by Katy Paige
“Jenny, my life is there. My job, my contacts, my clients, my apartment—everything. You can’t possibly think I could actually live in Gardiner!”
Her face flushed hot, and she pulled back from his arms abruptly, crossing hers over her chest protectively. “I’d never dream of it, Sam. I’d never want you to lower yourself to living somewhere as beneath you as Gardiner.”
“That’s not true—”
“True? You want truth? Your life in Chicago is about as deep as a puddle. Your money, your schmoozing, your parties, your plastic Christmas trees, your bimbos—”
“That’s not fair—”
“Surrounded by shallow, selfish people who couldn’t care less if you died in a car crash, but you’d choose them over—”
“Ha! How about you, Jenny, all Miss High-and-Mighty-Know-It-All? Want some truth? How about you giving up on your dream in Great Falls and coming home to Gardiner to hide your head in the sand?”
“How dare you! I came back to take care of my mother, and—”
“And you stayed. This wasn’t your dream for yourself, and it sure as hell wasn’t her dream for you. This wasn’t where you wanted to be. This is where you gave up. Where you sold out. Don’t lecture me about the life I have, you coward!”
Her chest rose and fell with the painful force of her breathing, and she stared at him like she didn’t know him. Shivering, she took in the hard anger of his face. She whispered more to herself than to him, “This never would have worked out.”
“Clearly.” His voice was angry but ragged and out of control, like she imagined it would be before tears.
“Well, then it’s good it didn’t,” she whispered, still looking down.
He struggled into his coat, punching his hands down through the sleeves. “Know what, Jen? You can always go running to Principal Paul. Sell out on love the way you did on life and make sure all your dreams don’t come true.”
Her face snapped up to meet his, an ocean of unshed tears brightening her furious eyes. She grabbed her coat and slapped her bag over her shoulder in a hurried, angry motion. “And I am sure you can find another beautiful, self-centered Pepper Pettway to entertain you and never have anything close to the marriage your parents had. So goody for you!”
“Great!” he shouted, face red and furious. “I guess we’ll both be very happy.”
“I guess so!” Her heart was racing, and she knew she was on the brink of violent, relentless tears. She couldn’t hold them back much longer.
He shook his head back and forth like someone in shock and rubbed his jaw between his thumb and forefinger before he put out his hand.
“Well, good-bye, Jenny. It’s been—”
“Good-bye, Sam.”
She didn’t touch his hand.
She turned and rushed out of the room, through the corridor, down the stairs, across the lobby, and through the double doors into the cold Montana air. It hit her face like needles, making tears spill down her face in torrents. She rushed to her car and finally surrendered completely to her sorrow, wrenching sobs filling the otherwise quiet of her car all the way back to Gardiner.
Chapter 10
“Sammy!” Ron Johnson knocked lightly on the door to his office. “Good weekend?”
Sam looked up from the documents he’d been reviewing.
“It was fine.”
“Where were you again? Minnesota?”
“Montana.”
“Ouch! The boonies! Kill me now!” Ron said, inviting himself to sit in one of Sam’s guest chairs. “You missed an awesome time at the Spy Bar on Saturday. Remember that cute Asian chick? She. Was. On. Seriously, I was fighting her off, man. And tell me this, Sammy, are you ready to par-tay next Friday?” Sam raised his eyebrows in question. “The Christmas party, man!”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, right. Well, you know me…”
“Another year to remember, eh?” Ron winked. “You old dog!”
Sam scoffed uncomfortably, looking down at his desk, rapping his pen on the desk softly, distractedly. “Yeah, well…”
Ron popped up and headed for the door, pausing to leer at Sam before leaving. “And no girlfriend this year, Sammy. You’re a free agent! Some lucky lady’s gonna get it!”
“Yeah. A free agent.” He smiled and saluted a departing Ron, then threw his pen across his desk where it hit his stapler with a loud clatter.
“A free agent,” he muttered, clenching his jaw until it ached, seeing Jenny’s pretty face in his mind and using all his energy to push it away.
