by Stella Rhys
By the time he called her back, she told him to forget it, that I was home. And it was then that he listened to the voicemail left by Mason. Once he called him back, they put their stories together. Mason let Aaron pretend it was him and together, they agreed to never speak of the night again.
“I didn’t know he cheated, Taylor, or I would’ve never agreed to let him have it,” Mason said, remorse thick in his voice. “And even then I was going to tell you. We didn’t talk like that but I was going to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Grief dragged at his features, his whole posture. “I thought on it for too long. And then it was too late.”
“Because I got pregnant.”
“Yes.”
I was so livid I could hardly see anymore. Then again, it might’ve been the tears. Funny enough, while they blinded me, I could clearly picture the life with Mason that could have started two years if he had just told me the fucking truth. “Had I known the real story,” I murmured shakily, my entire body trembling, “I would have never taken him back. I would have never let him back in my bed. I wouldn’t have let him touch me let alone carry his child. I would have saved myself a world of the worst suffering I have ever experienced if you had just told me the truth, Mason! It didn’t have to happen – none of it did!”
I was screaming but I couldn’t stop myself. Sofia and Noah stood frozen by the jet. Others working out side stared at me, but I wasn’t sorry. Not for this. All I was sorry for were the years I’d lost to one lie. When Mason came forward, I stepped sharply back.
“Don’t,” I warned, my voice guttural. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t try to talk to me. Don’t call or see me. Tell Sofia the same. Just leave me alone.”
I could see the hurt my words left in his blue eyes. I could see his body rigid, tortured as he controlled his urge to grab and hold me and kiss away my tears. I wanted it but I didn’t and he knew that. He knew well that he wronged me – that there were consequences to his inaction that I would never forget. So despite the need I could see in his twitching fingers, Mason kept a respectful distance. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said finally. “I only wanted to protect you.”
“You did the opposite,” I returned straightaway. “You hurt me worse than he did,” I said. I didn’t have to say whom. He knew and he only nodded, chewing back his lip as he accepted my contempt.
We didn’t exchange another word before I left without him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Warming my hands with my coffee, I stared out at the brilliant sheets of fresh powder outside my window. My mood in the past ten days had left little room for smiling, but I had to kind of laugh when I saw the kids in the yard across from the B&B playing in the nearly two feet of snow, wearing only short-sleeved T-shirts and ripped jeans. By most people’s standards, it was freezing outside but most people didn’t include kids who grew up with Vermont winters. As melodramatic as it sounded, I had little to look forward to growing up in this town. But at least I had Decembers in Vermont. Even as a angsty, moderately surly teenager, I had known that there had to be few other places in the world that were better to spend the holidays than here.
Pulling the blue armchair to the window, I settled down in it with my coffee, making sure my old Nokia flip phone was well within reach. It was a quarter to nine, so I’d be making my daily call soon but till then, I had time to get a bit nostalgic about the last Christmas I had spent in Vermont.
It was with Mrs. Nolan.
I was days from being eighteen and since I was saving up to move out, I’d resigned to spending my entire winter break locked indoors and maybe watching conspiracy documentaries with Aunt Joy, even though she preferred to sit alone. Of course, upon hearing my plan, Mrs. Nolan stepped in, inviting me to join her and her family on a Christmas Day trip to Montpelier, the capital city of Vermont. My memory wasn’t exceptionally clear considering the amount of fun I had, but I did remember thinking the Vermont State House reminded me of a small, gold-topped White House, and that the amount of glittering lights wrapped about the poles and trees was good practice for all the lights I’d see in New York.
It was crazy to think that that was seven years ago, and this was the first time I’d been back since moving to New York. It was only a four hour drive and I used to try to appeal to Aaron by saying he could go snowboarding, but he always said that if he was going to ride, he might as well book a trip to Colorado or somewhere further west.
So no returns to Vermont were ever made.
At least not till now. It made me almost itch to make the hour drive to Montpelier. But then I remembered I had a call to make. As usual, it rang twice before being promptly picked up.
“Merry Christmas, Eeyore,” Lori drawled on the other end.
“Merry Christmas,” I smirked, sipping my coffee. “Yesterday was Holden Caulfield. Today is Eeyore. What cruel nickname are you going to have for me tomorrow?”
“Whichever angsty, depressed character from literature I can think of. On that topic, how are you feeling, pal? It’s Christmas and you’re alone.”
“I was fine until you phrased it that way.” I rested my woolly socked feet on the windowsill. “And I would’ve been alone anyway. Even if I didn’t decide to participate in… whatever that whole wedding ordeal was.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling your fauxmance now?”
“We’re calling it whatever makes me least nauseous to say out loud. It varies by the day,” I said, trying but failing to figure out how to put my crappy, old phone on speaker. “By the way, how do you put this thing you gave me on speaker?”
“You don’t. It’s old and it doesn’t have that function. You win some and you lose some when you’re trying to avoid all your friends back home.”
