Page 45 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
No pressure.
Still, I swipe to answer the call. “Hey there, Smella. Long time, no talk.” I force out a chuckle, then immediately kick into rambling. Of course. “The phones must be working on the ship now, huh? Although I guess youcouldbe in port, too,” I add. “Wait. Could you be in port already? I’ve kind of lost track of days.”
“I’ll bet,” Nella says. “That sort of thing happens with a concussion.”
“Heh heh heh. Yes, it does. Try to avoid them, will you?” I glance at Sara, whose face is flushed. Is she reacting to our almost-kiss? To her guilt? Maybe both.
“For the record, we’re somewhere out in the middle of the ocean,” Nella says. “None of us knew we had a signal until Carver called,” Nella tells me. “When my phone started ringing, I almost dropped it in my mai tai.”
“You talked to Carver?” I drag a hand across my bandage like I need to remind myself this is all really happening. Not a dream. At the same time, Sara rises from the couch and slowly backs away, motioning that she’s going to head out onto the porch.
When I nod at her—an unspoken thank-you for the offer of privacy—she grabs her coat, slips on her boots, then dashes out the door. “So, dumb question,” I say, once I’m alone again. “Obviously you talked to Carver.”
Nella snorts. “That’s not a question, Mr. Head Injury.”
“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll try again. Did Carver tell you who I was with?”
Nella takes a beat. “He did.” Her next words come out slow and soft. “So … Three … I have to ask. Are you … all right?” Her voice is full of concern without a hint of judgment. I should’ve known she’d focus on my well-being, not launch into warnings about Sara. Yes, my sister knows exactly how much loving Sara wrecked me, but Nella loves me too. And her compassion wins out every time.
“I’ll be fine.” My statement sounds gruff, even to my own ears. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But this situation.” Nella lets out a sigh loud enough for me to hear. “You have to admit, it’s less than ideal.”
“Well, yeah.” I puff out a laugh. “You’re all on a cruise ship wearing leis while I’m stuck in the snow wearing gloves.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she says. After a long moment she adds, “Just tell me you’re being careful.”
“I always am.” I swallow hard. “Some might say to a fault.”
“Yes, under usual circumstances. But you’ve always had a weak spot when it comes to Sara.”
There. Nella finally said her name.
“You’re not wrong,” I admit.
“But forget the fact that you became a total mush pot every summer the minute she came to town,” she continues. “You also put your life on hold the whole rest of the year, waiting for her to show up for three months.”
“I was a stupid kid then, Nell. I know better now, and I promise I’m being careful. I’ve got things under control.” Even as I say this, my throat goes tight. Butunder controlis subjective. And I’m not in my right mind, so yeah. I’m going with it.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Nella says. “Because the last thing you need is to fall back in love with someone whose life runs completely parallel to yours.”
Parallel?
I squint, even though Nella can’t see my confusion. “Is parallel a bad thing?”
“Not at all.” she says. “You and Sara are good people. You care about your families. You work hard and have goals and expectations. But you’re also traveling entirely different paths. So while you’re both heading toward your own version of success, the trajectories are still miles apart. I’m just being practical.”
We fall quiet for a moment, which may sound awkward, but with Nella it’s not. I love that she never feels the need to fill the silence with me. I also love that she’s more comfortable speaking her mind around me than anyone else.
Which is why I have to ask.
“So you don’t … hate Sara.” This comes out more like a statement than a question, and I find myself holding my breath waiting for confirmation.
“Of course I don’t hate Sara. Or her parents. But Idohate how her parents made you feel. To be fair, though, they had no idea you’d end up overhearing their conversation. They werespeaking in private, not being malicious. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place,” she quickly adds. “If you think things turned out for the best.”
A sharp pain slices through me, and I’m suddenly right back on the porch of this same house ten years ago. Except it’s summer, so all the windows are open. I hear Mr. Hathaway say something about Sara being way too involved with me. That he has to do something about it.
I freeze in place.
