by A. J. Pine
He walks in behind me but stops just inside the door, his eyes searching mine. I smile. Why doesn’t he?
I press my palms to his cheeks, bringing his lips to mine. He tastes like black currant, and I slide my tongue past his parted lips. He reaches out, looking for a surface on which to rest the bottle. My head swims, no silly, logical thoughts getting in the way.
Griffin must find a spot for the bottle because his hands run through my hair, and his kisses propel me toward the bed. I move my hands from his face to the place where his shirt meets the top of his jeans. They walk up his solid frame, under the fabric, and rest atop his flawless skin. I tug one of his hands from my hair and urge him to explore as well.
No thinking. Just doing. And flipping the switch in the right direction.
He slides my shirt over my head, and I reciprocate with his. The bottle sits atop his dresser, and I tug his belt loop as I move toward my destination.
One more swig before I can let go. Liquid heat coats my insides, pushes thoughts of Noah further into the fog. Griffin is here, real, mine. A giggle slips past my lips, and he pulls the bottle from my grip, raising it to his mouth to join me in my haze.
After a long swig, he deposits the bottle back on the dresser and bends down to cover my mouth with his. My lips press hard against his, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Griffin. Griffin. Griffin.
I repeat the silent mantra of his name, but the harder I close my eyes, the more vivid the vision—a shock of midnight hair hanging over the blue pools of his eyes.
Jordan… I don’t have a choice.
I do. I choose Griffin. I choose tonight, right now.
My lips leave his, sliding down his neck to his shoulder, making their way toward his torso. With each kiss I pull him closer to the bed, pull myself farther from the dream and into reality. If we go through with this, I will break the cycle. I will no longer be stuck on the sidelines.
But he hesitates, the tips of his fingers resting on the top of my jeans, tickling my skin. I put my hand on his wrist and attempt to guide him toward the button of my jeans, unable to speak as our lips continue to do what lips were meant to do.
Except, he’s not kissing me anymore. I bite down gently on his bottom lip to tease him into action, but still he does nothing. My hands travel back to their starting position, where they unbutton his jeans, but Griffin steps away.
“Jordan, what are we doing?” He breathes hard, his tone hoarse.
The hint of pain in his voice jolts me back to reality. In all of my careful planning, of keeping myself safe from feeling too much for Griffin, had he let down his guard without telling me? Had I? Because something in me aches to think whatever I just heard in his question was caused by me.
“Days ago you weren’t ready for this,” he says. “And I totally respect that. So what’s changed? What’s got you swigging whisky from a bottle and leading me to bed?”
But this is what a year with no attachments is all about, right? I came here to have fun, to reinvent myself, to stop waiting and start living. I don’t have to be the girl who’s been single so long her friends refer to her as the born-again virgin. I don’t have to be lonely because… God, lonely sucks. Griffin never asked for anything other than what I was willing to give, and now I want to give him more. He may not be the one, but I was never that for him, either. What matters is I want him to be my now.
“I’m ready,” I tell him. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”
My lips press together to stop from trembling. But when he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze, I don’t fight the tears. Not when he sees right through me.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” No anger, but again that spark of pain.
For a moment I have no words. Nothing I can say now will fix this.
“What?” It’s the only word I can get out, but nothing can save me from what’s coming next.
“Noah, Jordan. I know it’s Noah.”
I want to fill the space of silence between us, but no words could fill it that would hurt him any less. Hurt was never supposed to be an issue between me and Griffin. Fun. We were supposed to have fun. How did we get here?
“I thought… I thought we were sparing ourselves the drama. Isn’t that what you wanted? What we wanted? I choose you, Griffin. I choose no drama.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re right,” he says, but I hear a finality in his tone. “But this?” He gestures at the space between us. “This is fucking drama. This is my cue to leave. I’m not an idiot,” he continues. “I tried to let it go, earlier tonight, when you kissed me like that in the bar. I told myself you were buzzed, having fun. But now this, after I find you holding hands in a booth at the pub?”