She doesn’t want to be with you, Sam. Let her go.
He turned his attention back to the spreadsheets, determined to overcome this infatuation.
Hours later, after work, Sam started his Christmas shopping, hoping that being out and about among his fellow Chicagoans would give his spirits a lift.
Colleen had sent him a list of books for the girls, and in lieu of five minutes online at Amazon, he decided to go to Barnes & Noble on the way home and buy the books himself.
He admired the huge Christmas wreaths on the windows of the store as he approached the front door, noticing the gingerbread village on display in the front picture window.
See, Jenny? he thought. Christmas cheer, right here in terrible, awful Chicago!
It wasn’t real gingerbread, of course, but it was still festive, a gingerbread mountain village covered with precise white glitter, a working train at the base of the mountain, and a tiny chairlift that magically transported tiny gingerbread men and women to the plastic brown gingerbread chalet at the top of the mountain. Once there, they skied down the glittery slope on plastic licorice-looking skis and were picked up by the tiny chairlift once again. Several young children crowded around the window, watching the scene with wonder.
Sam smiled too, but his cheer faded a little as he recalled the messy white gingerbread house he and Jenny had seen in the window of the saddler’s shop during the Christmas Stroll. She had named the messy confection her favorite, and he had called her a “soft touch.” Then she had smiled at him, sharing, “I love the little ones.” He could see her blue eyes sparkling before him, the gentle curve of her lips, the sweet—
“Excuse me! It’s for the kids! Can my daughter take a peek now?”
A woman behind him tapped him on his shoulder, pushing her chubby daughter forward. The girl’s red lollipop snagged on his cashmere coat, sticking there and drooping sadly as he stepped out of her way, stumbling backward, moving away from the crowd of children.
He’d only left Jenny two days ago, but it felt so much longer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way they’d said good-bye—or hadn’t said good-bye. It hurt him to remember her face as she’d run from the room where, just moments before, they’d shared the most soul-shattering kiss of his life. The same room where she’d declared, This never would have worked out.
He clenched his jaw with regret and frustration, dodging around people until he found some open sidewalk where he walked at a fast, angry clip. Taking a deep breath of cold air that burned his lungs, he scolded himself: Stop thinking about her! It’s over. Let it go.
The doorman opened the bronze-and-glass door of his apartment building, and he stepped inside the warm, chic lobby, surprised to find himself home, his plans for Christmas shopping ambushed by ceaseless thoughts of Jenny Lindstrom.
***
When Sam’s business school friend, Joe, had texted him to meet at Club Blue, it had seemed like a good idea: get out and about, see some friends, and remember how great the nightlife was that Chicago had to offer. He put on some jeans, a while button-down shirt, and a navy blazer, slicking his hair back and dousing his cheeks with aftershave.
Looking good, he thought, glancing in the lobby mirror before hailing a cab in a ritual as familiar as breathing. You’ve got this. This is just what you need!
The music seemed louder and more grating than usual, but he tried to maintain an open mind as he pushed his way through a throng of people to get closer to the bar
. Slogging sideways through the wall of hot, sweaty humanity, he finally made his way to Joe.
“Sammy-boy! Merry Christmas, man!” Joe shouted from where he leaned against the bar. “What’re you drinking?”
“Scotch, rocks!” he yelled over the thumping house music: Lady Gaga was singing her newest Christmas anthem: The only place you wanna be / is underneath my Christmas tree… / Light you up, put you on top, let’s falalalala…
As the Lady Gaga song phased out, a new beat thumped into place, and Sam was surprised to hear the xylophone chords that opened the remixed version of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” And just like that, he was back in Gardiner. Sure, his body may still have been standing in the sweaty, cacophonous throng of Club Blue in downtown Chicago, but suddenly his heart and head were a thousand miles away as memories of the Gardiner Christmas Stroll came into sharp focus. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he remembered the feeling of Jenny’s hand laced through his while they walked up and down Main Street, eating gingerbread, sipping cider, looking in shop windows—
“You said Scotch?”
