I wake up with the smell of Kate’s hair filling my nostrils. For a moment I think I’m dreaming, until I look down and find my ex spread-eagled over me.
Did I trespass over the pillows and grab her in the middle of the night? I check the bed, but I’m still squarely on my half of the mattress. Kate is the intruder. She’s resting her cheek on my chest while her feet are nestled between my calves in the same position we always sleep in—or at least, used to.
I don’t know what to do. What I want to do is hold her tight and never let her go. What I should do, however, is roll her to her half of the bed before she wakes up and freaks out.
I compromise by doing nothing, simply enjoying this moment of rare peace between us. She’s the one on top of me, after all. It’s not my job to move.
Kate stirs in her sleep, sending me into a panic. What now?
I shut my eyes and do my best to play dead.
Kate inhales deeply, then raises her head slightly while I pretend to still be asleep. I can picture the small frown of confusion on her face as she takes in the new sleeping arrangements. I half expect her to shoot to her side of the bed, appalled, but she doesn’t. She remains curled against me for a heartbeat longer before she slowly retreats, leaving me cold and exposed. A metaphor of the past few months.
Her weight is still on the mattress, but she isn’t lying down. I imagine her sitting against the headboard with her knees tucked under her chin, thinking.
What are you thinking, Kate?
I’d pay millions to know.
A few more minutes, and she moves again and gets up. Rustling noises ensue, and I listen as she gets dressed.
A zipping sound signals she’s done. Muffled steps approach the bed and Kate gently tucks me under the covers she’d lowered getting up. Such a simple gesture, but one so tender it makes my brain short-circuit with unanswered questions.
Then the bedroom door clicks shut, and Kate’s gone.
Two minutes later, the front door opens and shuts as well. I hurry to the window to spy on my ex. Where is she going this early in the bone-chilling Michigan cold?
Kate jogs along the driveway, leaving small footprints on the thin layer of snow that fell during the night. Her clothes look super professional. Since when is she into running?
There’s so much already I don’t know about her and this new life she’s created for herself. This new life she doesn’t want me to be a part of.
Unable to go back to sleep, I take a shower and change into jeans and my favorite Chocolate Company sweater. In fact, I designed this one. The concept isn’t revolutionary or anything, but I love the dark green color and the comical red-nosed reindeer.
By the time I get downstairs, Lillian is already making breakfast. I help her set the kitchen table, my mind already whirring through possible escape strategies. I need to leave before Kate gets back, that much is obvious. I want to spend a few quiet hours by myself in my room without any disappointed looks or breakup talk.
I fill a mug with coffee and grab a cinnamon roll that I devour in four quick bites as Lillian would never let me leave on an empty stomach.
“Lillian, your rolls are the most delicious,” I say.
“Thank you, Love. You want another one?”
“Uh? No, thanks. Actually, I was thinking of dropping by my parents’ house to grab a few things. I wasn’t expecting to be staying with you… So, well, I’m gonna get going, okay?”
“Oh, are you sure? What are you missing? Maybe we have extra in the house.”
“Err, no, just stuff… I’d really rather go home.”
“Okay, but remember to be back by ten-thirty.”
“Why?”
“Josiane Masson is coming to meet you and Kate?”
“Who?”
“Josiane Masson—the Instagram guru your mom hired to promote the Chucokate. Remember?”
“Ah, yeah, sure.”
I definitely didn’t remember we were meeting her today. Bummer.
Lillian stops stirring the pancake mix and eyes me suspiciously. “Are you okay, Love?”
“No. I mean, yeah, totally.” I’m the worst liar in the world. I’d better get out of here fast. “I’ll be back in time to meet Josiane Masson.”
“Here.” Lillian cleans her hands on her apron and offers me a plate of her famous double chocolate chip cookies. “At least take a cookie for the road.”
I grab one and hug her goodbye. In the hall, I hold the cookie between my teeth as I pull on my coat and leave the house. As the first gust of chilly morning air hits my face, I take a bite, and mmm… the chocolate melts in my mouth. By the time I’ve crossed the front yard to reach the rental car, I’ve eaten every last crumb.
