Page 65 of The Grumpiest Elf

When I first told him about the divorce that night we were stuck at Hudgins House, I half expected him to say something like that. And from the look on his face, it seemed like he wanted to but was holding back for one reason or another. But I haven’t gotten that feeling from him since, so either I’ve gotten better at explaining myself, he’s actually empathetic, or he at least allows me to feel whatever I feel without judgment. My money’s on the last one, personally, but I’m just happy not to feel defensive about my feelings for the first time since that fateful FaceTime call when Mom and Dad announced their divorce.

We spend time with his family and my mom, too, though usually separately. His siblings are a lot of fun, and it’s entertaining to watch them poke at each other, their affection clear despite—or maybe because of—their teasing. It’s very different than the relationship I have with my sister, though I don’t think ours is necessarily worse. Watching them together makes me determined to keep in touch with her more, though. We always got along growing up, and we text infrequently now that we’re both out of the house, with a brief uptick after Mom and Dad announced their divorce. She also doesn’t get why I’m so upset about their divorce, which made me not want to talk to her much afterward. I’d gone to her for commiseration and support, and while she’d offered it initially, I guess I eventually started annoying her, because one day she’d just sighed and said, “Lydia, I get that you’re upset, but it’s not like you’re being asked to pick a favorite parent or to take sides. They grew apart. It’s not your fault. Grow up.”

And that stung enough that I stopped talking to her about it. She’d text every few weeks to see how I was doing, but I didn’t give detailed answers.

Maybe with some time and space we can overcome that breakdown. I’d like to have a better relationship with her, even if it doesn’t quite resemble the one Dylan has with his sisters and brother. And she did send me a supportive message after she learned I was taking time off from school and Dad was going to cut me off for it.

After dinner on Ty and Olivia’s last night in town, Dylan and I ended up at Sarah’s old house again. I’m lying naked on my stomach with my head pillowed on my folded arms in our pile of blankets while Dylan trails his fingers up and down my back.

He places a kiss on my shoulder. “Have you thought about where you might start looking for a job next week?” The question is quiet in the stillness surrounding us.

I shrug the shoulder farthest from him. “Not really. I figured I’d look around for Help Wanted signs, maybe ask your parents if they know of anyone who’s hiring, plus the usual places online.”

He grunts, and I turn my head to look at him, one eyebrow raised, amusement tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Since when are we back to grunting?” That was his primary form of communication with me the first little while, but he hasn’t grunted a whole lot since we got together. Not at me, at least.

Chuckling softly, he rolls onto his back, one arm flung over his head as he stares up at the ceiling. “Since I’m going to be leaving soon.”

I turn onto my side so I can look at him more easily, a pang of anticipatory longing lancing through me. Especially after this week of spending nearly all our time together, him leaving will be difficult. “I’ve been trying not to think too much about that,” I confess.

He looks at me, his eyes glassy. “Me either,” he says, his voice husky. “But when I’m doing laundry and starting to pack my things to go back to school, it’s hard not to.” Rolling to his side, he props his head on his hand, studying me intently. Something cold slithers through my gut. Things have been going so well. He’s been so supportive, so caring. Surely he won’t …

“I’ve been thinking,” he says slowly, his eyes falling to where his hand plucks at the blankets beneath us.

“Uh-oh.” I try to make it sound like a joke, but my tone lacks any of the lightness that would pull that off, sounding as dire as I feel.

His eyes dart to mine then away, and he huffs a laugh, though I don’t think he’s any more amused than I am. “I was just thinking that you could come back to Seattle with me.” He holds up a hand to forestall the protest I’m already filling my lungs to issue. “Not back to school,” he says, and I deflate. “I know you need to take time off so you can figure yourself out. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do that. I get that you need time to decide what you want to study, and it’s difficult to do that when you’re just grinding through whatever track you’re on. Even filling all your gen eds isn’t going to give you the breathing room to do that. I get it.” He looks at me for the last three words, putting weight on each one, his free hand covering mine. “I do. I’m not trying to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I was just thinking about how much I’ll miss you when I have to go. And how few jobs there are here between the main tourist seasons. Seattle has a lot more jobs to choose from. It might …” He hesitates, looking at my face, and I’m not sure what he sees, but he sighs, sitting up and pulling a blanket into his lap. “It might make sense,” he says. “You don’t have to answer me right now. But think about it at least.”

