Page 3 of Wrapped Up In You
“Really?” He sounded incredulous, and after the fight with my dad and the long drive up here in a snowstorm, I broke. I stopped in the middle of the kitchen, my hands full of boxed pasta and a jar of spaghetti sauce, and glared at him.
“Is it really so hard to believe that I might be competent at something? Just because I don’t have acareerdoesn’t mean I’m stupid. Or that I don’t have skills.” It was the same bullshit my dad spewed at me at every turn, and I was over it.
Jonathan had the presence of mind to look at least a little contrite as he sputtered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. I was just…”
“Surprised? Yeah. I got that.” I placed my items on the counter and continued to get out the rest of the things I would need for basic spaghetti and meat sauce. “If we were at home, I’d cook a real bolognese, but since you only brought stuff from a jar, this will have to do.”
I got to work boiling water and browning the ground beef I’d found in the fridge. “What other hidden talents do you have?”
I flicked an eye over my shoulder, looking for lingering judgment, but his expression appeared to be one of genuine curiosity. I released a breath, attempting to let go of some of my tension. “I’ve tried a lot of different things over the years. I have ADHD, so I tend to get really excited about something, hyper-focus on it for a while, and then lose interest. I’ve been that way my whole life, but I didn’t get diagnosed until college, so I never really understood why I could never stick with just one or two things.”
“What kinds of things have you tried?”
“Well, I mentioned the skateboarding thing earlier. And cooking. When I was younger, like fourth grade, I was really into Marvel comics. It’s not really a skill, but at one point, I could tell you every obscure fact about the MCU but could barely add and subtract fractions. I’m good at video games, but that’s not really a skill either.” I got out a loaf of bread and began slicing it. “I was into photography for a while. Pilates—thought about becoming an instructor. Gardening.” I shrugged. “I guess I still do all of those to some degree. But none of them held my interest enough to become a career.”
“Do any of them have to lead to a career? Can they just be hobbies?”
I set the buttered bread on a cooking sheet and turned on the broiler. “Not to my father. He thinks I need to ‘quit fucking around and get a real job’—his words.” I popped the bread into the oven and then turned to drain the pasta.
“Are any of them things you could turn into a career?”
I didn’t respond as I moved the pasta back to the stove and added the browned meat and sauce. I gave it a stir, contemplating how much I wanted to say. This was the longest conversation I could recall having with Jonathan, and it felt personal in a way I didn’t get with many people. From the outside looking in, I was sure my life looked like chaos, especially to someone as precise and organized as Jonathan. I was messy, my clothes didn’t always match, and I ran late for everything. I’d been a server at Olive & Vine for two years, but most didn’t see that as a real career. Dad certainly hadn’t. And if I was honest, though I’d enjoyed the work, it hadn’t been what I wanted for myself long-term.
But could I do the thing I wanted most? The one thing in my life I’d never lost interest in? In fact, it was the only thing I’d become more passionate about as I’d gotten older. I hadn’t told anyone. I was afraid that if I spoke it into the universe, I’d somehow jinx it, and then the thing I loved most would feel like another failure.
I pulled the garlic bread out of the oven and placed it on the potholder I’d gotten out. “Dinner’s ready!” I said with an abundance of cheer I didn’t remotely feel.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You’re right. Let’s eat.”
Taking my hint, he dropped the topic, and we prepared plates and moved over to eat at the small table in the eating area adjacent to the kitchen. A large bank of windows overlooking the forest let in an abundance of natural light during the day, but darkness had fallen, so the only thing visible was the snow gathered around the edges of the window frames. Wind howled and buffeted the house. This storm wasn’t letting up anytime soon.
We ate in silence for a bit, as if we were dancing around each other, unsure what to say. I knew almost nothing about Jonathan other than that he was a successful corporate accountant and our parents thought there was nothing he couldn’t do. They’d never said it, but I knew they’d always wished I could be more like him. Driven. Ambitious. Perfect spouse. Perfect life.
I didn’t know how to compete with that. I was a server. I knew how to strike up a conversation with anyone about anything. But this man, I had no idea what to say to him.
Except, where was his wife? It was the Christmas holiday. Shouldn’t he be with her? She’d always struck me as a bit of a cold one, but then, Jonathan wasn’t exactly warm either. They’d seemed a good enough match, but what did I know? I’d never dated anyone for any significant amount of time, so I knew fuck-all about relationships.
“So, um, why aren’t you with Rebecca? I was expecting the cabin to be empty with it being the holidays and all.”
He glared at me.Shit. Apparently, I’d struck a nerve. “If you must know, Rebecca and I are divorced.”
My eyes nearly fell out of my head. I’d had no idea. “When did that happen? Do our parents know? I wouldn’t have thought they’d have gone on their trip if they knew you were going to be alone.”
“You’re alone.” He raised one eyebrow, giving me a pointed look.
I waved him off. “Yeah, but they thought I would be with my dad. Not sure it would have mattered anyway.”
His gaze was assessing. “Don’t be absurd. Of course it would have mattered.” He stood from the table, taking his plate into the kitchen. “My divorce was finalized two days ago. And to answer your question, yes, they know. But they booked this trip nearly a year ago, and it was nonrefundable.”
I was at a loss for words. “What happened? With Rebecca, I mean?” I rose from the table, following him into the kitchen with my dishes. He set his on the counter with a clank. He kept his eyes down and his back to me. He breathed deep as if pulling himself together, and I had the strangest urge to close the few feet of distance between us and put my hand on his back to offer some sort of comfort. My relationship with Jonathan had always been distant, but seeing him like this, vulnerable and hurting, struck a chord inside me I didn’t want to examine too closely.
Before I could make a move, he straightened his spine and, without turning, said, “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
He clearly didn’t want to share his shit any more than I wanted to share mine. “You probably shouldn’t get that hand wet. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Ignoring me, he began running water in the sink, adding soap. “Don’t be ridiculous. You cooked. I’ll clean up.” He began adding dishes and utensils to the soapy water. I crossed the distance between us, placing my hand over his injured one to stop him. “Jonathan, don’t be a stubborn ass. Let me do the damn dishes.” I was pressed right up against him, my chest to his shoulder. I fought the urge to lean into his warmth, to inhale his scent, to press my lips to the curve of his neck. I’d buried those urges for eight years. I could continue to do so now.
