Her stomach growled. Patience is a virtue, Meredith Grace. A virtue that’d never been her strong suit, despite the literally hundreds of times Mum or Gram had reminded her of it. Maybe that had been part of the problem with Cole. Whoa. Don’t go there. But the more seconds ticked by as her head was on swivel looking for Sam, the more she mentally backtracked.
She’d had a crush on him their senior year of high school, and finally gotten up the nerve to speak more than six words at a time to him at college. Had she been so impatient as to force something that should never have been there to begin with? Their last argument scraped at her scars that hadn’t given her any pain in a long while. She’d thought, hoped, he was it—The One. And she’d told/screamed that at him the night of her birthday when he broke up with her.
He hadn’t even remembered her birthday. After three years.
Sam would remember their plans tonight. She could rest her hope in the man who’d had been so caring that she had gone from confounded to perplexed to struggling to breath in a matter of two weeks. Two weeks. He fit into her family. He wasn’t Cole. He made her laugh, and made her feel safe. He wasn’t Cole. She was free to be herself—Sam was not Cole.
And he’d be here any minute.
Merry rubbed her hands up and down her arms before returning them to her pockets to be sure she’d feel her phone vibrate when Sam texted. What a stupid, naïve romantic she had been in college. The memories still bit—but it wasn’t the fact that Cole had been an immature twenty-one year old who didn’t know what he wanted (other than not wanting her). No, the past still bit because history could still very well repeat itself.
No. Merry forced her cold feet to move through the crowds buzzing with festivity. As The Christmas Waltz streamed tinny through the loudspeakers, she typed out a quick text to Sam. Surely he’d reply in a matter of a minute.
Waiting by the bus stop on Fourth.
See you soon?
She turned her phone’s volume up to its loudest, but the typewriter text ringtone didn’t burst out all cheery as she expected it to. Resisting the urge to bite her nails, Merry set off down Fourth to Stanwix. And walked back up lest Sam come to PPG Place a different way. Six steps and two hurried apologies to two different couples strolling enviably love-struck to and from ice-skating, Merry stopped and held her breath.
Where was he?
More steps. One coffee purchased. She made a mental list of all she wanted to tell him. He’d been consistently, sweetly badgering her about her writing—and she was actually ready and longing to tell him about that huge, widely unknown part of her heart. And she wanted to hear all about what held his heart. Memories of Christmases’ past. Just how good of a pianist he had been. What, and who, had made him who he was. Everything she didn’t yet know—she just wanted to hear it all. From him and him alone.
She whipped out her phone again as she drained the dregs of her favorite latte. Not one call or text. Dumping the red and white paper cup into a trashcan, Merry sighed and typed out another text. Surely if he got these he’d call or text if he were sitting in a traffic jam.
I got coffee, sorry/not sorry. It’s cold. J
Traffic bad?
She watched the line for ice-skating begin to wrap around the square, and she strode over to stand in line so they’d be able to keep to their plan before it got terribly late. The closer she got to the front of the line, the more chilled she became as sharp blades scraped the ice, kids squealed hanging onto the edge while a cyclone of bodies circled the Christmas tree.
At the last minute, Merry stepped out of line and waved the people behind her forward. Her phone battery was waning, but she kept checking the time. Every five minutes, then every two. Right on the dot. Sam was not Cole. He wouldn’t stand her up. He had a good reason, surely. Maybe his phone was dead. Or something could’ve happened at work. Oh no. Merry ran to the quietest street corner to press a hand to her opposite ear before dialing his number. The ringing only added to the anxiety she fought to stomp down, and when his voicemail recording burst into her hearing, she realized she had done it.
She’d begun to fall.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Hey, Sam, it’s Merry. Um, I’m trying not to worry. Let me know you’re okay when you can?” Merry bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but it forced the tears back in. “I’m still waiting.” Once she ended the call her hands began to tremble both from the caffeine, lack of food, and regret. An hour after their agreed time, eighty minutes since she had got there, and the four words she drummed into her soul splintered from a sure confidence into a doubt-riddled, six-word question:
Sam couldn’t be Cole—could he?
