She wished she could rewind the clock to the time when being with him hadn’t felt awkward. But that would have meant undoing the kiss, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to deprive herself of that one memorable moment even if it had left her unsettled.
“We should probably check on Delphi,” she said. “As much as I believe in her good intentions, I don’t entirely trust her not to stuff Rufus with candy.”
“We’ll see you later, then. Message me when you’re on your way over and I’ll meet you at the farmhouse. Dress warmly, both of you. It’s cold out there.”
“We’ll do that.” And this time, she promised herself, there would be no intimate moments in the barn, no long, lingering eye-meets, no heart-stopping kisses. Just an afternoon of Christmas trees and her daughter.
No problem.
SIX
Erica
The drive from New York to Anna’s house in Connecticut took a little under two hours thanks to heavy traffic, construction and an unexpected flurry of snow.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.” Claudia unwrapped her scarf from her neck and folded it in her lap. “The Maple Sugar Inn looks charming. How did you find it?”
Erica wished she’d thought up a better answer to that question.
“Random searching on the internet.” There had been nothing random about it, but this wasn’t the time to share that. Maybe this evening over a glass of wine when the three of them were together, she’d open up. She imagined herself saying casually, by the way, there is something I need to tell you…
“I keep looking at the photos on the website,” Claudia said, “and the menus are inspiring. It will be bliss to eat food I haven’t had to cook. I can’t wait to be there, curled up in front of that log fire. Given how hard you work, I bet you’re feeling the same way.”
Erica kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel.
She wasn’t feeling the same way. She was feeling a little sick and wishing she’d never booked the Maple Sugar Inn. She could have chosen a nice boutique hotel in Boston and carried on living the life she’d designed for herself, instead of looking for answers to questions she might have been better off not asking.
“Erica? Are you okay? Did you hear anything I just said?”
“All of it. And I’m fine.” The lie came easily. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“Not surprising. Have you even spent a night in your own bed this year? Whenever we talk you’re always in a hotel somewhere. It sounds glamorous, but I guess it’s a little lonely, too, isn’t it?”
“I don’t find it lonely.” There was something about the blankness of a hotel room that soothed her. She kept her surroundings the way she kept the rest of her life—free of clutter. And yes, a therapist would probably tell her that she had some attachment issues, but if that was true then she was fine with that. She owned nothing that she couldn’t happily part with and that, she believed, was a recipe for a happy life.
Claudia seemed to disagree. “With the hours you’ve been putting in I bet you need a vacation. You need to relax.”
“Mmm.” She really did need a vacation, but she knew she wasn’t going to find the next week relaxing. She was unnerved by what lay ahead. She liked her life, so why was she doing something that could potentially shake it up?
“I’m relieved to be away from the apartment. Everything about it reminds me of John and that’s not good. Look at the snow.” Claudia gazed at the snowflakes that drifted in front of them, swirling and dancing around the cars. “It’s as if the weather is welcoming us on our winter break.”
Erica smiled. “I think that’s to do with a low-pressure system rather than some cosmic intervention designed to enhance your Christmas experience.”
“I don’t know about that. I do know it means you’ll be building a snowman with me.”
“I’ve never built a snowman and I’m not confident I have the skills. Ask Anna. I’m sure she builds the best snowmen on the east coast.”
“What?” Claudia sat up straighter. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. It’s the sort of thing Anna would be great at.”
“I meant you have to be kidding that you’ve never built a snowman.”
“What possible reason would I have to build a snowman?”
“Er—for fun? Didn’t you ever build a snowman when you were a child?”
“No.” When she thought of her childhood Christmases she didn’t think of fun; she thought of struggle. Her mother’s mood had always dipped badly at Christmas. She’d checked the mail regularly and when nothing arrived she’d seemed to lose some of her fighting spirit. I don’t care about me, she would mutter as she’d hugged Erica close, but I care about you. You deserve to have a father who is there for you. Erica had never met her father and knew nothing about him other than the fact that he’d left immediately after she was born. She certainly didn’t miss him, and she didn’t really understand why her mother was so upset. Weren’t they fine, just the two of them?
Her mother had often worked at Christmas. At first, Erica had assumed that was because she was paid extra for working the holidays and they’d needed the money, but later, as she’d grown older and started to understand the nuances of life, she’d wondered if it was because her mother had chosen to keep herself busy. She’d treated the holidays like a survival exercise—it’s just one day, Erica, just one day—and Erica had grown up knowing that Christmas wasn’t candy canes and twinkling lights but something to be endured with gritted teeth and determination. On those days when her mother was working, their elderly neighbor had watched Erica. Her mother would collect her at the end of the day, and they’d curl up together and read books they’d chosen from the library. They’d avoided books showing families gathered around a Christmas tree—it’s a fantasy—and instead selected stories about dragons and unicorns where the heroine defeated evil. In the stories her mother chose, the heroine always rescued herself.
“I volunteer to give you snowman-building lessons.” Claudia was oblivious to Erica’s thoughts. “I can’t wait. I miss snow. I miss the seasons. Do you know how exciting it is to be able to wear a scarf?”
Erica was grateful for the change of subject. “You love Californian sunshine.”
“I know. But I miss kicking my way through leaves in fall and snuggling in winter. I miss warming my hands on mugs of steaming hot soup. And talking of soup, I’m starving,” Claudia said. “I hope Anna has cooked dinner.”
Erica slowed down as the car in front of her came to a standstill. “When has Anna ever not cooked dinner?”
“Nothing in life is certain. You think you understand someone and then wham, they surprise you. And not in a good way.”
Erica thought about her mother. Your father wasn’t the man I thought he was.
Something shifted inside her. She had a head full of questions but right now the priority was Claudia, who had weathered a difficult year. “Anna is not going to surprise us, and she will not order takeout. I can safely say that Anna cooking dinner is one of life’s few certainties.”