If Only (14 page)

I deserve this. I’ll wait him out. He has to talk to me eventually.

Griffin arranges the yams in the dish and pours the bag of mini marshmallows on top.

“It’s supposed to be sweet potatoes,” I say. “My mom always uses sweet potatoes.”

He breathes a sigh out his nose and sits in the chair opposite me. Still no eye contact.

“She adds brown sugar, too. Brown sugar and marshmallows. Crazy sweet but crazy good. Personally, I think sweet potatoes are best as fries, but I dig the sugar fest at Thanksgiving. Not much of a pumpkin fan, though. Apple pie. That’s where it’s at.”

My verbal vomit continues without a single interruption from Griffin. When he finishes with the yams, he sets the dish on the counter by the oven and washes his hands.

“Doesn’t really look like you guys need my help right now.” He faces the sink, his back still to me. “Tell Duncan to text me later, and maybe, if I’m around…”

“Forget it,” I interrupt, catching my falling chair as I kick back before standing. “You should enjoy your Thanksgiving. I’ll go.”

Maybe I can’t wait him out, not when he won’t even look at me. I’ve taken happiness from him already. I can give him tonight, let him have a piece of home.

He doesn’t stop me as I leave the room.

“Put the timer on for the turkey! I’m going for a walk!”

Muffled voices respond from the other side of Elaina’s door, no doubt one or both of them trying to speak while still lip-locked. I’ll give them their time alone, give Griffin his space.

Bundled up in a wool sweater topped with my fleece, I throw my journal, a towel, hat, and gloves into my bag. According to my phone, it’s a balmy forty-six outside, not the most ideal beach weather, but I’ll take it. The sun glistens in the cloudless sky, warming me as I walk. Of course, by the time I get to the beach, the overcast sky mocks my initial optimism. I brandish my fist at the indecisive Aberdeen weather, but smile. It’s impossible not to smile here. The dark, caramel sand crunches under my feet, wet from the cold surf. A tiny snatch of sun peeks through the gray, bringing the dark water to dazzling brilliance.

I’ve been coming here at least once a week, if not more. It’s no coincidence that my beach visits started soon after Duncan’s birthday. Duncan being at our flat was too much in the beginning. I found myself always asking about Griffin, sneaking questions about Noah and Hailey when I thought it wasn’t obvious. It was always obvious. I needed a place to go, a place where I wouldn’t have to bump into anyone I didn’t want to see, and for a while that list included about everyone. The beach was the best choice as not many hang out here now that the temperatures have been regularly dipping below fifty.

Spreading my towel out on the crunchy wet sand, I soak it all in for a bit. The barrier between me and wet jeans won’t last for long, but I don’t care. It’s me, the sea, and hopefully some shy gulls that won’t come looking for food.

The sun glows again, so I lie back and close my eyes, hands behind my head. Heat warms my cheeks and neck, and I barely notice the wet seeping into my jeans. I was stupid to think he’d forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me, but I never pegged Griffin as the spiteful type. Didn’t Duncan and Elaina say he’d been enjoying himself, with girls? This whole Thanksgiving thing was a mistake. As the sun warms me, my frustration melts into grogginess. Perhaps a quick nap on the shore of the North Sea wouldn’t hurt. I start to drift off, thinking of how fast the time has already gone and how much of it I’ve spent unhappy. Everything is supposed to be different here. Everything
is
different here, but I’m missing it.

The sun dips behind a cloud and with it so does my warmth. I open one eye, checking how long I will have to wait for warmth, but instead of a clouded sun I see the outline of a person. My hand shields my eyes like a visor, but I still can’t focus enough to recognize who stands in front of me.

“You’re not trying to get out of the rest of the meal preparation, are you? I was banking on a full feast tonight, and I am not trusting an important American tradition to a Greek and a Scot who cannot pry themselves from each other long enough to peel a potato.”

I spring to my feet faster than if my soaked towel was on fire. My heart races, but I bite back my reaction.

“So, you’re talking to me now?”

He kicks at the packed sand, still avoiding my eyes.

“I was kind of an asshole back there, wasn’t I?”

