Page 142 of Snowed In
“And you’re sure you can’t stay? Or your mother is more than welcome to come over and—”
“Megan’s got her own food at home,” I interrupt as Mam adds a box of chocolates on top of the pile.
“I’ll bring everyone over tomorrow,” Megan promises, and that seems to appease her. With a final hug, and what looks to be a jar of chutney, she rushes back to the kitchen to rescue the dinner.
“So much for not stealing your thunder,” Megan says, once she’s gone. I shrug. It’s not like I can be mad at Andrew and Molly for being the center of attention today.
“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
She shakes her head, readjusting the food in her hands. “You should stay and celebrate,” she says. “I promise you the O’Sullivan Christmas dinner won’t be anywhere near as fun. Plus, I need to add something engagement themed to the sweaters.”
“Oh God, I forgot.”
“Late presents are the best presents,” she says, and looks over her shoulder as headlights sweep down the drive. A second later, her mother pulls up with a wave.
“I better go,” Megan says, but she doesn’t. She lingers, and for the first time, a hint of awkwardness fills the silence.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks eventually.
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “Merry Christmas.”
She gives me one last look, waiting, and then jogs to the car.
I know instantly that she’s disappointed. That I messed up.
If this had been a few days ago, I wouldn’t have any hesitation in going to her. And maybe it’s seeing Andrew and Molly get engaged, but it feels different now between us. Newer. Like we’ve gone straight back to the beginning. With no idea what to do, or what the other wants.
And though I don’t want to admit it, it scares me just a little.
After all, you don’t have as many failed relationships as I do without getting a little cautious.
But maybe I should have kissed her goodbye.
I definitely should have kissed her goodbye.
I stand on the porch, annoyed with myself as I watch her drive off. But even when she’s gone, I don’t move. Even though it’s freezing out.
And I know I should head inside and offer to help my parents with dinner. I should go change. I should. But I don’t. Because I don’t want to do any of that. For the first time in my life, the first time in all my Christmases, I wish I wasn’t at home. I wish I was back in the cabin with Megan. We just spent several days cooped up together, but all I want to do is see her and touch her and breathe her in. I want it so much I can barely think.
I reach for my phone, intending to text her, but my fingers close around something else instead. A worn, crumpled packet that used to be the center of my universe.
I examine the cigarettes briefly before tapping one out, more out of curiosity than necessity. And I’m pleased when I feel none of the usual pull toward it, none of the itch that’s plagued me for the last few months. I go so far as to brush it across my lips, tempting all sorts of devils, but there’s no impulse. No need. Not even a—
“Christian.”
I spin, automatic guilt making my heart leap into my throat as I turn to see my father standing in the doorway.
“I wasn’t going to—”
“I know,” he says simply, and to my surprise, he lets the door fall behind him as he steps out in a simple fleece. If he feels the cold, he doesn’t show it. “How long has it been?” he asks, nodding at the packet before I shove it back into my coat.
“A lifetime,” I mutter before I pause. “Four months, two weeks, three days…four hours,” I say, checking my watch. “But who’s counting.”
He doesn’t smile at the joke. Nor does he order me inside, which I thought he was about to do. Instead, he takes a step forward, joining me.
“Thank you for the boiler,” he says. “It was very generous of you.”
Ah. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Well.”
