Jordyn smiles and I smile back.
Unfortunately, the three of us walk to our cars together. It’s that weird Colorado kind of cold that’s more refreshing than freezing. And it’s started to snow. The first real snow of the year is always kind of magical. Jordyn smiles up at the sky, allowing flakes to melt on her face. I wish Henry would leave. I want to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life.
I wonder if Henry knows my plan and that’s why he’s not leaving, but then I realize his car isn’t here.
“At least let me in the car while you frolic in the snow like a crazy person,” Henry grunts at Jordyn.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She shrugs at me as if to say, “Sorry, I wanted it as much as you did.” Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
? ? ?
At school the next day, I’m nervous. How will Jordyn react? Will we pick up where we left off? Do I really want to make out with her at school? But I don’t see her until after lunch when I’m on my way to Mrs. Hickenlooper’s class. She’s walking with that guy from my chem class and they’re both holding cups from Burger King. I didn’t realize they were actually friends; I just thought they were in a class together or something. Plus she always implies she doesn’t have any friends. She doesn’t even glance at me today. Ouch. And she’s back to wearing that shit on her face.
I’m utterly confused.
I don’t bother looking for her at lunch the next day. Or the day after.
? ? ?
Thanksgiving. I arrive at Henry’s house at noon as instructed. I feel underdressed in jeans and a sweater, which is dumb, seeing as I know Henry will most likely be wearing his uniform of flannel and denim.
I stand there. Do I knock on the giant glass doors? Fortunately, Henry spots me from the back of the house.
“Come in,” he bellows as he bounds toward me. “Where’s your dad?”
“He, uh, had a work thing.”
“Oh. Well, more for us, right?”
“Right.” This house looks like the result of a castle and a log cabin gettin’ it on. It’s . . . manly is the only word I can come up with. I’m surprised there aren’t mounted heads and rifles on every wall. The floors are dark distressed wood. Stone, slate, and dark wood paneling cover every other available surface. After passing an office that I can’t imagine Henry using because it’s far too organized, and a staircase that resembles a multi-story library with a twenty-foot window flanked by bookcases all the way up to the ceiling, we enter the great room. This is the family room/kitchen/dining room, and it’s the size of a church, with ceilings almost as high.
In the kitchen at the far end of the enormous room, there’s a huge granite counter with high-backed stools surrounding it. There’s also a table in the center of the room that seats at least ten, and a smaller table off to the back that seats six in front of a door that leads to the back deck, where there is yet another table. Three people live in this house. How many places to eat do they need? And one of them only lives here part of the time. I can’t even begin to imagine waking up in a place like this every day.
The side of the room that isn’t designated for eating is dominated by a gargantuan slate fireplace. The thing is almost as wide as the whole room, and it runs all the way up the tall wall. A giant, three-sided leather sofa that could easily fit twenty people, I kid you not, faces the fire and a screen that rolls out from some kind of secret compartment. This is their TV. Jordyn’s dad, I assume, as he is an appropriately aged man of Chinese-Malaysian descent, is alone on the sofa, and he’s too busy shoveling pretzels and dip into his mouth while watching football to notice me gaping at the immensity of, well, everything. I only ever saw him in photographs when we were kids—he was always traveling. I know his name is Aslan—like the lion from Narnia. I remember thinking this was cool. I also remember Jordyn telling me how her grandfather changed their last name to Smith because Ng was impossible for anyone to figure out how to pronounce. It’s pronounced ing, by the way.