“Griffin, no.” I lay my hand on his cheek, but don’t convince him. He pulls it away, lowering it back to my side. Everything he says is true, right down to his no drama policy. But there’s a wounded sound to his words, something that tells me he already betrayed his own plan.
“All anyone had to do was see you and him in that booth at the Lantern. I could sense the tension between you two from twenty feet away.”
I collapse onto his bed, my head in my hands. “I’m sorry, Griffin. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”
“Look, Jordan.” His tone softens. “I never asked you to be exclusive.” At this I look up, and I’m sure of it now. Griffin doesn’t do serious, but he was letting it go there with me. I want to tell him I was willing to do the same, but it’s too late for that now. The hardened look in his eyes tells me that.
“But I also never asked you to fuck me because you can’t have someone else.”
I try to catch my breath. “Please. That’s not what I was doing.”
“You should go home.”
“Can’t we just talk about this more?” I try to coax him down next to me, but he yanks his hand out of my grasp.
“Not tonight. Maybe when you get your shit together, but not tonight.”
He doesn’t look at me when I put my shirt back on and stand. He doesn’t turn toward the door when I walk past him, and I don’t blame him. I don’t want to face myself at this point.
Once in the hall, I don’t wait or hope for him to come after me.
Out in the lobby, it sounds as if the party has already made its way back to Fyfe. Judging by how Barrett props Duncan up as they walk in, the change of venue more for necessity than preference.
“Jordan!” Duncan yells. So that’s what my name sounds like through slurred speech. “Drambuie. My room.”
Barrett shakes his head. “I think the party is over. Are you good, Jordan?”
I wipe the obvious tears from my eyes.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “And don’t worry. Griffin has the whisky, so Duncan’s safe from any further imbibing. Thanks, Barrett, for getting him home safely.” I turn to Duncan. “Happy birthday, Duncan.”
I move toward the doors as Duncan shouts, “I got me a birthday snog! And she said maybe!”
This makes me smile, and I’m grateful for this tiny pocket of happiness, even if it belongs to someone else. Elaina has a lot of explaining to do in the morning.
Before I push, the lobby door opens with a whoosh. Hailey nearly trips in, and she giggles wildly as she rights herself.
“Shhhhh!” she says at a volume usually reserved for shouting rather than shushing. “Noah doesn’t like it when I’m drunk. Don’t tell him.” She punctuates the request with more giggling as she falls back against the door. Almost immediately, the door whooshes open again, and Hailey yelps as she nearly falls backward and onto the pavement, her fall broken by Noah.
She turns around to face him, and then plants a sloppy kiss east of his lips. I’m pretty sure she missed her target.
“Come on, Mr. Grumpy. I know how to put you in a better mood.”
Noah’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t notice me standing in front of her. Hailey’s hand slinks around his wrist, and she clumsily dra
gs him through the door.
Good God, someone get me out of this building. Now. An emergency exit provides my only other option, and I’m about ready to risk a fine or short-term imprisonment for setting off the alarm if it means getting the hell out of here.
When he finally sees me, Noah’s eyes widen. I push past him, unintentionally shouldering him out of the way. This, coupled with pushing him down outside of class today—maybe I should listen to my subconscious. I’m physically pushing him away every chance I get, but something keeps putting him in my path. Enough, already. The night can’t get any worse, and I want to go home.
“Jordan! Wait!”
He follows me outside, and I wonder what he did with his loud-whispering girlfriend.
“What, Noah? What?” I whip around to face him.
“I’m sorry, for that.” He points back toward the door.
“Why? Why are you sorry that your girlfriend wants to put you in a better mood? You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything.”
He stares at me, his eyes searching for permission to speak. I wait a beat, but I should keep moving.
“I’m not…we’re not.” Noah grits his teeth, letting out a groan. “I don’t know what to say here. I don’t know how to make this right, any of it.”
