Where the heart is, p.3
Where the Heart Is, page 3
He had a pen and a pad of paper in an instant, scrawling down a name before he tore the sheet off and handed it over to me. “My recommendation? This is the best place for something really heartfelt.”
I took it carefully, looking at his neat, sharp handwriting. North Pole, Mayberry and 2nd. “You go above and beyond on everything?”
“It’s how it is in the business. You know—Santa business.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll visit the place later. Thank you.”
“No problem. Might be cute to take your girlfriend.”
I stopped midway through stuffing the note away. “Er—sorry?”
“It’s a good place for a date.”
“Uh…” I furrowed my brow. “I don’t… have a girlfriend.”
He raised his eyebrows. “The girl you’re sharing a room with?”
“Oh—uh.” I laughed, more nervous than I should have been. Everything with Abigail was messing me up. “I see how you’d reach that conclusion, but… Abigail and I are just friends.”
“Ah.” He gave me a knowing smile. I frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing. Looks like I’m needed… you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
He turned with a lightness in his step, heading back to where Grandpa Ron was looking impatient at the desk, and with a sensation I couldn’t quite name, I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket.
Dates aside… maybe Mom was right. If Abigail was just sad about being back in the US, maybe it would help to take her to nice places, make some fun memories together. Taking her gift-shopping was an idea I suddenly couldn’t get out of my head, and I found myself stealing back up the stairs, slippers padding quietly over the floorboards and along the carpet runner in the hallway before I knocked quietly at door 21 and unlocked it.
“Hope that’s you and not a new roommate,” Abigail’s voice said from inside, and I peeked my head inside to where she stood in front of the floor mirror with its old cedar frame, buttoning up a neat shirt.
“Morning. Sorry to jump in on you while you’re getting dressed.”
She gave me a quick smile laced with nervous energy before she turned back to the mirror, adjusting her shirt. “That’s a big concern for the person who walks around without pants on?”
“I don’t just wander off pantsless into the wilderness, ma’am. It’s just because it’s you.”
She turned away a little more, clearing her throat. I didn’t know what I was doing. What was it that kept getting her strung up tight in nerves? Why did she look so painfully uncomfortable to be around me?
This did not just look like she missed Scotland.
Still, even with everything, it was nice to see her again. Felt like a piece of me was put back into place—a missing puzzle piece that had been yanked away when I found out she was going to study at a different university. I’d told myself so many times it was for the best, that I had to learn how not to be codependent, that this happened to high school friendships all the time and that it would be a good test for how well we could keep up our friendship into adulthood too, and I’d almost succeeded in convincing myself, but when I saw her in front of me again like this, I felt like I needed to hold on and never let go.
She’d grown up a bit—she’d had major baby face when we graduated high school, and her face had changed since then. One part of me felt upset that I’d missed so much, but mostly I couldn’t help but marvel how she was still the prettiest person I’d known in my life. It had only made her look better—her cheekbones more pronounced, a delicately sloped jawline, the sharp lines of her eyes and the soft shape of her small, slim nose I’d always been jealous of, she was honestly just too pretty for this world. I’d always alternated between feeling jealous and feeling lucky to know the actual prettiest person in the world.
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me, and I leaned back against it with an uncharacteristic shy feeling in my chest. “Hey, um… I wanted to ask you out somewhere with me.”
“Uh—what?” She gave me a wide-eyed look, and I was too self-conscious to meet her gaze all of a sudden.
“I want to get something nice for my mom. She’s been stressed to death lately, and the desk staffer gave me a recommendation for a cute place to go. Do you want to go together? After breakfast?”
“Oh…” She cleared her throat, giving herself one more look in the mirror, fussing with her hair. She still had it long—straight chestnut-brown hair that spilled over her shoulders. She’d always complained about her long hair, but her parents were so fussy they’d never let her cut it… I’d kind of assumed she’d cut it when she went to university, let alone going abroad.
