“I thought we could do presents and breakfast before you go,” I try again.
“I’m late.”
“Is the baby mine?” I ask, trying to joke him out of his sour mood. He doesn’t even crack a smile. I look over my shoulder at the digital clock on the nightstand next to the rumpled bed. “It’s only seven forty-five,” I tell him.
“My mom’s making brunch. They want to eat at ten.”
“Oh,” I say, careful to mask my disappointment. “Maybe we can do presents tonight when you’re back. We’re doing a lunch thing, so I shouldn’t be late. What time do you think you’ll be home?”
“I don’t know. I might stay over.”
This is the first I’m hearing about this plan. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“I need to clear my head,” he says, dragging the razor more roughly down his chin. A prickle of blood blooms where he nicks himself. “Damnit!”
“What’s got your head so unclear?” I venture.
“Us.”
“Us?” I feel sick to my stomach. “What about us?”
“I think we should talk when I’m not in a hurry.”
Alarm bells go off in my head. Nothing good has ever followed someone saying they need to talk. A talk means breaking up. But we can’t break up. We have a lease together, we have concert tickets to see Maggie Rogers in March and a trip to Charleston planned in May. But most importantly, I love him. I trust him. He makes me feel safe. I think about trading confidences with him in the dark, wrapped in his arms in our bed. Me telling him that I’m afraid I wouldn’t be a good mother, not without parents of my own for so long. Him telling me that he’s scared he’s wasting his life in a job he doesn’t even like, just because it pays well. I couldn’t bear to lose him. I told him about my parents, and even though the memories were small, it felt huge to me. I don’t talk about my parents with anyone, not even with Finn.
I feel my heart rate pick up. I know he’s upset I’m not coming to Christmas, but I didn’t think we were in breakup territory.
“Let’s talk now,” I urge.
“I told you, I’m late.”
“You can’t drop that bomb on me and leave.” He must realize this will ruin my day, maybe multiple days if he’s not planning to come home tonight. “Are you trying to break up with me?”
“I don’t know, Hannah. I just don’t know what kind of future we can have if you won’t commit to this. To us.”
“I am committed,” I argue. “We have a joint checking account for household expenses, we co-own a set of dishware, I shared stories with you about my parents, about my past. You’re everything to me. How is that not commitment?”
He puts his razor down, bracing his hands on the edge of the vanity and stares at my reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with hurt. “Then why are we spending Christmas apart? Do you realize that when you refused to come to mine, you never even invited me to yours? Wouldn’t that have been the obvious compromise?”
His comment takes me by surprise. I’d been so wrapped up in the planning, and in my worries about our Thanksgiving fight, that I didn’t even realize he was waiting for an invitation this whole month. “I mean, ordinarily, sure. But this is the last year of our tradition—”
“Right. I can have you when there are no better offers?” He huffs out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, I’m not sure you need me or even want me now that you have Finn back.”
“That’s not true!” My voice edges on a yell. How could he possibly think that?
“Like I said, I think this is a longer discussion.” He reaches a hand into the shower and turns on the tap. “Can you close the door? I’m getting in the shower,” he says like I’m a stranger he doesn’t want to see him naked.
After I close the door behind me, I run breathlessly to his sock drawer. When I open it, the only thing inside is socks. With shaking hands, I rifle through them in case the ring box is hidden beneath them or pushed to the back of the drawer, but it’s not there.
I turn on my heel and head back to the living room. I snatch the creamy gray envelope containing the Blue Hill gift certificate off the couch cushion and stash it in my work tote. I knew things weren’t great between us, but I didn’t realize they were this bad. It feels like everyone I love is slipping away from me.
eighteen
Finn
This year, December 25
There’s a light knock at the door. “Finn?” Theo calls from the hallway, “Are you awake? It’s Christmas.”
“I’m awake,” I reply, my voice still froggy from disuse. I’ve been awake for hours, too keyed up to sleep. I wish there were auspicious words to say to make sure today turns out perfectly, the way you say rabbit, rabbit on the first of the month for luck. After two dud Christmases in a row, I feel like I’ve been waiting three times as long for this day to roll around on the calendar.
“Do you want coffee?” Theo asks from the hallway.
“Yes, please.”
The doorknob turns and Theo pokes his head into the room with a mug in hand. I didn’t realize he meant immediately. I feel around the bed for the T-shirt I peeled off when I got too warm in the middle of the night and pull it on while Theo watches from the doorway.
When I’m clothed, he offers me a Spode mug with a Christmas tree on the side. I recognize the China pattern from Grandma Everett’s house, but I’ve never seen these mugs here. He must have bought them special for today.
“Are we late?” I ask.
“Our call time is ten.”
“Call time?” I echo, noting the strange word choice that makes it sound like we’re actors reporting to set. “Are we making a Christmas movie? Because if so, I hope it’s the kind where I meet a rugged blue-collar man with a heart of gold who can teach me the true meaning of Christmas. I’m hoping for a furniture maker, but I’d settle for a lighthouse keeper if that’s all you can find on short notice.”
“Are you looking to get married and move to a small town?” Theo asks. “Because I’ve got some bad news for you: everything you own is on its way to LA.”
“Maybe my dream furniture maker will have to move out west. Aiden Shaw did well for himself whittling chairs in the big city,” I tell him as I throw back the covers. I swear I catch his eyes traveling down my body as I do. “Well, I’ve gotta get in the shower. I want to look my best in case I meet a curmudgeonly widower who needs to be banged back into the Christmas spirit,” I tease as I brush past him into the hall.
* * *
? ? ?
?We’re in gridlocked traffic in Times Square, the worst five-block radius of Manhattan. The blinding light coming off the fifty-foot billboards for Aquaman and Swatch watches has me wishing for sunglasses even though it’s an otherwise cloudy morning.
Theo’s been tight-lipped about our destination, going so far as to tilt his phone away from me so I couldn’t see the pin on the map when he called a car. But everything we pass is closed, from the M&M’s store to the three-story Olive Garden to the TKTS booth.