He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, his head tilting until his eyes are on mine. After five weeks, he finally looks at me. I expect frustration, anger, regret, but when I meet his gaze, his lips part in a slow smile.

“I deserved it,” I say. “And you deserve a proper Scottish/Greek Thanksgiving without me ruining it.”

He steps toward me. “Jordan, no.”

I close my eyes, taking in the sound of my name.

“I didn’t know how I was supposed to react when I saw you. Duncan texted me, so I expected him to open the door. Not that he’s one for subtlety, but I wasn’t expecting him and Elaina to set us up like that.”

My arms wrap around my mid-section, and I rock back and forth on my feet.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles. “I was looking for a glass, and I found a cabinet hiding six cans of yams.”

I throw my head back and laugh with him. “Always,” I say. “Always suspect Duncan and Elaina of foul play!” I shake my head.

We stay like this for a minute or two, our voices echoing against the crashing surf. When we hear nothing other than the ocean and gulls, I speak again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wreck your holiday.”

He shakes his head. “I was caught off guard and pissed that I fell for it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“Other things were.” I tread into territory uncharted for the past few weeks.

“Don’t,” he says. “Can we call a truce, for today?”

I let out a long breath. A truce. Griffin, here, with me. I close the last bit of distance between us.

“I think I’d like to hug you now.” I don’t give him time to protest. One step closes the distance between us, and I slide my arms between his and his body, wrapping myself up in him. In seconds, he’s hugging me back.

“Griffin, are we good? Are we friends now?”

He rests his chin on top of my head. Then softly, he answers, “Yeah. I think we are.”

“Thank you.” I bury my face in his midsection. “Thank you.”

For a few minutes we stand there. Slowly, his chest rises and falls, keeping pace with the ebb and flow of the sea.

That evening, there is turkey, stuffing, cranberries, potatoes, a little bit of wine, and an endless supply of lager. We enjoy the feast, prepared by four friends, two who once were strangers, then something more, and now friends. Laughter and good conversation boom through the flat, and the four of us cram into Elaina’s room to crowd around the TV. We may not have American football, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever Elaina puts on, it’s background noise. No one attends the dinner at the union. We have all we need right here.

We sit in an intimate circle on the floor, the perfect time for a toast. “Raise a glass, or a bottle, everyone,” I say. “This is the part of the evening where we give thanks.”

They all oblige. No one rolls an eye or mocks me in any way.

“We are going to go around our tiny, wonderful circle and share what we are thankful for this year. Thanksgiving-newbies before Americans. Elaina, you start.”

Her jaw drops in protest, but all eyes are on her, which means she better say something quickly.

“Fine. I will start.” She looks at Duncan. “I am thankful that you are an obnoxious drunk and that you sneaked behind my bar to kiss me. Even though I slapped you.” She kisses him softly and then turns her head to me. “And I am thankful for my American friend who will never appreciate my coffee. I love you anyway.”

I nod in approval and then turn to Duncan. “You’re next.”

“That’s easy. I’m thankful she said
yes
.” He leans over and kisses Elaina on the neck.

Griffin looks at me.

“Can I go first?” I ask.

He nods.

This may be my only chance to say what I need to say.

“I’m thankful for this place, for the opportunity my parents and my school are giving me this year. I’m thankful that no matter how homesick I may get at times, I have the most wonderful friend and flat-mate, even if she scares the piss out me sometimes.”

At this Elaina smiles.

Dryness coats my throat. I pause for a sip of wine, but it’s more in the hope of liquid courage than anything else.

“Griffin, I’m most thankful for you listening to me right now, for letting me say this even if you think you don’t want to hear it.”

The slight tremor in my voice betrays me, and I pause, giving him a chance to object though I told him he couldn’t. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t look away.

Elaina stands. “I think I will make the coffee right now. Duncan, come help me make the coffee.”

“But I want to hear what she’s thankful for.”

Nervous laughter spills out of me, and Elaina yanks him up by the elbow.

“You can touch my breast while I make the coffee, okay?”

Duncan has forgotten all about me and Griffin. I mouth
thank you
to Elaina as she slaps Duncan’s hand away from her chest.