“It’d be fun,” I said. “I know neither of us are big on the crowds, so… thought it would be good to get some Christmas together, away from all of it.”
She scratched her head, looking out the latticed window at where snow drifted down on the gable roof of the restaurant across from us. “Well, when you put it like that, who would I be to turn down getting away from this all?”
“I mean, I’m competing against things like coming back here for a nap, hiding in the back of your car and hoping nobody finds you…”
“Running into a snowbank and disappearing from civilization. Really, it’s some stiff competition. You should be flattered I’m choosing you.”
I lit up, pushing off from the door and crossing the old, creaking floorboards towards her, slippers padding over the rug before I sank against her side in a hug. I hadn’t even thought about it—my feet had just carried me, and I hadn’t been able to bear being too far. She stiffened.
“Very flattered,” I said. “I mean, I remember the last time we ran away together. Brave of you to pick it again after how Mom and Dad reacted…”
“Somehow I think this is… lower-stakes than driving to another state without telling anyone.” Still, despite the awkward stiffness, she met me in the hug, letting me hold there for admittedly longer than I should have, just trying to commit to memory the way she felt.
It was with a sinking feeling that I had to admit to myself, especially with how she’d been acting around me, that she’d be gone again after this trip. Back to how we’d been the last two years, and probably like that forever. So I just… just wanted to etch it into my muscle memory what it felt like to hold onto her.
Maybe I was codependent.
Chapter 4
Abigail
My ears were still ringing a little from the noise even as breakfast wrapped up and we filtered out. It felt like a bunch of bees buzzing in my skull, and I was ready to lie down.
It at least hadn’t been too bad—Stella made sure I got a seat in the corner, and she sat between me and everyone else, putting some distance between me and everyone who wanted to crowd in all at once asking me questions about Scotland I just… wasn’t in the right state of mind for right now anyway. The breakup still hung over everything like a dark cloud, and the last thing I wanted right now was to think about Megan, about Scotland.
Not that sitting right next to Stella and listening to her laugh was really the best situation for me right now.
The restaurant was a nice one, just a two-minute walk down the cobblestone street at the front of the lodge, through a heavy cellar-style wooden door under a wooden sign dressed up in holly and mistletoe. It was a cozy place inside, wood paneling and a crackling fireplace and about a million tiny handcrafted toys and ornaments, rows of nutcrackers on top of the mantle with stockings hanging at their feet. We squeezed in around where the waiters had put together three sets of multiple tables, and I got to talk and laugh together with Stella and her parents, both of which felt like they came from another lifetime—especially since they both looked like they aged ten years since I’d last seen them. Clarissa talked a mile a minute, and Stella’s aunt Georgia with her son Tanner were squeezed in at our table, too, and got to gush about the house they’d moved to upstate just recently, talking about all their renovations.
Honestly, despite the sensory overload making me feel dizzy, I enjoyed it, in no small part thanks to Stella securing me the hermit’s spot in the corner. The fact that I got the best French toast I’d had in my life definitely didn’t hurt, either, a heaping portion sprinkled with powdered sugar with maple syrup in a cute little handmade pitcher on the side, on a red plate painted with Christmas-themed detailing on top of the gold charger. The busy centerpieces on the tables as well, between boughs of holly and miniature Christmas trees, fake presents and fake snow, and little nutcrackers standing in rows, also felt like it gave me some cover to shelter in the corner, but it did have the… minor drawback of making me feel like it was me and Stella tucked away into a secret little hideaway just for the two of us.
Did she have to ask specifically if I wanted to go out with her? Because I absolutely did want to go out with her. She was so pretty it ached. Going to a cute little shop to buy a thoughtful gift—as friends specifically—felt like it was specifically designed to kill me.
But I’d live. Somehow. I didn’t want her to think I hated her, and given the way she increasingly seemed concerned around me, worried, almost placating, I was probably making her think I hated her.
