Chapter Thirty-One
Emmett
I sat in my car, staring at the dashboard, willing myself to move. I glanced down the street, through the thick snowflakes sweeping the air, and saw Scott’s house. The hedges along the driveway were wrapped in strands of white lights. Cars filled every inch of curb space up and down the block. I was already an hour late for the Christmas party, but I was hardly in the mood to celebrate.
I had hoped the drive would ease my mind, but it just intensified a panic inside of me, a feeling that I was wasting time. Time for what, I didn’t know. There is nothing more unsettling than feeling like your body is in one physical place, but your heart is dangling somewhere else.
I closed my eyes and thought about home, a place I couldn’t even pinpoint on a map, because home was my dad.
The cracks and fissures inside me grew larger. And something finally broke. And it’s strange because sometimes when I’m the saddest I feel the most alive. Sadness can prick you and force you to wake up. It can be the very thing that inspires you to move.
I opened my eyes. I wanted to hate CeCe. I wanted to push her out of my mind. But the fight was pointless. I didn’t hate her. I just hated that I loved her. I had probably started to love her the moment I saw her, the moment her face blazed its way into my path. It was always her energy I craved, her muse.
I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. Maybe CeCe was right. I wanted it all. The perfect face and the perfect brain all wrapped inside the perfect package. But all along, I knew I wanted her.
I needed my dad right now. I needed his advice. I looked over at the glove compartment and breathed out a heavy sigh. As if the emotional knife couldn’t dig any deeper right now. I opened it and some sheet music poured out.
I grabbed a handful of pages and thumbed through the lyrics. I smiled to myself, sitting alone in my car, the afternoon of Christmas Eve, reading my dad’s old lyrics. In a strange way, it was perfect. We were together.
I looked at the messy black prose scrawled over a loose page. My dad had a habit of writing in prose, in random thoughts that meandered like a switchback trail. They always took you on a journey.
I read a few of the lines.
I stopped reading and looked out the front window. Thick snow was swirling around the car, like thoughts, like words unsaid and regrets torn up and thrown down. I looked up at the gray sky and felt my eyes burn. I knew he was talking to me right now.
Hot tears ran down my face and I didn’t wipe them away. I wasn’t ashamed. It felt good to cry, to let something heavy finally escape. It gave my mind an overwhelming sense of clarity. Frank was right. It was all so simple.
Finally, I knew what I had to do.
I took out some blank pieces of paper and grabbed a pen. I had my own words to write. Even if they hurt to write, even if they exposed everything, even if the feelings weren’t reciprocated, at least it would finally be the truth.
I never realized what a relief it was to finally let the truth out. It’s only painful if you hold it back.
I smiled to myself. Frank would be proud.
…
CeCe
On Christmas Eve night, I looked around at a sea of familiar faces. We gathered inside The Pier, a local tavern, and the only restaurant that stayed open year round in our small tourist town. A giant fir tree stood in the center of the room, glowing with white Christmas lights. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” played on the speakers. It was a fitting carol, since the forecast was calling for a winter blizzard. Over a foot of snow was predicted to fall, starting through the night and lasting over the next two days. I looked out the restaurant windows. The wind was picking up and an outdoor porch light illuminated giant snowflakes, as thick as feathers, cascading through the air.
My parents sat at the bar. My dad had driven my mom over in the truck. She couldn’t do the ski trip this year, but she would be damned to miss the Edmond holiday ritual. That was one thing I admired about my mom. She was resilient. And she hated to miss a good party.
I sat in the back corner of the room, in a leather arm chair next to the fire place. My phone buzzed and I checked the screen. I was on a message string with a few of the girls from the volleyball team.
My phone continued to chirp and I was about to turn it off, until the name on the screen made my hand freeze.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I scanned through the messages. For a second, I thought one of the girls was messing with me. But his name stood out bold and clear, like my mind was shouting it. Why was he texting me on Christmas Eve? I knew he was still mad, but was he trying to ruin every ounce of happiness I could muster up for the holidays?
I sat up straighter and pulled my knees to my chest, like a shield. I took a deep breath and opened the text.
I stared at the words with confusion. I scrolled down.
I swallowed and kept scrolling.
My heart started to unravel. The tension in my shoulders slipped away. I melted into his confession.
I bit my lips together and the back of my eyes started to ache. But not the dull ache that I was used to feeling. It was a lighter feeling, closer to relief. I didn’t want the message to end. I scrolled down, hungry for more words. I was afraid to look away, afraid this might all be a dream.