Something landed splat on her idle phone screen, and Merry swiped it away. Was this just going to be her life? Some obnoxiously buoyant holiday music filtered through downtown, and Merry yearned to clap her hands over her ears as she forced her feet to hurry, to get back to her car, and go home.
Getting let down, forgotten about—always waiting. Thanks for nothing, God. No. That wasn’t right. She’d begun to fall for Sam without realizing how fast she’d been going—only to wipe out flat on her face. Her mistake. Not God’s. Because Sam had found her lacking, somehow. Which meant that he was just like all the rest of the guys she had known.
Oh, but she should’ve known not to get her hopes up. Another round of self-flailing began lashing at her heart as fast as the hot tears mixed with the freezing rain. Her hand lay idle over her pocket, but it never buzzed. Not when she returned to her car, nor when she sped around the street corner away from her apartment and towards the South Hills as white, fluffy flakes began tumbling down from the black sky. She pounded the steering wheel and swiped her tears away so she could see the white-dusted road. Except it eerily reminded her of what she had begun to think had been the first night of a potential forever. When that roadside rescuer in a red winter coat—her smug snowman—helped point her car in the right direction that fateful Sunday night.
Except she hadn’t realized her heart had begun to point towards him that night, too.
A night she wished she would’ve begged out of Sunday dinner with her family, and gone home after that date that ended with an excuse of laundry.
At least then she never would have met Sam Shepard.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m crashing here tonight.” Merry kicked the front door to slam shut behind her. A cat squalled, dropped from its nest in her baby sister’s lap when Lydia hopped up from the couch. Merry leaned against the banister as she shrugged out of her coat. Her eyes burned, now dry after crying all the way over here, and she barely felt Lydia’s quick hug.
“Mum and Dad are at Kara’s helping them fix their washer.” Her baby sister hopped backward, and her face fell—another slice to Merry’s heart. Lydia knew. Or was about to find out. Yearning for the comfort of her childhood room, a fleece blanket—and if she begged, a cat or two to snuggle with—Merry shuddered out a sigh.
“Aw, what happened?” Lydia grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away from the drafty front door into the kitchen. A teakettle began hissing in short order, and a sleepy cat was plopped unceremoniously in Merry’s arms. The cat fairly vibrated, and Merry snuggled it close. Her dad always said these animals had soothing powers. This was why she’d come here. She couldn’t face another disappointment alone. Not tonight. Not right before Christmas.
Not again.
“Spill, sissy.” A years-long unspoken rule was to use such an endearment at only the most desperate of times. Whether happy or sad. And right now—those two words were all it took for Merry to feel her heart crack open anew.
History was repeating itself. Except for this time, it hurt even more.
“I…” What to say? Her entire family adored Sam. They’d side with him, ask her what she did, or they’d say she was wrong and that she was jumping to conclusions. Merry barked a laugh, startling the fluffy cat in her arms to jump down to the floor. Lydia looked at her askance, and
Merry slapped her arms against her legs. She shouldn’t have come here. “I was on a date. And he stood me up.”
Lydia crossed her long legs and leaned against the counter, waiting. Her patience helped Merry work her mouth around the words. “Fine. I was on a date with…” She couldn’t stand to watch the hurt pool in Lydia’s eyes, so she turned to the cabinet and began rummaging for her favorite sleepy-time tea. “I was on a date with Sam. The second, actually.” Slam went the cabinet door. “And he stood me up. That’s all.”
A pin could have been heard dropping, before not only Lydia but also Ricky who’d materialized in the doorway behind Merry, both shrieked, “What?!” The shrill whistle of the teakettle played across her last exhausted nerve, and she broke, falling into the strong, tight embraces of both her youngest siblings. And for the first time in forever, she was reminded of what the most constant of loves was:
Unconditional.