Sitting up too, I face him, both of us cross-legged on the floor, blankets over our laps. I blow out a breath, looking at the blank walls, the gas fireplace currently blazing. We’re in the living room with the blinds closed. We have all the room we want to spread out in here. For some reason, going into a bedroom felt weird, and since there’s no furniture anyway, it didn’t seem to be a problem to just make our nest here, on the floor in front of the fire. It added another layer of romance to the whole thing.

“You make a good point about the job thing,” I say slowly, my voice croaking. I clear my throat and shake my head. When I speak again, though, my voice is no better. “But even if I don’t have a job here, I have a place to stay.” I meet his eyes. He’s looped his arms around his knees and he watches me, his face impassive, like he’s girding himself for my answer, because we both already know what it’ll be. “Where will I live in Seattle?” I spread my hands, palms up. “My dad’s not an option. Even if I wanted to, which I most assuredly don’t, he wouldn’t let me move there even if I found a job right away.”

“With me,” he answers immediately, his voice equally croaky. But when he clears his throat, it helps. “With me,” he repeats more clearly. “I have a roommate, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“But what if it is?” I push. “And even if it isn’t, I’d still have to pitch in for rent and electricity and food …” I wave a hand, encompassing all the bills that come with living. “Mom’s happy to let me stay as long as I need to decide what to do with myself. But we both know it’s not going to be permanent. It’s just …” I lift my hands again and let them fall. “I need to be here,” I whisper. “And as much as I wish you could stay, I know you can’t.” There’s more to it, but I’m afraid saying it will hurt his feelings, even if it’s true. Living together so soon after starting our relationship seems like a recipe for disaster on the face of it. But it would also feel like trading one kind of dependence—on my father—for another. While it’s true that I’m currently still depending on my mom, it’s only so I can find my footing and become independent.

I want what we have to last, to be more than a Christmas break fling, and I think for that to be at all possible, I have to learn to be independent. I have to figure out how to make it on my own. With friends and family and a boyfriend who love and support me, yes, but able to pay my bills and not be in a position where someone can tug the purse strings to get me to do what they want. Of course, I don’t think Dylan would do that. But I didn’t think my dad would either.

Blinking hard, he looks away, nodding. He draws in a shuddering breath. “I get it,” he rasps. “I just had to try.”

With a soft sound, I crawl over to him, climbing into his lap, cupping his face in my palms and kissing him. “I love that you wanted to try,” I whisper between kisses. “Maybe eventually that can happen. But not yet. Not right now. It’s too soon.”

His arms wind around my back and he nods, nuzzling my throat, kissing my collarbone. I breathe a sigh of relief as he continues, his kisses and touches growing more hungry, more insistent, until he lays me down, rolls on a condom, and enters me in one swift stroke. Me turning down his suggestion hasn’t broken us. We’re still okay. And as we both reach our orgasms, first me and then him close behind, I hold onto that assurance.

We’re still okay.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

Dylan

My last daysin Arcadian Falls are spent in an agony of trying so hard to hang onto each moment as it passes while dreading our upcoming separation. Every kiss, every touch, every time she laughs, I do my best to lock them away in the vault of my memory, ready for me to pull out on the long nights that will separate us all too soon.

It’s ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. It’s too early to be this wrapped up in a girl, isn’t it? The L-word presses at my brain, but I don’t let it out, because I know it’s way, way too soon.

And it’s not like this is the end, even though it feels likeanend. It’s the end of this perfect beginning for us, and I worry what so much time apart might do to us.

We’ll see each other again, I remind myself. Soon, most likely. Not every day, of course, but in a couple weeks. Three at the most. We’ll have the weekend together. We’ve already made tentative plans for visits—tentative only because there are work and school schedules that need to be firmed up first—and discussed spending spring break together. There’s a solid chance one or both of us will have to work on spring break, but neither of us says that out loud.

That seems to be our unspoken agreement—we don’t look directly at the fact that I’m leaving. We don’t mention it, except obliquely when discussing the next time we’ll see each other after I go, both of us willing to pretend that everything is wonderful.

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