Loving Jesse by Smith Andrea

Author:Smith, Andrea
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Meatball Taster Publishing, LLC
Published: 2015-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

* * *

Scout has invited Amber for a sleepover on Saturday night after the intimate birthday party I’ve thrown for her and Jesse. I make homemade lasagna; bake and decorated a vanilla cake, and of course, the pile of presents I have for each of them.

Scout and Amber trot off to her room to play with the new Barbie Dream House and Jesse helps me clean up in the kitchen.

“You know, you went to an awful lot of expense with all these gifts, September. I thought maybe you were saving money for college next year.”

I look over at him as I’m laying a sheet of plastic wrap over the glass pan of leftover lasagna before I put it in the fridge. “Don’t you like your sweaters and jacket?” I ask. “You don’t buy a lot of casual clothes for yourself, Jesse.”

“It’s not that, baby,” he murmurs, “I love everything you bought me, it’s just that I think you need to be saving for college, that’s all.”

And my heart is doing a pitter-pat because he’s called me ‘baby’—and he never does that unless we’re in the bedroom. My stomach feels all fluttery inside.

“Well, I did kind of over-do it I guess, but that’s because it’s also your Christmas presents, too.”

I can’t bring myself to look at him so I seal the edges of the plastic wrap around the lasagna and put it in the fridge.

“Well why didn’t you just hold some of them back until Christmas then?” he asks, giving a soft chuckle, as he loads the dishwasher.

I swallow, mustering up some nerve. “Because I won’t be here at Christmas. I’m going back to Meridian once the semester ends.”

Dead silence fills the room as he stops what he’s doing and I freeze where I stand, afraid to look at him because if I do, I know I won’t be able to hold it together.

Breathe . . . just breathe.

I feel him behind me; his warm breath is caressing the back of my neck like silken fingers. His hands are on my shoulders and he gently turns me around to face him.

I look up into his blue eyes and I wait for him to say something . . . anything because it’s his turn to speak, and because he’s the only person who has a chance of changing my mind.

But he doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me.

The air around us is thick with confusion with too many words left unsaid. They aren’t my words to say though, they’re Jesse’s, and he’s not saying them. His hands remain on me; his gaze continues to penetrate me as if somehow he can see what’s in my mind if he stares at me long enough.

All the silence is making me feel cheated and sad because he can’t—or won’t say the words that could make all of the difference in the world. The words that will assure me that whatever we’ve done, whatever we’ve been to one another, it’s beautiful and acceptable, and it doesn’t make us bad or ugly people.

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