Page 15 of The One You Chose

“Could have fooled me.” My mother sniffed on the other end.

“Ma,” I warned. “The ferry goes both ways. Besides, this time of year, I know you’re swamped with grading before the break.”

She gave me a noncommittal sound that let me know I was right, but she would never admit it.

“Are you bringing anyone with you? You still talking to that one girl, Helga?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Even from thirty miles as a crow flies away, she would somehow know. “Harley, Ma. We dated for six months, I brought her to the house a few times. But no. I haven’t talked to her in over a year. She lives in Denver now. Pretty sure she has a new boyfriend.”

There was a moment of silence where I could tell my voice was too sharp with my mother. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I thought of Lina. If I could have, I would have invited her. Only a few hours together but the idea of her going with me on Christmas played through my mind. The feel of her hand in mine as we drove in the car. Seeing her looking over the bow of the ferry as we crossed the water, the Space Needle and great wheel in front of her.

“And what question was that?” I asked before taking another sip of the hoppy beer.

“Are you bringing anyone with you for Christmas?”

“Ma, if I was serious enough about someone to bring them to Christmas, don’t you think I’d tell you about her?”

On the other end, my mother sniffed, “I would like to think so, but I never know about you. First, you leave right before Christmas to start this new job and I don’t know what you’re eating or what kind of place you’re living out of, I don’t know your neighbors, and...”

“Ma.” I sighed. When my father passed, it was me and her for years. Even when I left to go to school, she was a part of my decision. While I had been away for long periods from her, she always knew what I was doing before I made that choice. Except for this move and job. When I got the call that I was selected for this position, I was elated. I had worked for years at building my resume to run an animal rescue center. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, so I accepted the position and then broke the news to her. She never tried to stop me or tell me not to do something, but she worried. “Ridgewood is wonderful, you’ll love it. I’ll take you around and you’ll want to buy a place here when I’m done giving you a tour.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” She said her tone slightly softer. “Now tell me more about your work.”

I settled back into the chair, relaxing as I relayed some stories from my last few weeks on the job.

Halfway through a story about a temperamental chinchilla, my mother stopped me. “Shoot, that’s the door. I got to go baby, but you call soon, okay? And next time, don’t you roll your eyes at me, son. Don’t think I didn’t catch that,” she chided.

I groaned. How does my mother always know?

“Love you, Ma. I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay? I’ll check in on Sunday, alright?”

Draining my glass, I wedged it between my thighs and stuck my hands in my pockets. The heat lamps and fire took little from the biting winter air. Inside the brewery crowds of people were trickling in and a band was setting up in the corner. I knew I should probably get in from the cold, but I couldn’t yet. Gazing around the empty courtyard I saw the tree in the corner, the flat green cedar boughs sweeping the top of the white canvas tent. That was E’s tree.

The night was muted shades of violet and black, the clear sky above me. Tipping my head back I gazed at the stars. As a child, my father would take me out in the backyard and show me the different constellations. The grass slightly wet on our backs. His slightly crooked finger pointed at the endless space above us. With my own crooked pointer finger I traced the line of Ursa Minor. The little bear.

I wondered what my father would say to the man I was today. Losing a parent at sixteen is a special sorrow. I was just coming into myself and now he would never see the man I had become.

I hoped I could make him proud.

eleven

Thousand Invitations

Lina

Settlingintothesnugleather armchair in the corner of Norse Brew, I took a drink of my holiday drink. I tried not to overindulge in such sugary drinks, but between feeling low about Fitz and the soggy state of December in the Pacific Northwest, I needed a pick me up. Outside my window, the town was preparing for its annual Julefest featuring a Lucia Bride and a bonfire in the big pit on the waterfront.

The one bright spot in my week was emailing the mysterious Jeremiah Dier. We had been emailing back and forth several times. I told him about how I lived my whole life in Ridgewood and used to want to go to attend Columbia University in New York, but instead settled for getting my degree from the same college I was currently working for. He told me about how he moved around a bunch as a child until his mother got tenure as an English professor. He mentioned his father passing when he was in his teens and how he and his mother leaned on one another through that. I told him about how stifling it could be to still live in the town you grew up in. How I’ve never lived further than ten minutes away from my parent’s home and I see the same people every weekend. Sometimes, I run into my third-grade teacher in the shampoo aisle at the grocery store and a few weeks ago even had my shop teacher from junior high offer me a hit off his joint. I shared with him that while I didn’t want to live anywhere else, I still felt like the whole town had an idea of what kind of person I was without truly knowing me. Our conversations were getting increasingly intimate.

It wasn’t all serious talk, though. He told me how he loved animals, snowboarding, and soccer. I told him about my love for teaching and reading historical romances. His favorite color is green. Mine is royal blue. He hates those little plastic price tags that stores put on clothes. And I hate the unofficial Pacific Northwest uniform of sandals and socks.

Setting my drink down, I thumbed to my spot in my favorite author’s newest holiday romance. Losing myself in the set of enemies who found themselves at an inn on Christmas Eve withonly one bedand the lingering looks over mutton pie and ale in the back room of the inn were getting intense. A shadow cast over my head and I ignored it. Viscount Rodolphe had just removed Lady Beatrice’s glove and was about to touch her wrist. It was getting spicy in here.

A throat cleared above me, and I looked from the page to find Chad standing over me.

“Good book?” Chad scratched his head under his baseball hat emblazoned with the name of an indie rock band.

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