I try to blink back my tears, but it’s no use. They flowlike rivers down my cheeks. With a curt nod, he walks away.
“Bye, Syd.”
I watch his retreating back, sobs rocking my body. Each stephe takes tramples on my heart. It’s being drawn and quartered in the streets.
“Sydney?”
I throw myself into my mother’s arms, crying on hershoulder. “Am I doing the right thing, Mom?”
“You’re doing what you think is right for you. You’ll beokay, sweetheart.”
God, I hope so.
I also hope I’m not throwing away the best thing that’s everhappened to me.
Present
The smell of Christmas surrounds me—pine, eggnog, and mulledwine. The Georges turned their home into holiday central. Lights and garlandsadorn the furniture. Decorative balls, and snowflakes in red, white, and greenhang from the ceiling. I haven’t celebrated a holiday since Sue died, and allthis is a little overkill for me, including the people milling about. I don’tknow why I decided to attend this party, but it’s too late to turn back now.Mrs. George has already seen me. She’s also thrown herself into the holidaytheme, dressed in a Mrs. Clause costume. I make my way toward her, pasting asmile on my lips.
“Jake, dear! So glad you could come.” She kisses my cheek.
“Thanks for the invitation.”
“No one should be alone at Christmas, Jacob.” She winks. “Gomingle. Sydney will be out in a bit.”
She walks off and gets lost in the crowd, not giving me theopportunity to say I’m not here for Sydney.WhyamI here?Itcertainly isn’t to “mingle.” I’ve never been the social type, and that’s notgoing to change anytime soon. I grab a beer, leaning on a door frame to take inthe scene. It’s strange. I know everyone in this room, yet I don’t feel anykind of connection to any of them. They’re neighbors and acquaintances, but Ican’t say I call any of them friends.Jesus,I’m pathetic.
“Hi, Jake.”
I know it’s her before I turn around. I’d know that velvetvoice anywhere. Turning, my mouth falls open in awe. Sydney is still the mostbeautiful woman I’ve ever met, even when she’s not trying. Her hair is loose,cascading down her back, the ends caressing the curves of her hips. Her sweaterhangs off one shoulder, exposing the smooth skin. It’s begging for my lips.
“You okay?”
I clear my throat, gathering my wits. “Yeah. You look nice.”
“Thank you.” She blushes, averting her eyes.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“My house. I should be askingyouthat.”
I raise my beer to show her it’s already taken care of.
“Cool. Um….”
“Jacob Maston.”
Damn it. I close my eyes, willing the owner of the voice togo away. However, it doesn’t work. Hillary walks up, wrapping her arms aroundmy neck. I reluctantly return the hug, breaking away as soon as I can without beingawkward. We had a few dates, but she hasn’t seemed to grasp the fact that Idon’t want anything serious.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, mister. Where have you beenhiding?”
“Just working. You know Sydney, right?” I try to avert herattention.
“Of course. You two were ahead of me in school, but Iremember her. Hello.”
I’m not totally clueless. I know that was an age reference. Sydneyadopts that face many women seem to have mastered—the one where they’re tryingto remain expressionless, but end up looking mean.
“Hi.”