“Make it a double!” he shouted back as the beat picked up, Mariah’s voice singing the familiar words over the dance beat.
“Wait! What?”
I just want you for my own, / more than you could ever know. / Make my wish come true. / Baby, all I want for Christmas is you.
Sam held up two fingers, thrusting them at Joe. “A DOUBLE!”
“Oh! Yeah! Sure!”
Sam gave his friend a tight smile, reaching across two seated heads to take the drink Joe passed to him. A big plop of liquid sloshed from the rim of the glass onto one of the heads, drawing Sam’s attention down to a blonde woman sitting on a barstool between him and Joe, with her back to him. And for a second—a split second of crazy, totally irrational thought—he wondered if it was Jenny.
She turned around, frowning at Sam over her shoulder. “Hey! Watch it!”
Irrationally disappointed, he said “Sorry” as he took a bracing sip of scotch.
Joe backed away from the bar and maneuvered through the tightly packed bodies to stand next to Sam. It was too loud to talk without shouting, so they stood there side by side, looking out at the packed club.
Royal blue lights painted everyone blue. Women danced in skimpy metallic dresses, businessmen pursued scantily clad girls who looked half their age, bodies gyrated on a packed dance floor, couples made out in dark corners, small clusters of people sat around bottles of expensive champagne in the velvet booths of the roped-off VIP area. Thump, thump, thump went the music and the floor and Sam’s head.
’Cause I just want you here tonight / holding on to me so tight. / What more can I do? / Oh, baby, all I want for Christmas is you.
He took another swig of Scotch, wishing Mariah would just finish up her goddamned song so that he could try to enjoy his evening without constant memories of Jenny.
“Sam!”
Sam leaned his head down to Joe, who was a few inches shorter.
“Max and the guys have a table over there!” Joe gestured to a space way up near the dance floor and to the left the way an army scout would indicate friendlies hidden in the jungle.
Sam nodded, taking another sip of his drink. Before he could lower his glass, however, someone bumped him forcefully from behind, and more than half the drink splashed onto his shirt. He turned to find the blonde girl from the bar checking out his shirt, smirking at the wet spot. She yelled over the thumping noise, “How do you like it?”
“Thanks! Are you for real?” he yelled at her sharply.
“All’s fair,” she shouted with a sexy shrug.
Edgy. Interesting. Okay, I’ll play.
“Is this love or war?” he asked.
She moved in closer and yelled back, her warm breath tickling his ear, “Ask me again tomorrow morning.”
So here it is, Sammy. She’s amusing, good-looking, blonde, and blue-eyed. Yours for the taking. What’s your move?
He stared at her, working his jaw. The answer was quick and clean, like an arrow to the heart:
I don’t want her. I want Jenny.
“Sorry. I’m taken.”
All I want for Christmas is you, baby. / All I want for Christmas is you, baby…
She feigned disappointment, snapping her fingers. “The one that got away.”
He smiled his first genuine grin of the evening and winked at her before she moved on, giving him one last come-hither look over her shoulder.
“All I Want for Christmas Is You” faded out, and another, more raucous song started thumping.
His head pounded from the music and the scotch, and if a hot blonde couldn’t persuade him to stay, it was unlikely any other girl could either. He pushed his way out of the club onto the sidewalk, where he filled his lungs with icy cold air and walked home.
***
Without a hangover to deal with, getting up early the next morning to attend church services at St. James wasn’t physically painful, but comparisons were inevitable, and the cavernous sanctuary and enormous congregation made the service feel impersonal to Sam after the intimate warmth he had found at Grace Church in Gardiner. He knew he was trying to comfort himself, but without Jenny beside him, the service felt cold, and he felt empty. He left halfway through and walked home in disappointment, lonelier for her than ever.
It wasn’t just at the club or at church either. He was looking for her everywhere.
After a week, he realized his search stemmed from the outlandishly ridiculous hope she would suddenly arrive in Chicago to find him, tell him she’d been just as miserable as he, declare her feelings for him, and they would finally be together.
