Page 56 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)
Gen
The rhythmic jingle of bells sounds throughout the mall Jean begged us to stop at, and notes of butter and cinnamon invade our senses as we pass the pretzel shop.
Liv’s still pouting, upset that her outdoor market didn’t win in rock, paper, scissors, despite the obscene amount of bags hanging off her arm.
“If the market’s closed by the time we get there,” she warns. “I’m going to find a way to curse you, Jean. Can I have my phone back, please?”
I quickly retrieve it from my crossbody bag, where I placed it after swiping it off the counter in the last store.
I’m not really shopping anyway—my mother sends me links to the things she wants, and the only other person I usually shop for is Will, but I haven’t spoken to him since the night everything fell apart.
I offer a small smile to the leggy brunette as I extend the phone to her, confused by the pitied expression on her face. “What?”
“Do you want a real bag for Christmas? I mean, what is this?” She waves her hand over my bag, her fingertips sounding against the lavender nylon. I take a step back, glancing down at the reliable, simple pouch with furrowed brows.
“It’s Lululemon?” I offer, eyeing the stiff bag hanging off her shoulder.
“Not everyone’s a luxury girl, Olivia,” Jean chimes in, smirking as he gives my bag an assessing glance.
“But what can you even fit in there?” Liv murmurs, taking a sudden, sharp turn into a candle shop. “You know what this is though, right?” She shoves a tiny version of the overpriced candles peppered throughout my mother’s home under my nose, and the scent makes my stomach churn.
“Yes, Olivia—I’ve been to a Bergdorf’s,” I tease and she laughs, wafting a woodsy scented one my way, and it reminds me of Grant.
“In recent history or…?” Jean spins around the candle display, sniffing a dark cylinder to obscure the coy grin on his lips.
“He’s funny,” Liv tells me earnestly, and Jean loops his arm through hers, tugging them both toward the perfumes.
I was hesitant to go through with today after Sloane cancelled last night; I’d been hoping she would act as a buffer between Liv and Jean, especially since Liv’s only experiences with him have been through Ian, who she’s not on good terms with.
But as I watch them spritz too much fragrance on one tester strip after another, eyes wide as the other nods their agreement or cringes their disapproval, I’m not sure what I was so worried about.
I snag the candle Olivia had, intent on smelling the closest thing to the man I’ve been missing for just a moment longer and consider buying it before deciding it’s the opposite of what I should be doing right now—forgetting about him.
You can bring a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink—or however the stupid saying goes. Even if the horse is parched, even if you need the horse to drink the damn water so you can both finally find your way out of the dark wood, you can’t force the water down their throat.
I breathe in the candle one last time before setting it down, Liv and Jean rejoining me at the front with a new set of shopping bags in their hands.
“You guys need a literal trolley,” I tell him, uncertain how they aren’t losing circulation in their arms.
“What we need is to go back to the car and to my market.” Olivia cuts Jean a playfully sinister glare. “I told Ben I would get him an advent calendar.”
“Wow—you guys are an elderly couple already. Brava.” Jean’s hands clap in a tiny, mocking motion. “At least one of us will be having a steamy holiday,” he adds, rolling his eyes at himself.
“So is it like…done, done this time?” I cautiously ask him. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be bothered if they got back together, but it’s his life, I guess.
“Uh…absofuckinglutely. Running that shit about someone he claimed was his friend,” he looks at Liv, “—unforgivable. Like, he just is a shitty person and I can’t ignore it anymore,” he insists, despite the sadness lingering behind his gaze.
“You guys are real people. He takes his whole “eat the rich” shit too far.”
Liv and I say nothing, even though we’ve all stopped walking and are leaning against a glossy, white wall.
“Besides,” he continues, standing up a little taller, “we’re both graduating soon. And if he’s making a career out of this…I just kind of expected him to grow out of being a gossip columnist.”
“I mean, it is a viable career,” Liv contends, before retracting. “But yes, no—you’re right. I think there’s a disgustingly brawny, beautiful, sweet?—”
“Sweet is not my thing, honey. Try again,” he says, lip twitching in amusement.