A cat curled around her ankles, Ricky pulled away first but kept a hand on her shoulder. Lydia turned away to pour the tea. A paper napkin was pressed into her hand, and Merry blew her nose, a new hope dawning in spite of the ache. This was it. This was what had been lacking from the play script. Not so much dialogue—but action. Love in action. But of course, like everything else in her life—she couldn’t go back and rewrite it now. Just move forward—one sip of tea at a time. And she would make sure never to isolate herself again. Not from her family.
“Mer, I didn’t…gosh, I’m sorry.” Ricky paced the length of the kitchen, occasionally tossing back a handful of potato chips. Merry shrugged, amused and touched beyond words at this young man with the hollow leg.
“I’m…” She wasn’t fine. And she couldn’t keep lying to her family. “I’m disappointed.” Understatement of the century, but it hurt less than she imagined to actually verbalize. Ricky poured the bag of chips into his mouth, ears bright red. He was getting mad.
Regardless of how things hadn’t panned out between them—Sam needed to remain in Ricky’s life. It was ultimately her brother’s call, but Sam was too good a guy to just let go of. Even though she had to. “But, Ricky—don’t let it affect your friendship, okay? Things just…” A new pang of regret burst through her, but she needed to say the words. “Things just don’t work out sometimes.” But why, why, why, why?
It. Had. Been. Him. Just Sam. That’s all she had come to want. Not the chance of having a special someone at the holidays—though that would’ve been great. Nor the possibility of having to change her relationship status on social media. None of that.
It had just been Sam. In spite of her issues, her presuppositions—that guard she’d known all along she kept building up. Until for the first time in forever, someone, Sam, had actually cared enough to work to help tear it down.
Only Sam. She’d actually only wanted him.
Except now, it was clear he didn’t feel the same. Had he ever? Or was he that nice of a guy, but just not that into her? A headache began creeping in behind her eyes, and Merry slouched against the counter. She needed to stop thinking in circles.
Lydia harrumphed and began slamming cabinet doors and drawers after piling a surprising mountain of chocolate and cookies on the countertop. “It’s not fair. You two were perfect for each other! I cannot believe he did that. Not even a text?” A manicured finger poked into Merry’s vision before she could answer.
“And you didn’t tell us you went out with him!?” How could you were her baby sister’s unspoken ending words, and it added a new angle of hurt to the whole ordeal. Merry spread her hands and shrugged. She had no excuse. Other than this was exactly why she hadn’t told them. Because she probably knew, deep down that it wouldn’t work out. And she knew her family would be twice as disappointed and hurt.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Liar. Merry reached for the mug of tea Lydia outstretched and curled her fingers around it. The warm steam rose to help clear her sinuses; a measure of calm and some semblance of control returned on the scent of lemon verbena and chamomile. “I’m sorry, okay? But I’m here now. And…I need you guys.” There. Honesty. And Merry began to breathe again, her headache even receding. Lydia opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut just as quickly. Probably fighting to overcome the fierce protective instinct that all of them seemed to be “gifted” with when one of them was wounded in some way. Some things never changed. Thank You, God. Merry glanced up at the ceiling as she sipped the scalding herbal tea. I did mean that.
Ever the drama queen, Lydia slapped a palm to her forehead and squeezed her glistening eyes shut. Oh no…why is she crying now?
Merry braced herself and hung on tight to her mug. “What?”
“This is just…tomorrow’s your birthday.”
Yep. “Which is why I figured I’d spend the night, have you make me a birthday latte before I need to be at work, and just…deal.” Just like five years ago. Another scalding gulp of tea chased away the last lump in her throat, but her baby sister’s eyes still sparkled with tears. “Lydia—I’ll be fine.” How odd that it felt truer the more she said it aloud. She had her job to keep her focus off of herself for at least eight hours a day, her family she could no longer afford to keep at arm's length—even if it meant the occasional interrogation, being talked over, and late nights playing card games or watching old movies. Coming home more—this, she knew without a doubt, would be worth it. These people would never let her down.
