Page 44 of Merrily Ever After
For a second, just a second, I close my eyes, letting her guide our movements into the dough as I breathe in her scent. The soft floral notes of the perfume that clings to her clothes. The sugar and cinnamon from the morning’s baking.
“We cut the cross to let the fairies out,” she told me once as we stood in this very spot. I was much younger then. Loving her attention and hanging on to her every word. Not much has changed, I guess.
I lean my head against her shoulder. “I’m sorry about the bread.”
“The bread’s fine,” she says briskly. “You did a great job.”
I didn’t, but it’s nice of her to lie, and I turn my head to kiss her cheek in thanks.
“What’s that for?” she murmurs, patting my hand.
“Nothing.” I step back, suddenly restless. “I’m going to find Andrew and Molly.”
*
I leave Mam to rescue the bread and step outside, squinting at the winter sunshine as I take off down the lane.
The weather is extra annoying this year. It’s not warm enough tonotwear a coat but not cold enough to have one on for more than a few minutes. I barely make it to the gate before I’m sweating and I lower the zip as I hit the main road.
It’s weird. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve done this walk. How many times I’ve passed the same pothole, the tall hedge-rows. The abandoned cottage, the trickling stream. You’d think I’d get bored of it, but I never do. I loved growing up in thecountryside. I loved our house and the farm and how some days you could walk for miles and not meet another soul. People are usually surprised when I tell them how I never wanted to live in a city. I think because I’ve always wanted to work in fashion, they still expect me to change my mind and move on. But I don’t see any need to.
Everyone thought Christian was the smart one, but I was the secret smart one. It’s just that it was a creative smart, which, you know, doomed me either to a stable office job where I devoted my evenings and weekends to my true passions in life or living paycheck to paycheck trying to make a career out of doing what I love.
I’ve chosen the latter. Like, I’ll berealisticabout it. But I’m going to try. I’ve promised myself that, at least. And it’s not like anyone ever told me I couldn’t. I’m one of those artists burdened with actually supportive parents. Not financially, which, to be honest, would also be great, but emotionally. I don’t think I gave them much choice. I gravitated early on to making things. To clothes and fabrics and colors. Mam showed me how to use her sewing machine. Dad sat patiently as I modeled each and every one of my brilliant creations for him. When I wanted to go to college and study fashion, they said yes. I wasn’t shoved into a course I didn’t want to do like so many of my friends. They supported me, just like they supported my brothers, and I’ll always be grateful to them for it. Even if they didn’t set up a secret trust fund for me.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see Daniela has texted back.
Four days. Three hours. Fifty-seven minutes. If the flight lands on time
It doesn’t make me feel any better.
Because the one thing that could make me resent this place is the fact that she isn’t here. It makes me feel antsy and strange. Like something is ever so slightly off. A picture frame askew. A spoon amongst forks. It’s why the whole long-distance thing makes me nervous. Sometimes, it’s like the world is only right when she’s near. We’ve discussed moving in together dozens of times, and I still think about it every day. What it would be like to have our own space with our own things and not have to worry about people barging in on us every few seconds. I’ve never lived with a partner before. People tell me it’s a big step, but I feel nothing but excited about the thought. I think that’s how I know it’s right.
I round the bend to see a figure waving at me up ahead and I quicken my pace, recognizing my brother. Andrew and his wife, Molly, came back yesterday from Chicago. They’re only here until New Year’s, but I’m hoping to go and stay with them for a few days in the spring. It’s hard having them both live so far away, but they’re happy there, and none of us would have it any other way.
“Down at the cocaine factory again?” Andrew asks when I reach them. “Without us?”
I hold up my flour-covered hands. “I made bread.”
“You mean Mam made bread.”
“I helped.”
“Uh-huh.”
Molly smiles as she tucks a strand of blond hair behind one ear, and I catch a glimpse of her wedding ring. Despite the fact that I only met her four years ago, she and Andrew have been friends for much longer. I mean, I practically grew up hearing about her. When I was younger, she used to give him small presents to give to me each Christmas. Chocolate bars and bags of toffee. That kind of thing. She felt like a sister to me long before I saw her in person.
I go to loop arms with her now, but my head suddenly feels cold as Andrew whips my hat off me.
“Hey!”
“This is cute,” he says, putting it on. “Did you make it?”
“Megan did and you’re going to stretch it with your big massive head.”
“I can’t hear you,” he says loudly, pointing to the flaps before dodging me as I attempt to grab it from him. He breaks into a run, and I bolt after him, quickly catching up since I am both faster and stronger than him.
I grab the hat back just as we reach the house and we almost crash as we burst into the kitchen.
