How to Steal a Happy Ending

•forty• How the turntables...

"Say something,
I'm giving up on you
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
Anywhere I would've followed you"

-Say Something, A great big world.

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Contradictions. Life is made up of contradictions. We all want to be different, unique. But hate it when someone stands apart from the rest. We crave uniformity. We crave control. And all the same, we want someone else to make our decisions for us.

Give me a sign, we say. But only the one I want. Give me freedom, we scream. But tell me which way to go.

I wanted James to know how I felt for him, wanted him to come to the wedding with me. But I didn't want him to know that I did and I didn't want to ask.

A part of me wanted to swallow pride and just admit it to him. Damned be the fallout. The other part, the rational(?) part, clung to ego and called it self respect.

So standing outside his house, I did what every idiot at a cross roads did. Asked the universe to choose. Knocked as softly as I could, and promised myself that if no one answered I'd turn around and leave. Forever. I'd dust my hands free of the whole thing. Wouldn't even push for Sara and him to break up.

Rocking back and forth on my heels, I solemnly swore to hold up my end of the bargain. But in a world full of contradictions, could I be blamed for knocking just once more?

Clouds hung overhead, painting the street in hues of grey. The thin layer of snow doomed to be a pasty cream instead of fairy tale white. The air, stale and unforgiving in its frigidness. Winter wonderland, it wasn't.

 The universe had all but given me the background for disappointment. I pretended not to notice.

Seconds flowed into minutes. I waited with bated breath, freigning indifference to the lack of movement on the other side of that door.

This is stupid. No it was fate, I just had to wait a bit longer. In the movies, they always nearly meet. They just miss each other by a fraction of a second.Ten minutes is no where near a fraction of a second. There's clearly no one home. Leave before the neighbors think you're crazy. Just another thirty seconds. For all I know, he could be in the shower...or sleeping. It's seven o'clock. The only reason he'd be in bed right now is if he was boning Sara.

I scowled and made to knock again.

Before closed fist could meet wood, a voice drew my hand back. Taking whatever determination I had along with it.

"Claire?"  

My mind was so used to picking it out of noisy hallways and equally crowded parties that I hardly had to turn to know whose it was. 

"How long have you been waiting here? It's bloody cold. You know they've made cell phones for a reason." James shook his head at me. And then gently elbowed me aside to unlock the door.

A marshmallow in a cup of hot chocolate. That's all I was right then.

 I watched him stomp on the Welcome mat and then stride into the kitchen, boots and all. My heart billowed behind, constantly only a few inches away. It didn't even bother me that he was tracking sticky (and probably dog pee laden) snow all though the house.

Dumping a bag of groceries on the small island counter, he plopped down on a stool and finally kicked his shoes off. The aforementioned snow turning to powder on the kitchen linoleum at the force of it all. I made a face. Okay, it bothered me a bit.

"You're going to clean that up right?" I pointed at the mess when he responded in a blank stare.

He shrugged, "It's just snow, it'll clear itself away."

"It's snow, it'll melt." I corrected.

My mother would've fainted at the sight of it. And then fainted some more at his nonchalance. Mrs. Montgomery, however, I wasn't so sure about. Taking it upon myself to be the responsible one, I grabbed the dish cloth hanging over the sink and swathed it over the mess.

He stood ready with a pinch to my cheeks.

"Thaank you Clary," he singsonged, clearly pleased with himself for "tricking" me into doing the work for him. I didn't mind at all. I didn't tell him so. I couldn't, my ego reasoned, nobody answered the door. I was supposed to pack up my hopes and leave. Technically, yes. But James still showed up, so the deal doesn't hold up, my heart countered.

"Now, what was so important that you couldn't tell me over the phone?" James prodded, breaking apart my internal battle of wits.

"Oh, umm..." My mind blanked at the sudden expectation to choose a winner to the very same. Coward that I was, I set to putting away his groceries in lieu of an answer.

 "I thought you never did the shopping yourself. Turning into a mama's boy in your old age, huh James?"

He laughed then. That deep, lemonade in the middle of June, liquefy your insides till they slide between your legs kind. It was perfect. And I knew that Sara would've thought so too. 

"I was always a mama's boy, Clary. But the groceries are actually for Sara." It might have been my imagination but, right then, James leaned forward as if he were gauging my reaction to this. It must have been your imagination, James never asks for your approval on anything. And he isn't about to start now.

 And yet...at the very least, it felt like he was toying with me. I shook the idea off as best I could, taking down some stray snowflakes with it. 

"So what, you're buying her vegetables now? People usually get their girlfriends real presents like a teddy bear or something." I decided to punctuate with a snort. Any attempt at a laugh would only sound wounded.

"You're as dull as a rock, Clary. " He rolled his eyes, sardonically. "I'm obviously cooking her dinner."

They course through my veins. Dread, disappointment, but most of all jealousy. A housemaid wringing out my insides like errant laundry, making it impossible to school my expression into one of disinterest.

"Right, obviously. And don't call me Clary, it's super annoying." I acted as if that was the only reason for the frown and downward slope of my lips. "Listen, I came by to borrow your leather jacket. I'm heading to this party down at Brentwood and it would soo go with my outfit." I acted like that was the only reason I'd lingered at his doorstep.

"I don't have it with me, I actually-" He hesitated here; almost uncomfortable, almost as if he were unsure of what to say next. Almost...vulnerable. "I gave it to Sara."

This time I wasn't imagining it. This time, James really was watching to see how I'd react. And with bated breath, nonetheless.

A slow exhale was all I was willing to give him.

"Oh." Just oh.

I left then. Just like how he used to leave me behind, with barely enough words to fill the blank spaces on the answer sheet.

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A/N: HOLy Shit, my story actually has a rating what the frick-frack-paddy-whack-give-the-dog-a-bone. This means a lot to me, like I know its some one hundred and something kind of rating but Wow, I didn't even think people would read my story. Like thank you all for giving little old me a chance.