My phone buzzed again.
As I reread his words the front door blew open. I slowly lifted my head. A white cloud of snow dispersed and Emmett walked inside the room. He was like a lone lumberjack stumbling in late to the party. People turned to see the late guest that had just arrived.
Conversation fizzled out as everyone stared at him with recognition. It’s not every day a six-foot-four celebrity walked into a restaurant in the middle of nowhere stomping snow off of his boots, during a winter storm warning no less.
His black stocking cap was dotted with snow. He pulled it off and his thick brown hair spilled out. Our eyes locked. His face looked drawn and travel-weary. Something about his exhaustion made him look weathered and real and more beautiful than ever. I didn’t realize how much I missed him.
Audible gasps rolled out. People pointed and stared. Someone whispered his name.
I glanced over at my parents across the room. They were both loyal UW football fans. They knew exactly who he was. Their mouths hung open in shock. I looked back at Emmett. His eyes stayed on mine, gray and piercing. He headed toward me and I somehow managed to pull myself up, despite my bones feeling like they had liquefied.
There was no game face behind Emmett’s eyes. It was pure, raw emotion. Like he was about to lose someone he loved. Or he finally found her.
He stopped a few feet in front of me. I wasn’t sure which was generating more heat, Emmett’s presence, or the crackling flames next to us.
“I thought about sending you an email,” he said. His mouth turned up on one side. “But I don’t know your email address.”
I smiled. I appreciated the joke. It made everything suddenly seem normal, like, maybe in a strange way, this was meant to be our journey. Strange, unpredictable paths that connected at some moments and veered apart at others, until they finally came together.
“Damn it’s cold up here,” he said. He blew on his hands to warm them up. I looked at his long fingers, pink and chapped from the cold. The urge to touch him was unbearable.
“So, people choose to live up here, right? They’re not, like, exiled?” He looked around at the people in the room, half of them wearing ski bibs, as if they were all teetering on the edge of sanity, ready to lose their minds. Like I felt right now, if I couldn’t touch Emmett soon.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked. I was still taking him in, this guy that I was completely in love with. His face was peppered in stubble. My eyes fell to his lips and they looked soft and warm. I felt myself leaning forward. It was such a relief to look at him, to finally look at him the way I wanted to, without holding back, without feeling regret or longing.
“Thanks for the message,” I said. The wind howled against the glass panes and thick snowflakes brushed the window.
“You liked it?”
The fact that he had to ask was adorable.
“The song you wrote makes sense now,” I said.
He nodded. “I wrote that song about you,” he said. “It was always about you.”
The wind wailed and we both looked out at the blowing snow.
“I think you’re stuck here for a while,” I said. He smiled, like being stranded with me was possibly the greatest predicament in the world.
He took a step closer. I sucked in a shaky breath. I could see a roomful of eyes on us. On me. For the first time, I didn’t care. I just cared about him. His eyes.
“I reread all our emails. All our texts. You’re right, I should have figured it out. It’s so obvious now.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said.
“I wanted to delete all those emails,” he said. “Like that could fix everything. But I couldn’t. I can’t erase how I feel.”
I nodded in agreement. I had tried the same thing.
“Did you really mean everything you wrote?” he asked.
I nodded.
“So did I,” he said.
“What about Bryn?” I asked.
“I thought about that,” he said. “After you came over, I went back and reread everything. I was never writing to Bryn. Every single message, every word was to you.”
I looked down and felt a small smile creep up on my face. The music drowned out the people as if everyone and everything slipped away and it was just the two of us.
“I’m not in love with Bryn,” he said. He blew out a sigh. I lifted my head and met his eyes. “I’m in love with you.” He said it so easily, so honestly. “God, it’s such a relief to finally say that. To you.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. My face broke into a smile.
Emmett put his hands around both sides of my face. He cradled me, like he was holding something so precious. I had dreamed about the moment a guy would look at me like this. He raised his eyebrows in a question and it made my breath catch. It was possibly the most vulnerable I had ever seen him. I wrapped my hand around his neck and pulled his face closer. It was my way of answering him. He bent down and closed the distance between us. His mouth claimed mine. When our lips touched I felt a feeling so strong in my heart that it made my body shudder. Every cell was spinning. His kiss started out slow and delicate, but then it became harder and more desperate. My lips melded with his. He wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me tighter. I swear, if he wasn’t holding onto me, I would have fallen to my knees. All I knew was, this kiss had been worth the wait.
I let myself fall, all in.