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach, the anesthesia of liquor wearing off at the anguish in his voice. How can I judge him when the only reason I’m standing here is because Griffin sent me home? “There’s nothing to make right, Noah. There never was.”
It was just a kiss.
I break his gaze, don’t ask for further explanation from Mr. Grumpy, and turn toward my flat, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. When I get to the door of my building, I can’t help myself. I look back. Noah is still standing in front of Fyfe, facing me, hands in his front pockets.
“I want to make sure you’re all right.” His voice carries across the small expanse of land between our two buildings, but he couldn’t be further away.
“I’m fine.” We both swallow the lie because that’s our only choice. “Go home, Noah.”
The door swings open, and I walk inside.
Elaina’s still at work, but she leaves her door unlocked so I can watch her TV. I pull my pillow and blanket from my bed and set up shop on her floor. I don’t want to sleep by myself. Not tonight. Before lulling myself to sleep with a DVR full of Friends, I text Sam.
Me: Heart hurts.
Sam: Wanna talk?
Me: No. Thank you, though. Just needed to hear from you.
Sam: I love you, you know.
Me: I love you, too. I needed that. Miss you.
Sam: Miss you, too. Proud of you.
Me: ?
Sam: What you’re doing. Being there. Pretty amazing. Don’t forget that.
Me: <3
Sam: <3
Before I close my eyes and drift off, I write. I can’t think of anything about tonight that I want to remember, but Sam would say to forget nothing. I’m spent, physically and emotionally, so I sum it up as best I can.
Promised myself I’d stop waiting—for love, for life, whatever. But Mr. Right (on paper) has obligations. And Mr. Right Now isn’t such a man-whore after all. And I’m right back where I started—alone.
I fall asleep on Elaina’s floor, my journal open and face-down across my chest. In the morning I wake to find Elaina already up and in the kitchen. I shuffle my way in, trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes but realizing they are still swollen from the tears. Elaina sits at the table, facing the door, a cup of Turkish coffee in front of her. On the other side of the table sits a mug two times the size of hers. It’s filled with tea, complete with sugar and milk. I sit down opposite her and smile bleakly into my mug. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. She’s there, and for now, that’s all I need.
Thanksgiving
“At times our need for a sympathetic gesture is so great that we care not what exactly it signifies or how much we may have to pay for it afterwards.”
E. M. Forster
A Room with a View
Chapter Eleven
“The turkey, it will not fit in this shite oven.”
Elaina has been bitching at a frozen turkey all morning. I put on the oven mitts and bend down to survey the situation.
“Ah, yes. I can see where you’d think that. Tiny oven. Huge turkey. We might have quite the conundrum here.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Right. I take it you don’t like jokes when you’re trying to cook. How about this, then?”
I reach into the oven and pull out the top rack.
“See? Plenty of space for Mr. Gobbles now.”
She shoves what I believe to be a beautifully basted bird into the oven as if she’s throwing a drunk patron out of the Blue Lantern, which I’ve seen her do. It’s not pretty. Elaina Tripoli could put American bouncers to shame.
“Ahhh, yes,” I say. “Just like home. It’s not really Thanksgiving until someone gets pissed at the turkey.”
“How about if we just get pissed?” Elaina asks.
It’s Saturday, not technically Thanksgiving, but then again, they don’t cancel classes over here for American holidays. So Elaina and I agreed we’d wait until today, the perfect day to do all things American, and in my family, that warrants beer before noon.
“Here.” I grab a McEwan’s and hand it to her. “It’s Thanksgiving!”
“Did somebody say something about getting pissed?”
I look toward the kitchen doorway to see Duncan standing there, a kilt hanging from his waist and a bottle of Drambuie in his hand. He swoops past me, putting the bottle on the counter and grabbing Elaina up in a nothing-short-of-jubilant embrace. He lets her slide slowly back to her feet, kissing her as her lips line up with his. She kisses him back with the hugest, dopiest grin I’ve seen since the last time she kissed him, which was yesterday. I’m still not used to the two of them. Elaina is stupid happy with Duncan around. But with Duncan absent, brooding, sullen Elaina reappears, hence the turkey hate.
