Tastes Like Winter by Cece Carroll Page A

scrunch together, full
of unasked questions. He looks like he is trying to make a decision, but what
he’s deciding, I am unsure of. I wait, filled with anticipation as he takes
another moment before leaning in. He curls his arms tight around me, and the
embrace covers my skin in goose bumps.
    After a prolonged moment of savoring each other’s warmth, he loosens
his grip and brings his hands to rest lightly on my shoulders. My heart pounds
loudly in my ears, the force of blood through my veins gently rocking me back
and forth. I have to struggle to keep myself standing.
    He looks me in the eye, and I know he is reading my thoughts. My eyes
drop slowly to his lips, and I am focused and anxious. I struggle to swallow,
to breathe. He is going to kiss me, and I squeal inwardly at the thought. I move in. My jaw trembles slightly with
anticipation.
    He comes closer.
    Closer.
    But, in the final second, he shifts his weight to dodge my kiss. His
lips graze my forehead for the briefest second instead. He wraps an arm around
my lower back and cups my head gently in his other hand. I bury my face in his
neck, the soft stubble of his chin scratching lightly against my cheek while I
breathe him in.
    He lowers his lips to my ear and gently whispers, “Don’t fall for me, Em .” Quieter, he adds, “I don’t deserve it.”
    His hands slide slowly and painfully down my arms, leaving a trail of
ice behind as he separates us. His pinky brushes my inner wrist, and the
sensation causes me to snap my eyes shut.
    I thought we shared something tonight, but I must have misunderstood
him. I feel like a fool. I’m afraid if I open my eyes a tear might leak out,
and I don’t want him to see me weak, so I keep them closed.
    Softly he breathes his good-bye, and the air shifts and empties as he
turns and walks away. Safe now, I blink into the empty space.
    I don’t understand why he is intent on fighting the feelings between
us. Maybe I’ve over-thought things again and exaggerated our connection in my
head, but I was sure it was clear that we have a connection, both mentally and
physically. My thoughts move between scolding myself for being a stupid child, reading
too deep into things, and angrily arguing that it must be Jake who is for some
reason intent on denying me, denying us.
    I keep coming back to his last words. What did he mean when he said he
doesn’t deserve it? Is loving someone a matter of deserving, and what has he
done to not deserve me?
    I purchase a ticket at the automatic machine and walk languidly to
Track 11, quietly continuing to doubt what I felt so confident in moments
before. Tonight, for the first time, Jake opened up to me. Sharing that story
about his parents couldn’t have been easy, and maybe it was too much for him.
    But I did everything I was supposed to. I let him talk. I listened and
held his hand. Even if the memory left him shaken, he shouldn’t have brushed me
off and pushed me away in our last seconds.
    Maybe he is purposefully toying with my emotions and the push-pull is
another part of his game, but tonight he was serious, and I can’t quite make
that explanation fit. He is clearly carrying a lot of guilt over his past, over
his parents’ accident. If his display of emotion tonight was genuine, as it
appeared to be, maybe his issues go further than I understand. Maybe I never
will, and he won’t ever fully open up to me.
    I board the train and take a window seat, pressing my forehead against
the cool glass, happy now for its cutting burn. The train departs the station
for home, and I watch silhouettes of towns pass by through the darkness, my
mind racing, replaying every moment of the evening for some sign of my wrongdoing.
I make it home, trying not to be obviously silent with my mother in the car,
but she sees through me.
    “You all right, Emma, darling?”
    “Yup. I’m fine. Just tired.” I don’t want to talk to her about Jake.
My relationship with her is still rocky, and I’m still hurt. It