But neither of us are going to jump. Not now. Not forever. We can’t seem to do it. Maybe it’s easier for us to not forgive each other. Just move on from each other and find a better life. Find a better person for the other.
“So when do you leave?” I ask.
“Whenever I want.”
“So when are you going to leave?”
“Not sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not. I think I’ll head out in a few minutes, go walk around the city and make sure everything’s ready for takeoff. Hopefully I’ll get into Utah tonight and I can spend the holidays with some people out there.”
“And then what?”
“Sorry?”
“What will you do after the holidays?”
“Just keep business as usual.”
He doesn’t want to answer anything more than the most basic level answers. Clearly he’s upset about everything and he wants to just slide through this conversation without too much damage.
But I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him get away with his. If it was up to him, we wouldn’t contest each other at all. We’d just swim through this conversation without even taking note of the apparent emotional waves. But the seas are never calm. They always have some raucous momentum to them. We have to face it head on, like a captain lost at sea.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I say.
I can barely believe I actually said it. I didn’t plan on apologizing. I thought he’d offer his own sincere apology first. But alas, that’s not what happens. I’m laying down the carpet on which he can walk on if he so chooses.
He doesn’t say anything at first, but he does set down his iPad and his coffee. Our eyes lock for the first time. Now I have his attention.
“I didn’t want to tell you about Derek,” I say.
His face winces at his name. “Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t important.”
“Oh, that’s bull.”
“Seriously. He and I were in this huge fight right before I left Montana. He wanted me to go home with him for Christmas, and I said I couldn’t. Our relationship was on the rocks when I left.”
“So are you broken up?”
“No.”
“But you’re not together?”
“We’re not. At least, not entirely.”
He leans on the counter now, his eyes stern and focused on me. I can only imagine seeing this face in a business meeting. There’d be no reason to contest him.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
I shrug. “Does it even matter? You have your own love life to worry about.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your wife still controls your company. I think you’re going to have a lot on your plate,” I say.
Now I see the truth once again. Neither of us can handle a potential relationship with the other. Like Chives said, we’re both lost. Neither of us deserve the other. We need someone who will help us fix our ailments, not enflame them.
“Look, we wouldn’t work. And maybe this is all because we’ve been stuck in the same apartment all week. We’re crazy for even considering we should be with each other.”
“You’re right,” he says, his voice flat and almost robotic. Did he suddenly morph into a computer? “Logically, it doesn’t make sense. We live thousands of miles apart, we’re in love with other people, and we barely even know each other. Our only connection is being trapped in apartment together for an entire week. The logic and reason make it clear that we shouldn’t be together, not at all.”
I cross my arms because,it still freaking stings to hear him tell me that. But I can’t disagree. It’s the truth.
He takes one extra-long gulp of his coffee and then sets his cup down on the counter. He takes a breath like he wants to let the steam out.
“I’m going to head out,” he says, running his hands down his pockets and sleeves. A nice move to make sure all of his necessary items are with him. He walks around the counter and grabs his suitcase and begins to roll it against the floor. “When you’re done here, just close the door and it will lock automatically. You’re free to use anything you want while you’re here. I don’t mind.”
Tapping my toe against the floor, my arms still crossed, I run my eyes from his head down to his toes. He’s really leaving. Out of my life forever. Like we never met. Like we didn’t have chemistry. Like there’s nothing here.
But there is something here. Building snowmen. Talking about Christmas memories. Making cookies. Drinking eggnog. I’m not delusional. There was something between us.
But now it’s gone. Dead and buried.
He rolls his suitcase through the opening hallway until he reaches the door. He rips it open and pauses for a second in the doorway, his head facing away from me.
Turn back idiot! Turn back and say something.
But he doesn’t. He heaves one great breath before he walks through the doorway and out into the apartment hall.
And Ryan Rain walks right out of my life.
28.
I stand alone in the kitchen. I’m not sure how long. Just enough time to make me feel pathetic and unwanted. What kind of person leaves their own home to a stranger? Probably someone who’s pissed off enough at the stranger that they’ll do anything to get away.
The apartment is noticeably quieter now that he’s gone. Not only that, but I feel more alone. Not just physically, but emotionally. My shoulders relax. It’s like the great iron weight has been ripped away and trashed. Such a strong and powerful electricity washed out by emptiness.
My footfalls echo through the apartment with each step. The common room is empty, just a ghost town of an apartment. Not even the drone is here. Just me and myself. Not a friend in the world to speak to.
Is this what I’ve always wanted? To be alone? Maybe that’s why I didn’t go anywhere with Derek for the holidays. Maybe I wanted to be on my own for the Christmas season. Just find my own way. Forge my own path.
I stop dead cold in my stride as I reach his bedroom. I’ve never been inside. He never invited me in. I have no idea what his room looks like.
But maybe I should take a glance. See who he really is before I leave him behind forever.
I push his door open, the hinges crying like a cat. The room is nearly identical to the one I lived in these past few days. Same queen-sized bed, same counter on the wall. A television hanging from the wall, an iPad on its charger at the center of the bed. Just a replica of the other. That’s a pretty smart move when you’re renting your place out.