“Not yet!” She sounds angry, but she’s smiling. Duncan chases her down the hall to the kitchen.

I turn back to Griffin.

“Uh, that was subtle,” he says.

One more sip of wine.

“I’m so sorry, for everything, but most of all I’m sorry you never knew how much I really did care about you, how much I still do care about you. I may have let other…” I wave my hand in the air. “…feelings get in the way, but I always cared about you.”

He’s looking down, swirling the last of his lager in the bottle. I take his silence as permission to continue.

“And this past month, not being able to text you or come by and see how you were doing, I’ve hated every second of it. I messed up, and because of that lost the person who was the best friend I had here.”

“I heard that!” Elaina yells from the kitchen.

I get up and kick the door shut.

“What is she, a bat?” Griffin asks.

A joke is a good sign. A couple more nervous laughs escape before I speak again.

“Actually, I think it’s elephants that can hear lower sounds,” I say.

“Why do you know that?”

“Never mind.” My nerves are getting the best of me, and I need to just say what I want to say. I sit back on the floor, facing him. “I’m thankful you sat next to me that day on the train, that you took me to the Blue Lantern our first night, that you made this whole experience a little less scary and a lot more special. I will always be grateful to you for that.”

He’s looking at me now but still not interrupting. There’s only one more thing to ask.

“Do you think you can forgive a girl who’s still trying to get her shit together?”

For a few moments he doesn’t respond. Then he leans forward, placing a light kiss on top of my head. When he straightens, he smiles.

“I already have.”

“I think I’m going to skip out on the coffee. I’m pretty wiped,” Griffin says, and after everything that’s happened, I don’t want the day to end.

“Can I walk you home?” I ask.

He raises his eyebrows in mock concern.

“I will be the perfect lady and walk you to your door, if you’ll let me.”

We sneak out of the flat, though I’m sure Elaina and Duncan couldn’t care less. The walk to Fyfe is dark and short, too short. I have this terrible feeling in my stomach that saying good-bye to him tonight means saying good-bye to him for good, and I’m not ready for that. We still have two weeks until the semester ends, but there won’t be another night like this.

I walk him inside the lobby, but that’s as far as I go. I’d probably be willing to go farther, if he’d let me, but that would only hurt us both, and I’ve hurt him enough already. Instead, I throw my arms around him and squeeze. He wraps me up tight.

“I think you did us a favor,” he says, chin resting above my head.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I kind of said
no
to a few other offers because of you.”

I laugh. “Man-whore.”

“Maybe,” he says, “but you could have reformed me. I was ready to let you.”

“We can’t have that, now. Can we?” I tease. “I always knew you had it in you. The commitment gene.”

The corners of his mouth tug into a grin. “And I always knew you couldn’t get rid of yours.” He rocks back on his heels, and I look away.

When he looks at me, his brown eyes narrow and search as if my face contains an answer to some unasked question.

“Maybe we don’t have to say good-bye yet. What if you met me on the continent during spring break?”

“What?” I put my hands flat on his chest. Now I look at him without worrying what I want to say. The blond in his hair has darkened, from the often hiding sun, no doubt. It’s longer, too, and though we’ve only been here a short time, a lot has changed. He has changed. He looks transformed, in a good way, and I’m happy for him.

“Meet me in Spain, France, Amsterdam. You name it.”

He can’t mean this. He won’t mean it three months from now.

My hands walk up to his neck, and when he doesn’t protest, they rest on his cheeks. He closes his eyes and leans into my palm.

“And what comes after spring break, for you, I mean?”

He shrugs. “I said you
almost
reformed me. I got nothing but time, a backpack, and a rail pass.” A pause. “And maybe you for a week.”

He plays the part well, but he doesn’t fool me. If we met a different way, at a different time, maybe
we
would have been different.

I breathe in, biting back a grin, hoping Griffin mistakes it for acquiescence to his request rather than what it is—recognition. Free-spirited, serial monogamist Griffin and me, the girl who writes down her thoughts, color coordinates her closet, and still holds out for finding
it
rather than living in the moment. Only in this place, in this world so foreign from the real one I’ll go back to, could Griffin and I have ever lasted beyond our initial meeting.