I got out of the restaurant feeling so sated on a mountain of carbohydrates that I just wanted to wrap up in a blanket and go to sleep, but the sudden bite of the cold wind in my face once I stepped outside with Stella jerked me back to awareness. I bundled up tighter in my coat, throwing my scarf over my shoulder to wrap it a little tighter, and I stuck closer to Stella’s side as her fifty million cousins all poured out into the street with us. Stella smiled sweetly at me, and suddenly my face felt warm despite the wind.
“Doing okay?” she said, shoving her hands deep in her pockets, hunching her shoulders against the cold. “It got a bit loud, but… better than I expected, honestly.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad… thanks for getting me the most antisocial spot there.”
She laughed. “Hey, what are friends for?”
Right. Best friends forever. I looked away. “Did you want to hit up the other spot right away, or is there something else your grandpa has planned for us now?”
“Neither. I’m actually taking Clarissa out to a kids’ thing… giving my parents some space. And I bet you could use a nap.” She tucked her hair back, a gesture she’d always done a million times and had made my chest feel weird a million times. Finally I knew why. “Let’s go at eleven? It’ll be quieter then anyway.”
“You’re so good,” I said, letting my shoulders drop. “I can see why Clarissa adores you. Although she was talking last night about how you got her a present that turned out to actually be from Santa instead of you…”
She grinned. “Uh-oh. Looks like I’m busted.”
“It’s a cute gift. And it’s nice of you to look after her.”
She shrugged, looking away. “Just the right thing to do… besides, I like Clari.” She turned back to me with a soft smile. “You must still be exhausted. I won’t be barging into the room for a while, so you can get some uninterrupted rest.”
I tried to come up with something smart to say, but her gaze fixed on me like that turned my brain into mush. I swallowed once before I pushed out a smile. “Thanks. Have fun with Clarissa.”
“I will. Try not to miss me too much.”
And my mouth got way, way, way ahead of me, because I heard myself say, “I’m sure I’ll dream of you.”
She missed a beat, blinking once, and I wondered if—maybe, just maybe—there were some way of actively shutting my heart down on the spot and just willing myself to drop dead then and there. But after that half-second beat, Stella beamed, eyes crinkling in the corners, and she swatted my arm.
“Look who picked up some sweet-talking in Scotland,” she laughed. “All right, well, now it’s a promise. Tell me once I’m back what we were doing in your dream.”
I one hundred percent would tell her no such thing. “Oh, you know, studying economics.”
“Ew. Way to kill the mood.” She grinned, shaking her head, before another cold wind blew down the street, ringing the bells on the streetlamp overhead, and she hunched her shoulders. “See you later, Abigail.”
Every time she—or anyone—called me Abigail, it was the tiniest little pinprick in my spirits. Scotland had been a taste of freedom I’d never had before—even at my university away from home, there were too many people there who knew me a certain way. I wasn’t out to everyone at college. But I’d let myself run loose in Scotland, and I’d really, really started to like when people called me Gale instead. I’d spent the whole time there being loud and proud in my sexuality, too, hanging out with queer groups and wearing so many pins in lesbian-flag colors on my backpack that I looked like a walking ad for joining a coven. At this point, being Gale felt like being a lesbian. Which kind of meant being Abigail felt like being straight.
But it also meant that what felt like a simple request—I like going by Gale now, can you call me that—was suddenly something I couldn’t ask.
I kept thinking about it as the gaggle of Jacksons in the street fanned out in every direction, heading out in small groups, and I went back alone to the lodge, taking one last peek at where Stella led Clarissa by the hand in the other direction, practically skipping along the thin layer of snow over the street. All in all, I felt like it was probably for the best. Stella lying in bed with me late at night, looking me in the eyes and calling me Gale…
I’d probably just actually die.
I pushed open the doors into the lodge, stifling a yawn as I headed for the stairs, and I nearly collided with Stella’s younger sister Faith, who was stealing down the steps and jumped about two feet backwards when I turned the corner into her, falling on her butt a few steps up.