My eyes float around the room. I spot one difference that changes it all. A picture frame sits on the back corner of the counter. I pick it up. It’s a man and a woman, standing in the middle of a field of snow. The man is dressed in a tuxedo with a silver vest, while the woman is wearing a wedding dress, pearly and sparkling white.
Ryan and Ciera, clearly. He hasn’t forgotten her. Not at all.
That’s all I need to see. Maybe falling in love with this guy was a pipe dream. He won’t ever forget Ciera. No matter who comes into his life.
I spend the rest of the afternoon packing my suitcase. When I’m finished, it’s like a bloated stomach, packed to the edges with all my clothes. Packing the first time is always so much easier.
I sip down another coffee while I read the iPad. The early Christmas Eve posts have started to float in on social media. Gathering with friends, spending time with family, cooking delicious meals, decorating cookies, signing holiday tunes. What a magical time of year.
And yet now I’m alone.
I leave the apartment like he tells me. The door locks behind me with a snapping hiss. I walk outside in the cold. My breath doesn’t show. It’s hot as a midsummer’s day anywhere else. This is winter in L.A. This is what Christmas should really be like here.
As I sit in the Uber now, all these days later after getting bumped on my flight, it feels like a dream. How did this happen? How did so much stuff happen in such a sh
ort amount of time?
A tear trickles down my cheek. I miss Ryan. I miss these last few days. I miss everything that came with the snow and being stuck in L.A.
It’s a life I’ll never get back. One I’ll never see again.
We roll onto the airport. It’s time to go home for the holidays.
29.
I’m floating. In the air, and through life. There’s no hope of experiencing any sort of thrill or upheaval. Life has been too exciting recently. I don’t think I can handle anything more dramatic.
The plane ride is a little boring. Most of them are. I listen to music and podcasts that I have saved on my phone. But I don’t hear them. My mind focuses on images of the past week. The mornings drinking coffee, the days building a snowman or watching Christmas movies, cooking cookies together. Such a magical week stuffed into just a few days. How amazing it was. How fun it was.
I miss it the way we all miss vacations when we travel home. You think about the fun and joy you had, the way excitement glowed like Christmas light. The thrill of the unknown. So much of it is different than the mundane and boringness of life. Maybe that’s why I’m sad. Maybe it has nothing to do with Ryan or the way I feel about him. Maybe I’m just sad because I miss time away from life.
The plane lands before I have a chance to prepare for it. I must have dozed off or been focused too heavily on everything we went through. As I step off the plane, all the colors are dimmed and moot. The air is degrees colder than where I left from. The sounds of a bustling airport have been reduced to whispers. The smell of each restaurant I pass is absent. It’s almost like I’m not at an airport at all.
As I come down the escalator, I immediately see them. Mom and dad. Jerry and Sherri Cole. My little sister Julie is beside them, sparkling with her innocence that only a 10-year-old can have. They all wave at me, over and over, like I’m the most exciting thing in the world. That’s an honor, I guess. But I don’t feel special. Their praise is unwarranted and unwanted. I’m just someone who missed their flight. There’s nothing special. I don’t hate myself, but I can’t find the motivation to feel happy. It’s like I left my heart behind at Ryan’s apartment.
Dad wraps his around me when I reach the trio of smiling elves standing there in baggage claim. They might as well be singing Christmas carols.
“Nice to see you again.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“We missed you so much!” Mom says, hugging my body tightly, pressing hers against mine, almost like she wants to make sure we’re both really there.
Julie steps up to me next and lays open her hand like a slap. “Where’s my gift?”
A smile lifts on my face. I hug her to disturb her little mood. Little punk. Always looking for gifts. I guess that’s the way to go these days.
“So I’m starving,” I say.
“We can grab something to eat,” Dad says, nodding while also double-checking if that’s okay with a look at my mom.
“Or,” she interjects, “we could head home and make some sandwiches. That might be a good idea too!”
“Sure!” Dad says, shrugging his shoulders. “Honey, what do you want to do?”
I absolutely hate it when they call me “honey.” It’s this fake way of showing affection without actually showing affection. Truth be told, I could go for a solid helping of Chinese food. Or is that just the after taste of my week with Ryan lingering in my mouth?
“Sounds good,” I say.
Steps. Moving on is all about the steps, right?
The car ride home just brings the usual travel-related questions and comments. How was your flight? Did you see anything interesting? Flights don’t have enough room. The snacks are deplorable. Airports are too busy nowadays.
We really get cooking when they start asking about what it was like getting stuck in Los Angeles all week. I realize they have no idea what my week was like or how I spent it. Fearing nothing about what I went through, I spill out all the details. I leave out a few adjectives and insights to my own emotions, but otherwise I explain everything about how I got bumped, then bumped again, then forced into renting the apartment from Ryan.
