Purely Unconditional: A Romantic Tale of Snow Days and Second Chances (5 page)

“Wait a second,” Layla says, her eyes narrowed. “I
have known her for years and you never once had any sort of fiery
affair before.”

“It wasn’t an affair.”

“Fine. You’ve never once had a fiery
episode
.
Even when you had a boyfriend, you never had soaking wet
moments.”

My eyes widen and I look around. “Geez, say that
louder. And damn, it sounded gross when you said it that way.”

“Sorry. You know I can’t help it. But my point is,
it’s totally not like you to be so…so...
come hither.
”

I give her a look.

She shrugs. “Is he really that hot?”

“He’s that
everything.
He’s handsome and
gorgeous and nice and funny and he makes me feel really…I don’t
know…safe.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “But don’t worry. My default
idiot-mode kicked in shortly thereafter.”

My heart pounded the entire time he held me. His lips
were soft but firm, moving from my mouth to my jaw line to my neck.
It was then his hands moved too. I could feel his long fingers play
at the button of my pants and when they slid inside, I tensed.

“But not in a good way.” I frown and shake my head.
“It was like a bucket of water on my head, cliché as it sounds. The
thing is, I
wanted
to do more with him, but it’s like when
he started touching me, heading down to
there
, all these
other thoughts just rushed through my head.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, stupid things. Dumb worries.”

“Glory…”

“Fine. I thought he’d think I was fat.”

She leans back in her chair like I shot her. Her
expression is horrified.

“I know,” I say. “Trust me, I know. I was clearly an
idiot back then.”

“You don’t really think you’re fat, do you?”

“No. I mean, I’m no supermodel but no, I don’t think
I’m fat. That stupid thought just reared up in my head for some
reason. I guess he’s so damn hot that I assumed he’d want some
skinny size nothing and I’m not that and it just threw me for a
loop.” I grimace. “Anyway, I told him to stop and he did. He asked
if something was wrong and I told him that I just…God, I said
something like I don’t want to go too fast and I should get back to
feed Denny Crane.”

Layla’s face falls, as if she just watched some poor
kid try to slam dunk a ball and he got rejected. Big time. “You
used your cat as an excuse? To end a kiss like that? What did he
say?”

“What could he say? He didn’t argue with me or
pressure me or anything. He just breathed in and out really deeply
for a second, and then he told me if I had to go, then I should go.
He invited me to come back after I fed Denny Crane, he even
suggested we go feed him together, but I said that…” I trail off.
Remembering that night, remembering the way Jack’s eyes cooled from
the heat of one of the sexiest moments of my life, is almost more
than I can bear.

“What?” Layla prods. “You said what?”

My shoulders droop. “I said that we should call it a
night. I told him I’d text him the next day but I never did.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I was stupid. I lost my mind. I got
freaked out. Pick an option. Or pick all three.”

“Oh Glory. Glory, Glory, Glory. He obviously really
liked you.”

The use of past tense is like a knife in my side.
“Yeah, well maybe I wasn’t ready for someone like that to
really
like me.
You don’t understand. He is teeth-meltingly hot. He’s
gorgeous, and on top of that, a really good guy. ”

“So?” Layla waves her arms around, trying to
understand. I can commiserate.

“So…he surprised me. Here I am, thinking we’re
neighbors and coworkers, and we share a taxi because it’s raining.
Next thing I know, he’s kissing me in a stairwell. He’s squeezing
my boobs.”

Now Layla’s eyes widen. She looks around. “Say that
louder.”

“Oh, I don’t even care anymore. I
can’t
care.
It’s all so upsetting. We shared this great kiss and then it was
over. Because of me and my weird freak out.”

“Well, what happened next? We know you didn’t text
him”—she gives me a hard look—“but did you
ever
text him?
Did he ask you out?”

“He asked me out, alright. And I said no. He asked me
out again, and I said no. Actually, I think I said that I was
feeling sick and didn’t want to get him infected. He asked me out
plenty of times and I always came up with an excuse to say no. And
as more time passed, it just got way too late. He moved on, he’s
went on dates and had girlfriends. I went on a few dates and had a
boyfriend. I missed my window.”