“Why don’t you pick a hilariously inappropriate movie to watch, and we can pop some popcorn in a bit, okay? Or…” Merry reached over and tweaked Lydia’s braid, “You could give me a birthday present early to cheer me up.”
Her sister’s eyes lit up and she dashed upstairs to her room—two steps at a time—as Ricky came around the corner. Just as her brother opened his mouth, the doorbell rang. Merry plopped criss-cross applesauce style on the plaid couch and reached for the fluffiest blanket strewn across it. Her brother went to the door, placing a hesitating hand on the knob even as the doorbell rang again. Odd. Merry tilted her head. “Expecting anybody?” She hoped not. It was probably just a delivery man with more Christmas gifts. Which was good, because she probably looked like at least half of the hot mess she felt like.
Ricky just shook his head as he eased the front door open, ears growing redder by the second. “I got this, but why don’t you go to your room or something?” The outer door flew open, ushering in a chilling wind that blew out the flames on the sweet cookie candles on the mantle—and with it, Merry’s relative calm.
“Sam?”
Chapter Thirteen
“What are you doing here?” Merry wrapped the blanket around her arms and stayed put on the couch, though every nerve ached to stand up, stride across the living room—and slap Sam Shepard right in his handsome face.
Ricky stood stoic by the door but was torn. Lydia tiptoed down the steps, eyes wide and phone in hand. Merry quirked a brow, waiting for the man to speak. Oh, if her younger siblings weren’t here what she wouldn’t say to this…this…farthest from smug, now shaken, snow-dusty man standing in the doorway, hundreds of words screaming to be spoken from his eyes.
“Hey…” Sam took two slow steps forward, barely glancing at Ricky who looked about ready to drag him right back outside.
“I am so sorry.”
The four words pinged off her heart and fell flat. His lack of explanation spoke volumes, and Merry strove to stomp down on her heart that was on a rollercoaster between hope and hurt and anger and wondering and…and…
Wanting to know why there was such pain behind Sam’s eyes. Pain not unlike her own. But the man didn’t speak.
Lydia tripped into the room and sat extremely close to Merry on the couch, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Sam, you should go. We have to get to the hospital.”
That snapped her out of dazed and confused. “What?!” Merry wrenched her gaze away from Sam’s so fast a fiery pain shot up the back her neck. Why did they need to go to the hospital? The streetlights streaming thro
ugh the lace curtains illuminated thousands of fat flakes flying at a diagonal and Merry remembered where Mum and Dad were. Please, please, don’t let it be them…“What happened? Who’s hurt?”
Ricky was pulling on his boots, a secretive smile growing. “Is it Kara?”
Lydia bounced up and down and threw her arms around Merry with a deafening squeal. “Yes! Mum just called, said they just got to the hospital in Oakland and for us to come as soon as we can. We’re going to be aunts! And an uncle!”
Their sister was about to have her baby. The baby they’d been praying for for nine months. The first niece or nephew. First grandchild. He or she was finally about to get here. In the middle of a snowstorm, on the eve of Merry’s birthday.
This night just might be redeemed after all, and the expectation of it all sped her heart into feeling again. “Someone call Gram and let her know!” Merry tossed off the fleece blanket and held her mug high as she stepped around the cats circling the floor to find where she’d shed her shoes. Except she then bumped her nose right into a zippered chest. Oh, crap…
Sam. He was still here. And now he had his arms around her. Don’t look up at him, don’t look at him. Don’t do that to yourself. But, as had been the trend, she lowered her guard and risked a glance up into those big brown eyes. His mouth was pulled taut, but his hands around her arms went from a light, steadying hold to a snugger fit. A safe one. One that said he wouldn’t let her fall. Oh, but he had. And she had so wanted to believe he’d be different. That he’d never let her down.
“Merry…” His voice deepened into melted chocolate-like smoothness, and her breath caught at his nearness, at all the unspoken words swimming in his eyes that probably outnumbered hers. He bit his lip in a wince, then opened those too-near lips to speak.
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