His heart leapt whenever his answering machine blinked with messages or when he checked his personal email account to find a message waiting, which was ridiculous. He’d never had a chance to give her his contact information, so unless she’d tracked him down through Ingrid, it was unlikely he’d hear from her. Even so, he couldn’t seem to stop hoping—couldn’t seem to accept the fact that the feelings he had for her should be truncated. His heart simply wouldn’t move on.
Another problem, though, was Chicago didn’t feel comfortable to him anymore. It didn’t feel like home. It wasn’t Chicago’s fault, but everything about the city he used to love felt different since he got back from Montana. What used to be chic felt fake. What used to be cool felt cold. What used to be fun felt…empty.
Not to mention, he saw everything filtered through Jenny’s eyes now, and it was maddening and funny and heartbreaking to have her constantly in his head and not in his arms. With every passing day, he longed for the wholesome Christmas fun of familiar carols; homemade gingerbread and Christmas movies in pajamas; Christmas tree lightings and a Christmas pageant followed by hot, spicy glögg. Quite simply, he longed for Christmas Jenny-style.
He wished he could stop looking for her.
He wished he could stop missing her.
He wished he could forget every moment he had spent with her and—mercifully—let her go.
He thought of her in the courthouse whispering, This never could have worked out, and it made him wince with regret, but the refrain in his head was the same:
She didn’t want you, Sam. She didn’t want you enough. Let her go.
***
He got up for a run the next morning, dark and early, even though the wind off the lake would be brutally cold. He put on long underwear and sweat pants, then layered on top with a thermal long-sleeved T-shirt, sweat shirt, and his North Face wind jacket. The key was to keep moving at a decent clip, and the wind wouldn’t be so bad. He put on some shearling gloves and a black wool cap before heading out the door.
From his apartment in posh Streeterville, it was only two short blocks across Lake Shore Drive to the Lakefront Trail, a decent stretch of paved path perfect for joggers, cyclists, and walkers who wanted to enjoy the views of the lake as they exercised. Living in Streeterville was a huge status symbol, and when
Sam had purchased his apartment, he was chuffed to officially be a part of the exclusive area where he could claim celebrities like Oprah Winfrey as a neighbor. With views of Navy Pier and the lake beyond, Sam’s neighborhood was a glamorous world of nightclubs, museums, parks, skyscrapers, and some of Chicago’s finest restaurants.
But it was his building’s proximity to the Lakefront Trail that had been the clincher for Sam when he purchased the modest—though exorbitantly priced—studio. The lake was hands-down Sam’s favorite part of living in Chicago. No challenge was so insurmountable, it couldn’t be solved by spending some time jogging, walking, or thinking by Lake Michigan. He had, in fact, spent a good deal of time on the Lakefront Trail after his concussion, walking slowly first, then briskly as he worked back up to his usual two- to three-mile daily run. It was on that very trail he had decided to break up with Pepper. It seemed every important life decision Sam had made in the past five or six years had originated with a run along the lake.
More than ever, he needed to remember why he loved Chicago and why staying here was so important to him. How better to reaffirm his allegiance to his hometown than by enjoying the very best it had to offer?
Dawn fought its way through the clouds that covered the somber sky until the city glowed with a hazy light. There was a dusting of snow on the ground—it was December, after all, and this was Chicago—but that didn’t slow Sam down, and after a good stretch in the lobby of his building, he found his way to the path.
In May, the blue of the sky and lake would contrast against the crisp gray of the paved trail and the bright-green grassy patches of the park. Budding trees in cheery shades of lime green and yellow and flowering trees with bursts of pink or white would paint the landscape with vibrant color.
Today, of course, the scene was bleak and colorless. City buildings created a cold, steel-gray basin that held the austerity of the winter scene. The gray path was dusted white, and the lake was colorless and hazy. Dark-brown leafless trees and bare, wiry branches were stark against the muddled morning sky.
He didn’t love the trail any less for the severity of its cold, ashen palette. The trail was his friend in any season—in all seasons—and he valued it as much for its spare, quiet beauty now as he did for its vibrant cheerfulness in spring and summer.