Now she’s looking as if a child just tried to do a
high jump and hit their gut against the pole instead. “What were
you thinking?”

Good question. I’ve been thinking about the answer to
that question on and off for years. Why did I always say no to him?
Maybe it’s because I always say no to everything. Maybe it
really
is my default setting.

I tell Layla as much. She’s shaking her head before
I’m even through.

“No, no this is why we made that list. You’re already
learning to say yes and put yourself out there more.”

“Yeah, and I have a new hair cut and some make up to
show for it.” I lean back myself. “The list is for fun, but let’s
face it. It’s just surface-level stuff. It’s not going to change my
life. Or even add to it.”

We both sit in silence. My Snickers is gone, I slurp
on my drink. I can hear the dogs in their cages, through the
windows I can see the cats in their cat rooms. Workers mill about
in ugly Christmas sweaters and antlers.

“Give me your list.”

I look over at Layla. Her hand is outstretched and
she has a look on her face like she’s going to solve the mystery of
the universe.

“Why?”

In answer, she just shakes her hand. I quickly reach
into my pocket and give it over. She unfolds it and starts writing.
I don’t interrupt her. Then, she hands it back to me.

“You’re kidding.”

She points to the door.

“You’re not kidding.”

“I will never, ever,
ever
bake for you again
if you don’t leave right this instant.”

I hurry outside.

Chapter Six

A New List

The knock sounds promptly at seven. Looks like my
note I had taped to Jack’s door had worked.
Come over at 7pm. I
have a gift for you.

I open the door and he stands on the other side,
looking so solid and gorgeous I want to just fall into him. I want
to wrap my arms around him and pull him so close I can’t breath.
Instead, I step aside and invite him in.

“I got your note,” he says. “You didn’t have to buy
me a gift.”

“I didn’t. That is, I do have a gift for you, but it
didn’t cost me anything. Actually, it cost me a lot, but…” I
gesture to the couch. “Can you sit a minute?”

He does so. Denny Crane hops up and Jack scratches
his back. With a reassuring smile (more for myself than Jack), I
head into the kitchen.

Much like the other night, all of the lights in the
apartment are off, except the tree lights. I’ve even turned off the
lamp in the dining room. But it was too dark when I did that, so I
placed dozens of candles on pretty much every flat surface. It
added enough light to see, but made my place dim enough to give me
the courage I needed.

Courage. I shut my eyes and breathe. I can do this. I
have
to do this. Finally, I pick what I need and turn it on.
And as the first notes of the song begin to play—beautiful,
familiar notes—I step out, microphone in hand.

My voice is wobbly, shaking actually, as I begin the
verse. Jack smiles at me, a look both surprised yet delighted. My
face is flaming red as I set the little karaoke machine down and
continue onto the chorus, but his eyes give me the courage to go
on. It’s not the exact I’ll Be Home for Christmas song we danced
to, but it works well enough. When I’m finished, Jack applauds for
me and smiles.

I set the microphone down and sit next to him.

“That,” he said, “was a wonderful present. Thank
you.”

Still way too hot from standing up there singing, I
can only smile and shrug. I feel breathless.

“And hey, you can cross it off your list.”

“Actually, I made some revisions.” With that, I get
up and grab the list from the table. As I hand it to him, I feel
even more vulnerable and exposed than I was when I was singing to
him. I don’t sit back down. I feel like I need to be ready to duck,
or run, or hide. I need to brace myself no matter what.

Jack accepts the paper. I can see his eyes take it
all in.

Glory’s Twelve Challenges of Christmas

1. Wear high heels to work. And
jewelry. Express yourself! You’re twenty-nine and have legs for
days. Show ‘em off, honey!
Tell Jack how you
feel.

2. Sign up for a class. Expand
your horizons
Tell Jack how you feel.

3 Compliment ten random strangers.
Be sincere!
Tell Jack how you feel.

4. Go to a museum and talk to five
guys. Dust off those flirting skills! And no, you cannot combine
this with number 3. Up the ante!
Tell Jack how you
feel.

