Page 26 of Seeds of Christmas
“You’ll talk to him?”
“I’ll... maybe. I don’t know. Mom, I have to go?—”
“Promise me you’ll at least consider it.”
“I promise I’ll think about it,” I say, and I hate how weak I sound. How easily I fold.
“Good. That’s all I ask. I love you, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”
“I love you too,” I manage, and then I hang up before she can say anything else.
I sit up on the bed, phone clutched in my hand, feeling like I might throw up.
I didn’t set a single boundary. Didn’t push back. Didn’t tell her the truth about Matthew’s behavior. Didn’t explain that her “space to think” comment hit too close to home, because it’s exactly what Matthew used to say when he wanted me to see things his way.
And worst of all—I told her I’d think about talking to him.
I told her maybe.
When there is absolutely no maybe. No universe where I go back to him. No version of this story where I make myself small again just to keep everyone else comfortable.
But I said maybe anyway.
The following day,after a less than restful sleep, the GPS on the dash announces we’re a few minutes from Site Two. The mountains are closer now, massive and snow-covered and beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
The sky, though. The sky is getting darker.
“Hey, Rhi?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for driving. I’m shit at it in winter conditions.”
I glance over, surprised. “You’re welcome.”
IwishI could be more like him—relaxed enough to admit weakness without bracing for judgement. People like Carter can say they’re bad at something and laugh it off. People like me have to be good at everything, or pretend we are, or risk being dismissed entirely.
By the time we reach Site Two, the wind has picked up. Not dangerous yet, but enough to make the pine trees sway.
Site Two is a hot spring surrounded by pine trees, and even in questionable weather, it’s the kind of beautiful that makes you understand why people write bad poetry.
Steam rises into the cold air like something out of a fantasy movie. The water is this otherworldly blue-green that doesn’t look real—like someone adjusted the saturation too high in Photoshop. Snow frames everything in perfect white, and for a moment I just stand there, taking it in.
“Wow.” Carter breathes beside me.
“Yeah.”
“This is—” He stops, searching for words. “This is actually really cool.”
It’s such an understated reaction that it makes me smile. “Yeah. It is.”
I’m unpacking the water sampling kit when Carter touches my arm.
“Hey. Do you think we should—” He glances up at the sky, frowning. “The weather’s getting worse. Maybe we should head back? Do this site tomorrow?”
My nose twitches
He’s probably right. The smart thing would be to turn around. Come back when the weather’s clearer. It’s what a reasonable person would do.
