocking me.
It’s basically a white-out, only flashes of my red truck visible through the snowfall.
Already, drifts are piled against the cabin and surrounding trees.
This is going to be a helluva drive down the mountain, and my fake piss already lost me precious time.
Before I step out into the mess, something stops me. A hand, delicate but firm, on my shoulder.
Tessa sighs, clearly not pleased. “You’re not going out in that. It’s not safe.” I glance at her over my shoulder, so I’ve got a great look at her exasperated face as she says, “I guess we’re sharing the cabin tonight.”
December 30
Tessa
“I didn’t bring any coffee.”