Completely full, I get up from the table, and ponder how putting together a Christmas tree with Hardin and his mother, in an apartment that was ours, is something I’d have never thought I’d be doing. Ever. I enjoy the feeling while we decorate, and in the end, though the ornaments seem randomly hung on the miniature tree, Trish looks very pleased.
“We should get a photo in front of it!” she suggests.
“I don’t do pictures,” Hardin grumbles.
“Oh, come on, Hardin, it’s the holidays.” She bats her lashes and he rolls his eyes at her for the hundredth time since her arrival.
“Not today,” he replies.
I know it isn’t fair of me, but I feel for his mother, so I look at him with big eyes and say, “Just one?”
“Fine, fuck. Just one.” He stands next to Trish in front of the tree and I grab my phone to take a picture of them. Hardin barely smiles, but Trish’s cheerfulness makes up for it. Still, I’m relieved when she doesn’t suggest that Hardin and I take a picture together; we need to figure out what we’re doing before we start romantic pictures in front of Christmas trees.
I get Trish’s phone number and send a copy of the picture to her and Hardin, who walks back to the kitchen and makes himself a plate of food.
“I’m going to go wrap some gifts before it gets too late,” I announce.
“Okay, see you in the morning, sweetie,” Trish says and gives me a hug.
Going into the bedroom, I see that Hardin has already gathered the wrapping paper, bows, tape, and everything else I could possibly need. I hurry to start wrapping so we can have “the Talk” sooner rather than later. I really want to get it over with, but at the same time am afraid of how it will go. I know that I’ve made up my mind, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to admit it. I know how foolish it is of me, but I’ve been a fool since I first met Hardin, and that hasn’t always been a bad thing.
I finish writing Ken’s name on a gift tag just as he walks in.
“Done?” he asks.
“Yeah . . . I need to get those tickets printed for Landon before we talk.”
He cocks his head back. “Why?”
“Because I need your help, and you’re not helpful when we’re fighting.”
“How do you know we’ll fight?” he asks.
“Because it’s us.” I half laugh, and he silently nods in agreement.
“I’ll get the printer from the closet.”
As he walks away, I turn on my laptop. Twenty minutes later we have two tickets to the Seattle Thunderbirds printed and wrapped in a small box for Landon.
“Okay . . . so any other distractions before we . . . you know, talk?” Hardin asks.
“No. I guess not,” I reply.
We both go and sit on the bed, him against the headboard with his long legs stretched out, me with my legs tucked under me at the other end. I have no idea where to start or what to say.
“So . . .” Hardin begins.
This is awkward. “So . . .” I pick at my nails. “What happened with Jace?” I ask.
“Steph told you,” he states flatly.
“Yeah, she did.”
“He was running his mouth.”
“Hardin, you have to talk to me or this isn’t going to work.”
His eyes go wide with indignation. “I am talking.”
“Hardin . . .”
“Okay. Okay.” He lets out an angry breath. “He was planning to try to hook up with you.”
My stomach turns at the thought. Plus, that’s not the reason for the fight that Steph told me at the mall. Is Hardin lying to me again? “So? You know that would never happen.”
“That doesn’t make a difference, even thinking about him touching you . . .” He shudders and continues: “And also, he’s the one who . . . well. Molly, too, who planned to tell you about the bet in front of everyone. He had no fucking right to humiliate you like that. He ruined everything.”
The momentary relief I feel that Hardin’s story now matches Steph’s is quickly replaced by anger over his attitude that if only I didn’t know about the bet, everything would have been fine. “Hardin, you ruined it. They just told me about it,” I remind him.
“I know that, Tessa,” he says with annoyance.
“Do you? Do you know that, though? Because you haven’t really said anything about it.”
Hardin pulls his legs back with a sudden move. “Yes, I have—I was crying the other day, for fuck’s sake.”
I feel a scowl etch itself into my features. “You need to stop cursing at me so much, for one thing. And two, that was one time. That’s really the only time you’ve said anything. And it wasn’t much.”
“I tried in Seattle, but you wouldn’t talk to me. And you’ve been ignoring me, so when was I supposed to tell you?”
“Hardin, the point is, if we’re going to even try to move past this, I need you to open up to me, I need to know exactly how you feel,” I tell him.
His green eyes bore into me. “And when do I get to hear how you feel, Tessa? You’re just as closed off as I am.”
“What? No . . . No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are! You haven’t told me how you feel about any of this. You just keep saying you’re done with me.” He waves his hands toward me. “But here you are. It gets a bit confusing.”
I need a moment to think about what he just said. I’ve had so many thoughts jumbled in my head that I’ve forgotten to communicate any of them to him. “I have been so confused,” I say.