Page 52 of To Love or to Lose
The few weeks leading up to Thanksgiving break went by with no issues.
Jameson and I haven’t spoken since I saw him at Meet in the Margins, which I had been temporarily relieved by. We saw each other at school, and both of us had caught one another’s gaze more times than I care to admit, but other than that, I had been avoiding him like a fatal disease.
Until tonight.
Not only were the events over dinner highly unexpected, but they brought a sense of closure to everyone at the table.
I haven’t been able to look at him the same since he came to Meet in the Margins, and I don’t think I ever will. Jameson saw a different side of me that day. He didn’t see the girl who was guarded and devoted to defeating him. He saw me focused and breaking down.
I’ve been worried that it could have given him an odd power trip over me. That is the last thing I need.Except, that’s beyond my worries now that I’m sitting directly across from him, eating Thanksgiving dinner.
“Are you okay?” Eloise asks, resting a hand on my kneecap under the table.
I nod, keeping my eyes trained on the Callaghan family portrait behind Jameson’s head. None of us are talking as much as usual. There was a bit of small talk after everyone spoke their piece, but it still isn’t the type of conversation we normally have flowing.
“I’m sorry if anything we said hurt your feelings,” she apologizes, which makes Winnie catch wind of the conversation.
“Evie,” she states, forcing me to meet their gazes. “Are you upset?”
“No, no,” I respond truthfully. “I was lost in thought.”
The conflicting issue about this event Logan has hosted is that it feels like it’s supposed to be reserved for family members. Most people have Thanksgiving dinner with their family.Meanwhile, my sister is in the other room with Mae, and my parents are thousands of miles away, in two separate countries.
I’m not angry about the situation, it’s just hard to comprehend.
“Who wants pie?” Logan breaks the momentary silence.
We all nod and he disappears into the kitchen.
“Has this dinner been super awkward, or is it just me?” Jameson asks the three of us.
I look up at him, locking eyes for the first time tonight, after spending all dinner forcing myself to only look at him from the neck down. All I do is shrug. I’m not in the mood to converse with him; I don’t even bother to insult him.
Partly because I’m embarrassed, but also because I feel as if I’ve crossed a line between us, and I’m desperately attempting to backtrack.
“Genevieve.” Jameson’s rough voice cuts through the air like a hot knife, and he stands from his seat. “We need to talk.”
My eyes widen as he rounds the table, nearing my chair. “What?”
“We need to talk about this before we both explode.” He pulls my chair out from the table. “Come on.”
There isn’t much resisting I can do to his plea, so I follow him.He leads me out of the dining room into the sitting room that is hardly ever used. The last time I was in here was when Mrs. Callaghan convinced me to go to homecoming with Jameson.
I sit on the same leather chaise I did that day. “What do you want to talk about?” I ask as he shuts the glass, French doors behind us.
Jameson takes a seat on the couch across from me. The only thing separating us is a small, round coffee table. “You’re being unreasonable,” he says flatly. “And I didn’t blame you before, but now I’m getting frustrated.”
“Why?” I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. “Because we haven’t become best friends?” My sarcasm is evident.
He rolls his eyes at my exaggeration. “We both know that would never happen.”
“Then, what?” The volume of my voice raises without my permission, but I barely notice.
“You change your opinion of me daily.” He doesn’treallyyell, but his voice is loud enough to prove his exasperation. “First you hate me, then you ignore me, then you push me in the pool. Finally, I think we could be civil after the night in the bookstore. I decided to giveyouthe chance to interact, which you didn’t seem exactly angry about.” He sighs heavily. “Andnowyou’re completely icing me out!”
He’s right. I had thought that my opinion of him has always remained constant. I thought I was doing well, hating him.But I keep slipping up, and each time, it becomes harder and harder for me to convince my brain that I hate him.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” My voice is barely a whisper, practically quivering at my realization.
