Page 16 of What Happens This Christmas
“Since when did you become so rude as to walk out on our friends like you did today at brunch?” The question had beensitting on my tongue for long enough, and I didn’t care for it. I tied my white cashmere and wool coat snugly around my body as I followed Nick’s lead, roaming through the forest of insignificant trees.
Apparently, he didn’t agree with me, and why should he? He didn’t agree with me on much lately. It was of the utmost importance to him that we find and bring into our home a tree that would drop sap, needles, and bugs. Yes, nature. There wasn’t anything quite like the disgusting beast.
Ignoring me, he cracked his neck, acting like my question filled him with tension. I doubted it, but fine. If anyone should have had tension, it was me, considering he had left me all alone at brunch. There was a certain decorum we had to maintain. Nick must have slipped and hit his head.
“Did you really just ask me that?” Answering a question with a question was one of the most insufferable things. He squinted, his eyes hovering over me as though trying to make sense of me.
Irritation bubbled just below the surface. “No. Whatever you think you heard was a figment of your imagination.” My expression was one of disinterest. He was acting ridiculous.
He turned away from me. “How about this one?”How about answering my question?He ruffled the branches mindlessly and heaps of snow fell off of it, just as I could have predicted.
I tossed my hands up in the air, prepared to take a card from Nick and walk away under the guise of using the restroom. “Sure.” Who cared one tiny bit about this senseless hunt for a tree? A tree was a tree was a tree, especially when we were talking about a real one. It wasn’t like any were perfect, so in that way, they were all the same. Green, tall, and wide. None of them held the same appeal as an artificial tree, though. If it was artificial, we could have red or white, or even silver, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t need to see to it that the staff watered it or cleaned up from it. They were appealing in their own right beingmaintenance-free. Nick couldn’t seem to see that, though. It was like he was trying to punish me by making my life miserable just because I had asked him to wait to file his papers until January.
“It’s as though you’re incapable of making this a nice experience,” Nick said, shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe it.
I wanted to give him the Christmas he asked for, but I found it outrageously difficult—like lifting a hundred-pound dumbbell difficult—to see this as anything but a form of torture. All of this, going to a tree farm, was not me.
I bit my lip to refrain from releasing a heavy sigh. No matter what came between us, there would always be this part of me that still cared for Nick. We weren’t going to be in each other’s lives for much longer, so if he wanted anice experiencetoday, then I would try to give him that.Trybeing the operative word, though, because in all honesty, I might fail miserably. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t make the effort. “Fine,” I conceded, and for the first time since we got here, I took a look around. “It seems like this tree might be the best one so far.”
“So far,” he repeated, wetting his lips as he turned his head, his eyes darting every which way as though searching for something.
I didn’t think it was an exit, but if it was, then I’d gladly assist. What? He never said my thoughts had to be pleasant too. A girl could only be so pleased when she was standing on a farm in winter boots that cost more than most people made in a week. Surrounded by trees. Minus the wreaths and wooden sleighs that leaned against railings.
Nick jerked his chin toward a tree a few feet over from us. “What about that one?”
Again, just another tree. There was only one unique quality it possessed. “It stands straight.” Ninety-nine percent of them were lopsided, so it seemed like a fair note to make.
He laughed, and my pulse raced as I sucked in a breath and tried my best not to let my gaze linger on him. That sound…it filled the air more than dense morning fog. It echoed, insistent on making me hear it repeatedly as I waited for him to say something, anything so that I didn’t have to continue to hear his laughter. The noise had become unfamiliar to me, as sad as that was.
“That it is,” he finally replied, putting me out of my misery. Thankfully, the echo ceased, and I could hear my own thoughts again.
“Lovely.” It was all I could come up with as I forced myself to look away. The ground was a safer place to let my eyes wander as I followed him to stand in front of the tree we were apparently going to study closer. A student on track to becoming valedictorian of their graduating class didn’t study for an exam as much as this.
He placed the handheld saw down, the vein on his wrist on full display as his coat sleeve crept up, and it came into view. “It’s a good size. The base is the right width. Tall.”
I placed my hands in the pockets of my coat and scanned the tree from top to bottom. “You’re right. It’s a phenomenon. Nothing will ever compare. It doesn’t have a single flaw.” I nudged his side, causing him to growl. “You can be a tree aficionado.”
His eyes held mine as his nostrils flared ruefully. “When I get sick of bartending, I’ll have something new to do with my time.”
“Yes. I hear it’s very rewarding work to own a tree farm.” I rolled my eyes. “Feel free to do it after we’re divorced.” My fear of judgment that came with him being a bartender was bad enough.
He offered me a languid expression. “Feel free to allow me to file the paperwork now.”
It would be a frigid day in the underworld before I allowed him to goad me into making a fool of myself in front of all our friends. Those days of appearing less than were long gone, and I had vowed to myself I’d never go back there.
Ignoring his silent request, I pointed to the top of the tree where there were no needles, only sad, sparse sticks. “I hope you plan on cutting those off.”
“I planned on leaving them there.”
“Will you be cutting this thing down sometime this century?”
“Will you be decorating it in those bows and ribbons you love so much?” His question was veiled in a know-it-all grin and judgment.
Through tight lips, I ground out, “Yes.” They were elegant, and they matched the decor we had throughout our home. It would also be decorated with handblown glass ornaments I had flown in from a European artisan glassblower. I’d keep that part to myself, though, because I had a feeling Nick didn’t care to hear about it or the time it’d taken me to arrange for such a thing to happen. He never did care much about everything I did to give us a nice home.
Silence fell upon us, and those words were the last ones we exchanged for a while.
Chapter 9