5. Speaking of up…update your
wardrobe! Buy stuff with colors and sequins. Buy an expression tee
and wear it! Buy a push up bra and let the ba-zingas do the
talking!
Tell Jack how you feel.

6. Bake with tofu. Try something
new.
Tell Jack how you feel.

7. Watch a bunch of scary movies.
Push beyond your comfort zone!
Tell Jack how you
feel.

8. Attend a ballroom dancing class. I’ve seen the
many episodes of Dancing with the Stars on your DVR. You obviously
love it, so give it a whirl (See what I did there?) And no, you
cannot combine this challenge with number 2.

9. Go to a bar and stay out until
midnight.
Tell Jack how you feel.

10. Walk around naked. I know this
sounds weird coming from me, but get back in touch with your body
and your sexuality. Hmm, even when I explain it, it still sounds so
weird.
Tell Jack how you feel. And then walk around
naked.

11. Karaoke
Tell Jack
how you feel.

12. Volunteer somewhere, put
yourself in a situation with lots of kids or people around. Expose
yourself to more crowds. Not literally. Do NOT combine this with
number 10.
Tell Jack how you feel.

He sets the paper down. He stares at it for a long
time, long enough for me to want to do option b and c together—run
and hide. But then he looks at me, his eyes blazingly bright in the
candlelight.

“So,” he says, “tell me how you feel.”

My heart drops. My stomach hollows and something
heavy fills the void.

“You were right. The list was good for me, and I’m
glad I did it. I’m proud of myself for accomplishing the
challenges, however silly or easy. I needed to get out of my
comfort zone a long time ago. It’ll take time but I’m ready to own
my life. I’m ready for it to take up space and be exciting and be
difficult and crazy and hard.” I lick my dry lips. “I think that
was always the problem. Whenever people would ask me to go places
or join in, I’d always say I was too busy. But the truth is…I was
too scared.”

I stop at the look in Jack’s eyes. The blues, which
have done everything from calm me to excite me to assure me
throughout the years, now do nothing but comfort me, encourage me
to keep going.

So I do, although I can’t bring myself to look at
him.

“I was scared of failing. I was scared of being
embarrassed and not good enough, so I figured I wouldn’t even try.
I’d never attempt anything that I could get hurt with, and it
worked. I had created for myself a very comfortable, safe place. At
least, I thought I did. But what I really created was a cage. I
didn’t just lock myself in. I locked everyone out.”

I bow my head. My chest is tight, my fingers are
clasped in front of me, so hard I think I’m about to break skin.
But I’ve got to keep going.

“I missed out on so much. I missed out on vacations
and promotions and a thousand other things I wanted and never had
the courage to ask for.” I finally meet his gaze. “I missed out on
you. I missed out on the concert you wanted to take me to, the
dinners, the movies and picnics.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to
go another minute missing out on you.”

Jack stands. He approaches me slowly, as if I might
bolt. I could’ve told him not to worry. I’m here now, and I’m not
going anywhere. He reaches out and finally takes my hand. I tremble
at his touch.

“You are good enough,” he says. “You are magnificent,
but you don’t need me to tell you that. I am in awe of your
bravery. Those challenges…you were scared of failing? You tried
anyway. You were afraid of being embarrassed? You still talked to
that old guy in the scarf.”

I laugh and hit him on the shoulder. “No thanks to
you.”

He laughs with me. But then he gently touches my
hair. “You were afraid of being hurt, and yet here you are,
standing in front of me, telling me how you feel.” He adds in a
whisper, “You karaoked.” He smiles. “Now that’s brave.”

“My knees are still shaking. But not just because I
sang to you.”

He moves his hand down to cup my cheek. I reach up
and grab his wrist. I turn my head just enough to place the softest
of kisses on the most tender of pulse points.

Slowly, I step back. Jack doesn’t take his eyes off
me as I take my shirt by the bottom and pull it over my head. I
undress for him purposefully, confidently, even if I’m trembling.
When I am standing in just my bra and underwear, Jack removes his
shirt. His shoes, boots and jeans. As his hands grasp the waistband
of his boxers, he looks at me, as if asking if it’s still okay. If
I’m okay.