“Ow, shit,” she muttered, massaging her back. “God, you scared me.”
Looking at Faith felt… weird, honestly. She looked almost exactly the same as Stella did when she was sixteen, and it was a little like looking into a creepy time capsule. Still, even if she didn’t have her hair cut shorter, the brooding look she had was more than enough to make her completely different from Stella.
I’d seen a glimpse of her last night looking moody in the corner. Today, though, it was a little more than moody, she looked like she’d just watched her hamster die. Plus, I hadn’t really placed until just now that she hadn’t been at breakfast.
“Are you okay?” I said, offering her a hand up. “That was a fall and a half…”
“Ugh. You’re here to tell me off for skipping breakfast.” She ignored my hand, standing up and dusting herself off. I dropped my hand to my side.
“I’m here to take a nap because breakfast was loud and took it out of me. Trust me, I get why you’d skip it.”
She hunched her shoulders, looking away. “Yeah?”
“Yup. Still glad I went, though. Good food. I’d recommend it on a day it’s not packed completely full.”
She scratched her head. “Didn’t realize you didn’t like that kind of thing either.”
“Nah… I have ADHD. Too much stimulus at once makes my brain hurt.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.” She folded her arms, giving me a look like she was reappraising me. “Why’d you go? Didn’t want to piss them off?”
“Well… I guess, basically.” With the warmth of the lodge and its crackling fire, I tugged my scarf loose, opening my coat a bit. “It was nice of Julia and Philip to invite me, so I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Well, you know? Sometimes you gotta be rude or the whole world’s going to walk all over you.”
“Too true.”
She clearly was used to people arguing with her. She shifted, not knowing what to do with herself when I agreed. “I guess I get not wanting to make things worse than they already are. I can’t wait for the divorce to be done.”
I did a double take, feeling like I’d just opened a door into the icy wind in my face again. “For the what to be done?”
“Oh. Shit.” She shifted from one foot to the other, looking down. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. We’re supposed to be keeping it quiet.”
I chewed my cheek. It gnawed at my chest in a way I couldn’t name, so restless I wanted to claw my way out of this place and… and do… something. “Stella’s parents are divorcing?” I whispered, and she scoffed.
“Stella’s parents. They’re my parents, too.”
“Uh—right. Sorry. When did this happen?”
She shrugged, shrinking further and further into herself. The conversation in the stairwell had felt awkward, but now it just felt like we were secreted away for this. “Hell if I know. Nobody ever tells anyone anything in this family. I found out about it, like, literally not even two weeks before we came here. But I think they’ve been working on it for a while. Ask Stella, they probably tell her…”
“I doubt that. They didn’t think to tell Stella she and I are sharing a room.”
“They tell her a lot more than they tell me.”
I paused, weighing the situation before I decided screw it, I’d go for it. “Is that what’s weighing on you?”
“Nothing’s weighing on me,” she snapped, entirely too sharply to be true. I put my hands up.
“Okay. Just asking.”
“Why do you care?”
I shrugged. “Uh… maybe you just look a lot like Stella, so I do it by instinct.”
She snorted, but it did get a little smile. “Just because of Stella, huh? You really are obsessed.”
I wasn’t going near that thought. “What, you want me to care a lot about you personally?”
“Ugh. Yeah, no. That’s tacky.” She relaxed, finally seeming to settle into a real smile. “Maybe you’re not too bad after all.”
“So I’ve passed the vibe check?”
“Um… tentatively.” She hung her head. “I just had some stupid shit happen at school right before winter break, and I’m in a bad mood, and I don’t want to pretend to be happy and loving Christmas like everyone else here. I mean—isn’t that it? Everyone is just pretending because they feel like they have to look happy, but all that means is that nobody else ever sees anyone being real about anything, so it’s just a shitty cycle.”