My throat dries as I speak candidly about my week with Ryan. The free coffee, the warming smiles, the heartfelt stories, the way we connected in such a short amount of time. A good friend to the last. I even confess about Chives, the robot drone who is just making things happen all the time. Julie takes an interest in him. She wishes she could get one of those for Christmas. No doubt my parents will run out for a watered-down version from Walmart before the night is through.
“So, how’s Derek?”
Mom asks this just as I’ve finished spilling the beans on Ryan. She’s always been a fan of Derek. Clean-cut, blue-eyed, lovely doll of a human being. Safe and comforting, he’s the right choice in any love triangle. Throngs of women would kill for someone like him. Tough, sensitive, gift-giving, accepting. There’s little to complain about him.
And yet hearing his name sends shivers up my spine, and not in a good way. Maybe it’s the milky goo of guilt sticking to my veins. Or it’s something deeper beneath the surface. Maybe I don’t want to hear Derek’s name. Not now, and not ever again.
Funny how that happens. Hearing someone’s name from another voice tells you what you really feel.
“I haven’t really talked to him,” I confess.
Mom and Dad exchange a glance that’s so in sync they might as well be one person.
We drive along the roads of Connecticut, following the highways curves and straightaways into the night. There’s a considerable amount of traffic on the roads, most of which stems from the airport where people are picking up the people who made a last minute arrival.
The smaller streets of our town are just as packed. There’s not a lot of room to move among these ancient New England houses. Some of these roads are stuffed to the end with cars. Long lines stretch from one end of the road to the other. Partygoers, family members. The typical crowdedness of Christmas is here.
My nerves buzz at the thought of so many people lingering around me at these houses. Just too many people hanging around. After my week with Ryan, I still want to be alone. Just let me live by myself for a couple of hours. Despite my growling stomach, the thought of eating with the family sounds horrific. Why am I in such a mood?
We roll up our icy driveway on Dasher Lane, packed between two thick mounds of snow on the front lawn. Dad is out the door quicker than any of us. He grabs his backside. Maybe he’s got an emergency to take care of in the bathroom. Julie hangs back and waits for me. She began spewing off her Christmas list while we were in the car. She doesn’t mention Santa, so I’m assuming she doesn’t still believe. But then again, you never know with kids that young.
Our house is what you’d find almost anywhere else in New England. Ratty old white boards are stained like smoker’s teeth, black window shades are rusting at the corners, a screen door at the front squeaks as you open and close it. The basement floods every spring, ruining whatever boxes of storage we have. I think the home was built 100 years ago, but I could be wrong.
Our steps are barely steps. They’re wooden plank boards licked with white paint. Soon that will chip away and we’ll either have to add new steps or paint them over.
Dad’s cheap, so I’m going to vote the latter.
Mom whips open the screen door and turns the door knob. Holding the top loop of my bag, I awkwardly carry it inside, limping as I do. The home is darkened. No lights on. Just the blue shadows of the window.
I reach to the left and flip on the light switch.
Oh no. No. They didn’t.
Yep. They totally did.
“SURPRISE!”
30.
Everyone I’ve ever known is here. Well, maybe that’s a stretch. But definitely every family member, all the neighbors and everyone from church and the grocery store. They’ve all found a way to pack into my home.
After the initial hellos and welcomes to people who approach
me (mom, dad, sister, aunt, uncle), I do a quick scan of the party. Uncle Ned sips on egg nog in the corner. Cousin Charlie flirts with his beautiful girlfriend. Aunt Mary and Cousin Trina are so deep in conversation they don’t turn to look at the door when the surprise alert goes off. The Stop&Shop manager, Becky Whitetower, is putting together a plate of chips. The Hansens from next door are here. So too are the McDoogals, the Shutes, the Griswolds, the Sandlers, the Stevensons, the Champagnes. Just about anyone who my family has spoken to in the last month is here.
The party’s pretty plain, but perfect for the Christmas season. The jolly tunes of the season bounce out of the speakers, everyone’s dressed in a Christmas sweater of some sort, Christmas lights dangle off the wall like icicles. Not a bad decoration. Nice job, mom. Or whoever put it together.
A shriek comes from the other end of the party. Charity bustles her way through the crowd, hip checking one person after another as she snakes her way toward me holding two glasses of eggnog. She bends down just a bit and kisses me on both cheeks.
“I’m so happy you’re here!”
“Why are you here?” I ask. “What happened to going home?”
“Well, I went home originally. But then me and family came here because we knew you were going to be late. I swear, this is the coolest party.”
I accept her glass of eggnog and take a sip. It’s so deliciously sugary. Nothing else will do at this point.
“Why are we even having it?”
She throws crazy-eyes at me. “Because you were stuck in LA for three days and had no semblance of a holiday vacation? Listen girl, just embrace it. I would KILL to have a party thrown for me.”
“Doesn’t sound like much reason to celebrate.”
She waves off my concerns. Nothing is wrong in Charity’s land of wonderment. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Christmas Eve. People just want to celebrate and drink all the leftover liquor. Don’t take it personally!”
Christmas in LA Page 12