“Fine. I can live without speaker,” I said, tense over the fact that she had to bring up my “friends” at home. Usually, that was a segue for a report on Mason and it was no different this morning.
“He called again,” Lori said, breaking away from the phone to yell something at her kid. When her voice came back, it was with a sigh. “Don’t be mad at him for putting the deal on hold. I’m not, and you know I’d be the first to be pissed about it,” she pointed out, referring to the multi-million dollar contract Mason had promised Vandermark Restaurants. He was supposed to bring my company in as the new group running his hotel’s rooftop lounge. But when a full week passed after St. Lucia without me returning his calls – and without me returning to work – he backed out of the deal and renewed his contract with the existing group. I knew I had no right to be infuriated, but I was.
“You’re too easily bought,” I said to Lori.
“You know that’s not true,” she snorted. “The man did what he could to make up for it, Taylor. You can’t deny that. And I can’t deny that either because I’m home, it’s Christmas and all I can do is stare at the REO for the company party he booked with us. I mean it’s no multi-million dollar contract but it’s still going to make our year. The budget is just fucking obscene. I think it gets me wetter than my husband does.”
“Lori! Jesus, isn’t he home?”
“Yes, but I told him about how much money Mason dropped on a single party with us and even he jizzed his pants. And the fact that we got to charge him a ten grand fee for last minute booking? My God. Just the cherry on the top of my quarterly report sundae.”
I laughed at her but curled my lip over Mason. “Well, I’m glad he gets to throw himself a giant Christmas-slash-New Years party and drown his nonexistent sorrows in hundreds of beautiful women.”
“Stop. The sorrows aren’t nonexistent – there are totally sorrows. Tons of them. He called as much as he did to ask for you, didn’t he? It got to the point where I wasn’t looking forward to hearing from him,” Lori said. “And to be fair, it’s a corporate party. He’s going to be boogying with a bunch of old farts in suits from The Leo Group.”
“And hot receptionists who were kind of mean to me.”
“She wasn’t mean to you, and you’re wallowing,” Lori warned. “Don’t wallow. It makes you bitter and I don’t want you to come back to me all shitty and useless.”
“Thanks,” I snorted, making out the sounds of Lori moving around in her kitchen. “Oh God, I can hear you mixing pancake batter. Should I go let you be with your family on Christmas morning like a normal person?”
“Yes, but before you do, let me tell you that I credit this giant party booking from The Leo Group to you, so you can stop calling my ass every day and making sure I’m not going to fire you. I’m not going to fire you, so just stay out there for a bit longer. We’re fine.” She paused. “It’s for business, anyway. Right?”
“Totally,” I laughed, remembering the excuse she’d used to let me hide out in Vermont for awhile – something about scouting farmhouses to purchase and renovate for future events. It was totally bogus but she didn’t really have a higher-up to report to, so it worked just fine.
“Anyway, the kid’s going crazy on me so I gotta go. But you go… find some way to have a decent Christmas alone,” Lori said. “And don’t cut your ear off or anything.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Van Gogh. He was depressed and he cut his ear off.”
“Ah.” I squinted. “I think I prefer being called Eeyore.”
“Noted. Merry Christmas, T. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Upon hanging up, I did my whole routine of dryly laughing and thinking about how grateful I was to have such a kind but smartass boss in my life. But today, probably thanks to what little Christmas spirit I had, I went beyond that and considered how I wouldn’t have even had her in my life without Mrs. Nolan – the woman who guided my way during my years in Vermont before basically handing me off to Lori the moment I moved to New York. She had ensured I was constantly in capable hands, and I had repaid her by losing contact a few years ago, when I went through the break and then the miscarriage with Aaron. I hadn’t felt up to telling her about everything, and then once enough time passed that I did, I still refrained, ashamed by the sheer amount of her emails I had ignored.
So today, I would fix that.
Rushing to the nightstand, I grabbed the notepad and pen the room provided and brought it to the desk, sitting to write a letter to the woman I had named my son after. I included the parts about him, and about the St. Lucia wedding Aaron called off. And from there, I worked backwards because there was just so much she didn’t know that I desperately wanted her to.
When I finally finished, I had to take a full five minutes to massage the massive cramp from my hand. But it was worth it. I didn’t have Mrs. Nolan’s home address, but I obviously knew where she worked and while she wouldn’t be there today, I still remembered exactly which desk in which classroom was hers.
So throwing on my coat, my scarf and my boots, I headed out.
*
I probably should’ve figured the doors at my old high school would be locked, but I had a vague memory of once being inside the building on Christmas Day. But then I realized I had been with Mrs. Nolan, and she’d had a key.
“Great,” I breathed out after trying the last door to no avail. With snow falling harder now, I slipped the folded letter into my pocket. I still had every intention of getting it to her – I just had to figure out how.
Leaning against the door, I rolled my head back and heaved a sigh, staring up at the feathery snowfall. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to figure out my next move. When I opened them again, they flitted in surprise.