“Snarky…?” Jean nods his head and Olivia continues. “Successful, supportive man out there for you. You just need to drop the dead weight.”
“ Done .” They smile sweetly at each other, a new understanding developing between them, before they both turn those smiles on me in startling unison. They lift their brows, silently asking me something.
“What, Manson twins?” I shift my weight. “Should we go?” I start to walk, realizing they want details I don’t have.
“What is the status of your boy problems?” Jean asks, trying to mask his irritation that I haven’t been more chatty about this.
“There is no status. There are no problems.” I shrug, forcing them to follow the long strides I make out to the parking lot. “And there is no boy,” I shout back, the words slick in my throat.
They catch up to me, arms crossed, and I wonder how they didn’t become friends sooner.
Olivia squints at me. “Gen, please tell me you’re not just waiting for him to text you?”
“I’m not waiting for anything, Liv. We talked on Thanksgiving and…” Tears prick at my eyes as I remember.
“Okay, we are not being that girl. Believe me—you’re just prolonging the inevitable.”
“Which is? ”
“Your ‘happily ever after.’ Duh,” Jean says, leaning his head against Olivia’s, a whimsical smile on his face. “You want him, don’t you?”
“Of course.” The truth of it resounds in my chest as I say it, makes my heart swell with hope that’s almost painful.
“Then act like it. Call him, Gen. You can’t just wait around forever. Either he wants you or…you need to move on,” Liv says. My heart sinks at the idea of him not wanting me at all, of him having moved so far on from this while I’m still silently reeling.
I glance over at Jean, his lips pursed as he scrunches his brows at Liv.
“What?” she says to him, shrugging. “He needs some motivation. Men never know what they have until it’s almost gone. Believe me,” she adds, rolling her eyes.
“I guess I just have a little more faith in him,” Jean says, his disagreement making Liv’s arms cross dramatically. “He’s sensitive, G. He’s up against a lot. It’s not going to be easy for him to believe you won’t leave…”
Liv’s eyes go wide, scorning him with just a look, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender.
“I’m just saying! You both messed up, Gen, but his trust issues run deep.”
“And I get that. But I can’t earn his trust back if he won’t even speak to me.” Tears well in my eyes, and I immediately sniff them back.
“Then you need to speak to him,” Olivia says, rare compassion padding her voice as she unlocks her car.
“SHOTGUN!” Jean bellows, and it pulls me out of the pitiful thought spiral. “Sorry. Shotgun,” he repeats, more calmly.
“I just—” I slide into the back seat of the car, Jean and Olivia gripping the backs of their seats as they turn to listen to me. “I just don’t want to chase him. Is it crazy that I want to be chosen for once?”
“Yes,” says Olivia, just as Jean croons, “No, of course not.” They shoot each other looks of confusion, like they’re shocked they weren’t in sync.
“He needs to know the ball is in his court,” Olivia says with finality, her brows rising high in a show of surety I wish I had at this moment. My eyes shoot to Jean, waiting for him to give me advice I want to hear.
“Listen, I would wait on a man like him forever,” he says, tossing his head and immediately lightening the mood.
“We know,” Liv groans, her lips tugging up into a playful smile as we pull onto the parkway. “How many times did you and Ian break up? Tell me again why this time is different?”
“Shut up,” Jean drawls, relaxing back in his seat.
Their banter is the perfect balm for the sadness threatening to overwhelm me. But once their laughter dissipates, traces of it still remain.
He hasn’t contacted me; I haven’t seen him. I mean, I don’t even know if he’s as tortured by this as I am at all. Have no clue if I’m grasping for something he doesn’t even want anymore.
Snow falls outside, looking more like a wall of white flurries because of how fast we’re driving, and it makes me think of how warm it was when I talked to Grant at that bonfire.
Makes me think of how much time has passed; how we’re in a different season, and my stomach churns at the idea of never spending another season with him again.