“Is Griffin coming?” I ask Duncan, knowing I’m probably setting myself up for disappointment.
“I’m not sure, actually. He’s helping set up for the Thanksgiving at the union. I imagine he’ll be tied up there most of the day, but he said he’d try to make it.”
A committee of American students got permission to host a Thanksgiving for any and all American exchange students at the union. For various reasons, I’m avoiding that celebration. Griffin and I have sort of been talking again for a couple of weeks. I’m doing my best to establish some sort of friendship with him before he leaves. Despite everything that’s happened, I’ve missed him a lot.
Then there’s Noah. I think we both knew, after Duncan’s birthday, that friendship wasn’t a possibility. It’s been easy to avoid him, even in class. I sit in the front row now, throwing myself vigorously into class discussions, I’m sure to the annoyance of my classmates. Noah sits in back, always letting me leave first, starting my walk back to Hillhead on my own. On the rare occasion when we mistakenly catch each other’s glance, we race to see who can look away first. He must know about me and Griffin breaking up, if we were ever technically together, like I know he and Hailey are still together.
I look nervously at Duncan and Elaina. “Is he seeing anyone? I mean, if he comes, will he bring someone? It’s totally cool if he does. I thought I’d ask, you know, so I can make sure we have enough turkey.”
All of us know we’ll have enough food, but Duncan and Elaina play along, letting me hide my curiosity about Griffin behind food preparation.
“No. He’s not seeing anyone. Although…” Duncan catches himself, or at least it seems like he does. Elaina confirms it when I see her give him a furtive look.
“Okay, you guys. You’re busted. Tell me what’s going on.” I’m beginning to feel more and more like a third wheel around them.
“Go ahead,” Elaina demands in her don’t-fuck-with-El
aina tone. “Tell her.”
Duncan’s chin dips to his chest. When he looks at me again, he sighs. “He liked ya, Jordan. I’ve seen the way girls are around him, but he only ever talked about you.” With his accent, it almost sounds like a question. But it’s not. It’s a flat-out accusation, one I deserve.
“I know.” I liked him, too.
“And, he’s leaving in two weeks.”
I know this. Have known this. Thanksgiving came late this year, so we are at the end of November, which means Griffin may go off on his travels without us talking again. He asked me to get my shit together, but I don’t think I’m quite there yet.
“I feel like you’re still leading up to something, Duncan. Spill it. The anticipation is worse than whatever you’re hiding.” I try to convince myself as much as him.
“Well, it’s…”
Elaina smacks him on the back of the head.
“What he is trying to say is that Griffin does not do the moping. He has the fun. Lots of fun. Fun with girls.”
“Oh.” They’re both staring at me now. I didn’t expect him to pine for me or give me another thought. I accused Griffin of being a player, but really, I played him. Emotional betrayal sucks. Hence, I suck. But I hate that we’ve been here in Aberdeen this whole time and have not been able to enjoy this place together, even as friends. I guess I should be happy that he’s found other people to enjoy his time with.
They’re still staring, which means I haven’t responded yet.
“It’s okay, guys. I’m okay. Really.” Except then my brain fully digests what Elaina said. “Wait, is he sleeping with them, with all of the girls?” She did say girls, right?
Elaina bites down on the corner of her bottom lip and shrugs. She looks at Duncan.
“I don’t know!” he yells. “It’s not like I count who goes in and out!” He smiles wickedly at Elaina. “I’ve taken to keeping the door closed. And locked.”
At the mention of the word door, a fist pounds against ours.
Invitation or not, we’ve got hours until we eat. Griffin wouldn’t come this early, that is, if he decides to come at all.