“Hi,” said an equally flustered man in a scarf and knit hat. He was young and handsome and we stared at each other for a moment as I tried to figure out if he was an old classmate. We had to be about the same age. But then I glanced down and saw the slightly ragged, leather briefcase in his hand, a set of keys in the other.
“Oh. Are you a teacher here?” I asked eagerly, watching his startled green eyes dart about my face as if trying to place me as well. It was silent for a bit.
“Yes.” He finally gave his curt answer. Then he stammered a bit and ran his hand through his hair, clearly forgetting he was wearing a cap. Pushing it off, he revealed tousled, almost black waves that got quickly flecked with snowflakes. “Sorry. You just don’t look young enough to be one of my students, but you don’t look old enough to be one of their parents.”
“Oh. Yeah.” My laugh was staccato. “I’m actually a former student here. Seven years ago. I, um…” I pulled out my letter and waved it in front of him. “I have something I want to give to Mrs. Nolan. Need to, actually. Very badly.”
His eyebrows ascended. “Oh.” There was a bit of a silence. Then he cracked what was almost a smile. “Late assignment?”
“I guess you can say that.”
He nodded and moved past me to the door. “You can follow me. I’m headed in the same direction.”
It was a fairly mundane scene but I watched with increasing excitement as his gloved fingers went through a ring of a dozen keys before finding the one that opened the side door. “Yes!” I breathed out when it turned in the lock to finally let us in the building. Mr. Teacher gave an awkward but vaguely amused smile and peered at me, walking stiffly at my side as we made our way down the very familiar hall. I had initially pegged him for the quintessential hot, young teacher that existed in every school, but now I felt like he was a bit too quiet for that title. “Sorry, by the way. If that was weird,” I said, eyeing him back as I brushed my hands along the wall of lockers.
“No problem. Just not used to seeing anyone too excited to be here.”
“Oh, I wasn’t back in the day either, but I just… have a purpose now,” I said, unfolding my letter. He looked at it and mouthed wow.
“That looks like a… pretty lengthy essay.”
I looked sheepishly down at the damned near packet I was holding. “Oh,” I blushed. “Yeah. I wrote her a letter and I guess I got a little carried away. There was just a lot I had to update her on. It’s been a shameful while since we talked.”
“How long?”
“Two years. Because I’m an asshole,” I said, going instinctively stiff for a second till he laughed.
“I’m not your teacher. You can say asshole.” He sifted again through his keys as we stood outside Mrs. Nolan’s old classroom. It looked the same yet completely different. I cocked my head at him.
“How do you have the keys to her classroom?” I asked.
He gave that almost smile again. “It’s my classroom, too,” he said, opening the door and letting me into the room that still smelled heavily of whiteboard marker. I stopped for a moment, a cringing smile twitching my lips as I took in my painfully familiar surroundings. Mr. Teacher set his bag on his desk and peered at the nerves on my face. “You look like someone who’s still bad at math.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. I hear the fear of it never goes away,” he said somewhat humorously as he opened a drawer, taking out a folder and slipping it into his briefcase. He watched me watch him then explained. “Told myself I wouldn’t grade their exams over my break. But then the guilt set in.”
I laughed. “Grading on Christmas though?”
“It’s only a little weirder than whatever it is you’re doing,” he said. My eyes widened but he was in no rush to apologize. Zipping his briefcase, he finally said, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It is weird,” I conceded as I stood there for a second, staring down at my letter and for the first time all day, wondering what everyone was doing back home. Mason in particular.
“She your long lost mother or something?”
My eyes fluttered up to find Mr. Teacher sitting at the edge of his desk. “Mrs. Nolan? No. She was my favorite teacher. Well, actually, not necessarily. She graded without a curve and she gave pop quizzes like she enjoyed watching us freeze over in terror.”
There was finally a flicker of interest in his eye. “So why her?”
“She was the best person. Ever. She helped me plan my future
to leave this town and move to New York.”
“Which you did, where you’re now successful,” he finished. When I cocked my head, he let his gaze dip for the first time to my body. “Judging from the way you’re dressed. Figured you’d done well for yourself.”
“Right.” I felt my hands getting clammy as they gripped the letter. “I guess… I have. Especially compared to my what my expectations were for myself in high school. She’s actually always been the one to remind me that,” I admitted, nodding toward her desk. “Mrs. Nolan. Whenever I felt down about anything, she’d remind me to put myself back in my high school shoes and imagine what I’d think or say if I knew that I’d end up growing up to work and live where I did, and know the people I did. And that would make me realize I didn’t have anything to be upset about – at least until my problems got bigger, but you know.” Crap, I was rambling and this guy really didn’t seem like the type to be interested in anything about me, let alone my life story. But to my surprise, I looked up to see his expression thawing. His scarf was off now and he looked completely different to me. There was a scruff on his sharp jaw line that I hadn’t expected. Even less expected was the slightly entertained look on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Please tell me,” I said with a nervous smile.
“Then please don’t take this the wrong way. I just…” he trailed off, rubbing the scruff. “I guess what you said just now kind of went with the narrative that I made up for you in my head.”