I get into the car, grab the wheel, and my hands nearly become frost-glued to the plastic. I blow hot air on my fingers and pull out the gloves from my coat pockets. The Nissan’s engine takes a minute to tremble to life and, after blasting the heating at tropical temperatures, I reverse the rented compact. The tires skid on the ice, but I manage to reel them under control and head down the driveway—only to slam on the brakes as I spot Kate running toward me from the opposite direction.
Her eyebrows draw together and, in a few, quick strides she’s level with the car.
Resigned to my fate, I roll down the window.
“Morning,” I say.
She attacks right away. “Where do think you’re going?”
“Home.”
“Why?”
“I need some quiet, Kate. I don’t want to be stuck at your house with you and your parents, playing the happy couple all morning.”
“Good, neither do I. We have to tell them the truth. Now.”
That’s the last thing I want to do at the moment. “Don’t you want to take a shower first? And your dad isn’t even up yet. There’s no rush.”
“I can take a quick shower, and I’m sure Dad will be up before I’m finished.” She sets her jaw stubbornly. “We’re doing this, Chuck. Get on board.”
“And what about my parents? Mom and Dad would hate to be the second ones to learn the truth.”
“We can go tell them right afterward, I’m sure half an hour won’t make much of a difference.”
I never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness for Josiane Masson. “There isn’t enough time,” I inform Kate.
Her eyes narrow. “Why not?”
“That Instagram lady is coming over at ten-thirty to meet us.”
“No. No. No. We have to stop this madness before it goes any further. We can’t let them believe we’re going along with the Chucokate.” She pauses. “Maybe you were right.”
Me, right? This must be a first.
“About what?” I ask.
“I should tell my parents, and you yours. And we can all reassemble here afterward at ten-thirty and inform the Instagram lady her services won’t be needed after all. We’ll also have to brainstorm a new name for the Chucokate. It’ll make for an awkward holiday, but we always knew it would. It’s time to end this.”
Well, there’s no changing her mind when she gets like this. Dread fills me, but also a weird sense of anticipation. I can’t wait to drop this weight off my chest. To be free. And to quit all the lies.
I grip the wheel and stare at Kate. “Okay,” I say. “We tell them now. No excuses.”
Her features set in a determined expression, and she nods. “Now. No excuses.”
Kate takes a step back away from the car, and I return the nod as I raise the window.
Truth, here I come.
***
I arrive at home filled with good intentions. I mean to march in there, call a family gathering, and set things straight. But nothing ever goes according to plan, and the road to hell is famously paved with good intentions.
Mine shatter when I run into Nana Fern in the hall the moment I step into the house. She grabs my elbow and asks me to follow her into her studio. Nana Fern used to be an artist, like me—a painter.
She doesn’t paint anymore—her eyesight is too poor now—but the art studio is still her favorite room in the house. The space is awash in light, which streams in from the wall-wide windows at the back.
The view of the backyard is always stunning, but in winter, the garden is straight out of a fairytale. Open grounds extend out of sight in a wintry wonderland. Every tree, bush, and surface is coated in puffy snow that glitters in the sun.
Nana Fern spends most of her time in this room. She used to either paint on her easel or sit in the sunshine and read, but nowadays she’ll just relax and listen to audiobooks. I shop for her remotely or whenever I’m home, and I’ve taught her how to talk to her phone to load them up. I’ve also installed a Wi-Fi speaker system in the studio so the sound is top quality. And Nana has mastered voice control.
She guides me to the couch at the back of the room, the one nestled underneath the wide windows. We sit and contemplate the view for a few long seconds; it’s impossible not to be momentarily awestruck.
Then Nana Fern sighs and tears her eyes away, taking my hands in hers.
Now I become worried. This is too much ceremony to simply have a “welcome home” conversation. “Nana Fern, is everything okay?”
“Yes, Dear, better than okay.”
My shoulders relax; she’s not about to tell me she’s ill or anything. Well into her eighties, Nana Fern is old, but I’m not prepared to say goodbye to her. I’ll never be.
“Chuck,” she continues. “I’m so very proud of you, of everything you’ve accomplished with your life, and of the wonderful woman you have by your side.”
