I didn’t hear from Nate for several days. Those days were hell for me.
I alternately longed for him and resented him. I cannot tell how many times I started calling him and then changed my mind.
I hated Jim for putting me in this situation. What had possessed him to say such a stupid thing? He had ruined everything, everything! I didn’t want to see either of them again. Them or their stupid sandwiches.
Since I couldn’t take out my angst on them, I threw away all the bread, sandwich paste, ham slices, cucumber, and every other sandwich-making ingredient I had. I regretted it immediately when I realized how much money I had wasted. I regretted it even more when Jim turned up one night, alone.
I shut the door again when I saw Jim standing outside.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” he demanded. “Are you mad at me or something? What did I do?”
He had the audacity to sound cross!
“Go away!” I yelled at him.
It wasn’t like I could actually explain why I was mad at him. He was a persistent bloke; you’ve got to give him that. He refused to budge until I opened the door and let him in.
I did let him in, but I lied that I wasn’t feeling well and wanted him to go away. He insisted on taking me to the hospital. I refused to go.
Suddenly, he said shrewdly, “Is this the same illness that kept you in the bathroom for an hour the other day?”
“Why’d you have to make that stupid comment?” I accused him in return.
By then, we had moved to the mattress. I suddenly burst out crying, all the pent-up tension taking its toll. Jim gently stroked my hair. Then he hugged me tight while I drenched his shoulder in salty tears, making soothing noises that, he probably believed, were appropriate for the occasion.
When I finally calmed down, he asked me, “Feeling better?”
I nodded, a tissue covering my by-now red and blotchy nose. Some women look pretty and vulnerable when they cry. I look like a boiled lobster.
“Do you have feelings for Nate?” Jim further probed.
“I don’t know,” I bawled out and again burst into tears.
When I was finally over with the crying, Jim went to my kitchen to make some tea for me. I didn’t object.
Suddenly he asked, sounding alarmed, “Don’t you have anything to eat? Have you been starving yourself?”
I had the wonderfully embarrassing opportunity to explain to him why I had thrown away all the food I’d had in the house. He listened with an amused twinkle in his eyes, trying very hard not to smile. Then he rang up the nearby Chinese restaurant and ordered some food for the both of us.
I can’t remember now what he ordered, but I remember the awkward silence in which we waited for it. I was relieved when the delivery boy arrived with the food and I could avoid Jim’s avid gaze on the pretext of getting plates and cutlery.
The meal was no less awkward than the wait had been. However, as hot food filled my belly, I began to feel much better. By the end of the meal, I was almost myself. Jim did not mention Nate or my strange behavior. I was grateful to him for that. We began to talk about our schooldays. Somehow, the conversation turned to our unfortunate date.
“I’m glad it didn’t work out between us,” I said. “I’m sorry if I sound mean and cruel, but it’s true. Who knows whether it would have finally worked out or not? And if it hadn’t, we wouldn’t have been friends today.”
“So, you’re glad that I am your friend, are you?” Jim asked.
There was something strange in his tone that I couldn’t place.
“Uh-huh,” I replied, slurping my drink.
“And are you glad that I introduced you to Nate?”
I almost choked on my drink. Jim waited for me to stop coughing before repeating his question. I put my drink on the floor and glared at him. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep bringing up my feelings for Nate? What was it to him if I liked Nate or not? I opened my mouth to reply angrily, but I did not get a chance.
Jim swooped down on me, grabbed my face, and lowered his lips on mine. He kissed me deeply, passionately, and I found myself too shocked to pull away. My senses were reeling, I couldn’t breathe! I pushed Jim away, panting. What was happening here? What had come over Jim? He’d never had those kinds of feelings for me. Had he?
I was so utterly confused. What made matters worse was that for a second there, when I’d been trying to pull away, I’d fleetingly wondered how it would feel to kiss Nate. I had stopped struggling for a second, overwhelmed by the notion of kissing Nate. Jim was bound to misinterpret it, wasn’t he?
This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0
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