Window Shopping
“Did you at least type my name into the Google search bar without hitting enter?”
“Sixty-three times, at least.”
Her laughter is light. Lighter than I’ve ever heard it and it sends my heart climbing up into my throat. When the musical sound fades, she’s silent for a moment. Then, “Nicole is getting out of prison earlier than expected. I found out over the weekend. I ran into you right after I spoke to her on the phone—”
“That’s why you were upset,” I say on an exhale, relieved by all of the puzzle pieces fitting into place. “You’re not on good terms with her.”
A beat passes. “I’m not sure our terms have ever been good. We’ve been best friends for a long time. But it’s a relationship that…I don’t know, it got twisted up somewhere along the line and I couldn’t…I can’t untangle it.” Her curled hand settles on my chest almost hesitantly, relaxing slowly. “I’d never put the blame on Nicole for anything I did. I’m responsible for my own actions. I can’t pretend I didn’t go along with her ideas so she’d be happy, though. She had it so much harder than me growing up. Why couldn’t I just do these things that bonded us, made us a team, so she’d feel a…connection? I had one. I had a great one. But time passed. Our antics escalated. And one day, I realized I didn’t have my family connection anymore. We’d drifted apart. I’d gotten closer and closer to Nicole. By then, I was in too deep to climb out. I’d gone along with these plans that made me uncomfortable so long that I’d gotten comfortable. Until the night of the robbery. It all just came into focus. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to go home. But the home I remembered wasn’t there anymore. I’d ruined it. I’d lost the respect of my parents and I’d lost myself.” She looks up at me. “I’m still trying to locate her again. But today…it went a long way. What Jordyn did. What you did, standing up for me to your family like that.”
“Well.” Ah, Jesus, I can barely speak around the rawness in my throat. “A wise woman once told me it’s not my job to teach people to be happy.”
She rubs her cheek against my shoulder. “Who?”
“You, Stella,” I laugh, tipping her chin up with my finger. “You did. I’ve been bending over backwards trying to make them happy for years. You were right. They don’t want to be. Not right now. I wouldn’t have loosened my grip on that responsibility if you didn’t give me that to think about. All right? You’re as responsible for what happened today as I am.”
“That’s a stretch,” she whispers, visibly processing my words. Taking them to heart despite her obvious hesitation to do so. “But if you insist.”
More than life itself, I want to pin her down on this couch, ruck her up skirt and make love to her in front of the Christmas tree, but my heart might as well be on the outside of my body right now, after the way she opened up to me. After the trust that took on her part. And if I get inside of her when I’m feeling like this, I’m worried I’ll try to push our tenuous boundary even further and scare the bejeezus out of her. It takes an enormous effort to tamp down on my hunger for Stella. For more. More physical and emotional connection—all of it, everything she’s got—but I force myself to have patience. “What I insist on…” I clear the growl from my voice. “…is making a popcorn garland and eating so much of the materials that we have to pop the whole box.”
A smile blooms across her beautiful face. “You make it on the stove, don’t you? Like an old-timey gentleman.”
“Is there any other way?” I lunge to my feet without warning her, lifting her in my arms and drawing a squeak from her mouth. “Come on. Let’s Stella-fy my Christmas tree.”
* * *
Stella
I wake up in a mountain of bedding. Early morning light.
Soft sheets that smell like peppermint.
Aiden. I’m at Aiden’s apartment.
Sitting up in the bed, I glance to my right. The indent of his head is there on the pillow, but he’s not asleep beside me. I remember him being there, sort of unconsciously. Holding me in his arms in the darkness. He snores. Why am I pressing my knuckles to my mouth and smiling over that little nugget of information?
Then the night comes back to me in a flood and I clap both hands over my face.
I fell asleep. Curled up at the foot of his one-of-a-kind Christmas tree, head in his warm lap, listening to stories about Aunt Edna, surrounded by foot after foot of popcorn on string. We’d been talking for hours. Favorites. Likes and dislikes. His honey company. Growing up in Tennessee versus Pennsylvania. How I sketched store window designs in Bedford Hills to pass the time. His favorite spy movies. We even speculated on the state of Jordyn and Seamus’s romance, which Aiden has been pretending not to notice—as if I could like him any more than I already do. I’ve never been so relaxed in my life as I was last night. Not that I can remember. And I just kind of…drifted off.