Oh my gosh, please let this not be about Kate.
“It seems only yesterday that you were a little boy pestering me to read you one last bedtime story. But a boy, alas, you are no longer. You’re a man now. Next year you’ll be finished with grad school and you must think about the future. And you know what they say?”
“No, Nana.”
“There are no great men without an exceptional woman by their side.”
Ah, definitely about Kate. Just what I needed to relax: a little Kate-is-wonderful propaganda.
“Nana, I know you like Kate. But…”
“No buts, Dear. You’re never going to find a better woman than her. You are destined to be together, and nothing would bring me more joy than to see the two of you settle down before I die.”
Oh, come on, how is that fair? She can’t play the death card! Low blow. How am I supposed to segue into my Kate-dumped-me news now? Nana Fern would probably have a stroke if I told her right after she made such a heart-felt declaration.
When in doubt, stall.
“Nana, we’re still young. There’s no rush.”
“But why wait? You never know what life might throw at you. Look at me and your grandfather. He was taken away from me too young, and my sole consolation was that we’d gotten married as early as we could.”
Cold sweat makes my hands clammy. Not only is Nana giving me a pep talk about proposing to my ex-girlfriend, but she’s coming at me with the heavy guns. A double death card—about herself and grandpa—in the space of five minutes? What even brought all of this on?
I don’t have to wait long to find out.
Nana lets go of my hands and takes a small red velvet box with gold trimming out of her pocket. The box would be the perfect size to carry a ring.
Oh.
Oh no.
This can’t be happening.
“What’s this?” I ask, strangled.
She gives me a kind smile. “Open it.”
I take the box from her and pop the lid. Inside is a golden ring with a red stone mounted atop. It’s clearly an antique, and the band is embossed with ornate swirls that speak of a bygone era. Kate would adore it.
I jerk the lid shut again and try to swallow, but I can’t. My throat has clogged, and I’m having difficulty breathing.
“T-thanks, Nana,” I force out. “But I don’t think Kate and I are ready for marriage.”
I try to give the box back, but Nana Fern closes my hand over it with hers. “Keep it, Dear. One day you’ll be ready to propose to Kate, and I want you to do it with the same ring your grandfather gave me. The ring has been in our family for five generations.” Then she sighs again. “Well, I hope I’ll still be around when you finally decide to do it.”
She pats my hand. Can this woman guilt-trip or what?
“I’ll take the box, Nana, but don’t expect any news soon.”
“I’ve lived long enough to learn to never say never.” Nana throws me a little wink. “Now, can you help me find this new book I’ve heard so much about…?”
“What book?”
Nana feeds me a few major plot points that I type into Google, and we’re able to find the title. I load the audiobook then flee the studio, craving the solitude of my room.
The past twenty-four hours have felt like a relentless struggle between myself and the Universe. Me, trying to get to my room to be in peace for five minutes. The Universe, doing its best to prevent me.
And Mr. Cosmos isn’t finished yet.
Down the hall, I run into my mom.
For a second, she’s startled at finding me in the house. Then her gaze lowers to my hands and, for someone who wears glasses and has none on now, she spots the tiny red box I’m holding with disarming quickness.
“Oh my gosh, Chuck! You asked Nana Fern for her engagement ring.”
“No, Mom,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. The situation is getting out of control. “Nana Fern forced the family heirloom on me, saying I should propose to Kate.”
“Well, are you? Will you?”
“No, Mom, Kate and I are nowhere near ready for marriage.”
“But why not? You’ve been in love forever, you’ve known each other even longer, and besides, your father and I were young when—”
Before she can launch into another speech to remind me how young everyone in this family got married, or that at my age, she was already pregnant with me, and you and Kate don’t want to be old parents and all that, I stop her. “I know, Mom, I know.” I give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “But… different times. I’m going to my room now. I have to be back at Kate’s in less than an hour.”
“Oh, yes, to meet Josiane Masson. We’re all going.”
“Great, I’ll be down in half an hour.”
I shuffle past her and speed walk to my room.
Once inside, I shut the door behind me and drop on the bed. I hit my forehead with the red box repeatedly.
Hell, here I come.