Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [89]
But like so many other things, these are the lessons that often only come in hindsight. Now I have mine. And I can only do with them what my time now allows.
Chapter Twenty-five
Jack and I have RSVPed to Esquire’s annual black tie New Year’s Eve party. With my closet in such disarray, I’d even braved the Christmas rush two weeks back on my lunch break and bought a decidedly non-me dress for the occasion: tight and black and clingy and so unlike anything I’d ever choose to wear in my suburban life that I hardly recognized the sultry skin and firm body that flashed in front of the mirror when I spun around in the dressing room at Bloomingdale’s.
When I wake New Year’s Eve morning, our bedroom is darkened and gray, like it’s hugged with fog, though I know that I’ve risen late enough for the sun to be up. I’d been dreaming about Henry again, as I had been nearly nonstop since Christmas and since he’s failed to return my phone call. It’s all I can do to pry open my eyes and escape the dream that feels so much like a memory, even though I know that this isn’t so.
I yank the shades open with one willful tug, and discover the cause: Outside, it is pouring snow. Portly, tumbling flakes have piled on the windowsill, stacking up to well over a foot and barricading the light that normally spills into the room. I vaguely recollect the storm from years past. Where was I? It comes back to me in pieces. With Henry. I do remember that.
I crawl back into bed and tug the comforter over me, then reach for the remote and flip on the TV. Red bars glare across the bottom of the screen: winter storm warnings, winter storm advisories, do not leave your home, all flights canceled.
All flights canceled! I perch up on my elbows. Jack is homeward bound in—I check the clock—one hour. He’ll be stranded! I pull myself all the way up. Shit! What about tonight?
It wasn’t, I considered, a grave catastrophe not to spend New Year’s Eve with Jack, but it certainly seemed depressing to have to spend it alone. Besides, I’d read enough Glamours to semibelieve the old adage that whom you kissed on New Year’s Eve was whom you were destined to kiss the year through. I was too weary to mentally calculate if this had proven true in my romantic history, but it seemed like a wise enough mantra. If I were to kiss no one, what did that mean? That this whole thing, this whole coming back here was for naught? That not only would I not end up with Jack but I’d also end up alone? No, no, this just wouldn’t do.
I rolled over and called his cell but got sent right to voice mail.
Five minutes later, I’m nearly hypnotized by the angry red bars that continue to flash on the screen, when my cell vibrates on the covers. It shimmies across the bed, as if it’s running from my grasp.
“Jack,” I say breathlessly, “where are you?”
“Henry,” a different voice answers. “And I’m in New York.”
“Oh shit! Henry!” I actually say this out loud.
“Nice to speak with you too.” He laughs. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“No, no.” I shake my head and try to refocus. “Er, you know, just thought it was someone else.”
“Obviously,” he says dryly but not without good humor.
We both pause.
“Hey, sorry it took me a while to get back to you. I was in Vail.”
And they don’t have cell service in Vail? I think, then reprimand myself for sounding like a jealous girlfriend.
“No worries,” I say. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“No, seriously, I forgot my cell at home, so that’s why I couldn’t call back. I just got home last night.”
“Ahead of the storm,” I say, reiterating the obvious.
“Whoo yeah. Anyone coming in today is screwed.” I hear him open his refrigerator door and take a swill of what I imagine to be orange juice. Most likely directly from the carton. I know this because no matter how many times I asked him to use a glass, he never did, at least not when he thought that I wasn’t watching. But I was—always watching. Always there to swoop in with a towel to wipe up the residue that the carton would leave