I stare at Kate’s legitimately sorrowful eyes and all I want to do is get her out of the tough spot. In our family, she’s considered the master gifter, who always picks a personal and thoughtful gift for everyone, and now everyone’s staring at her in confused silence. They probably didn’t think she could forget a present. And when she says she forgot me, I know what she really means is that she didn’t buy me anything because she didn’t imagine she’d have to give me a present this year. Back in Ann Arbor, we both assumed that by Christmas our separation would be official.
As the room is held in a suspenseful silence, I realize this would be the perfect occasion to confess the truth. That Kate dumped me, that the engagement and the baby are fake, and that she’s dating a gym stud who’s obsessed with health apps, running stats, and who probably counts calories when he eats.
But as a worried shadow crosses Nana Fern’s face, I can’t bring myself to speak up. I know Kate and I are only digging a deeper grave every day we delay the inevitable, but the more we lie, the more it seems impossible to stop. Our lies are hurting us, but telling the truth will hurt everyone else. There must be a way we can get out of this with no one’s heart getting broken.
Except for mine, of course, but that ship sailed a long time ago.
With all eyes still on us, I spin Kate’s admission with humor. Laughing like I don’t have a care in the world, I say teasingly, “Next time I tell you to pack only the essential, you should listen to me.” I chuckle nervously. “With everything that I had to stuff in the car, I’m surprised we didn’t leave behind more.”
Everyone chuckles along. Kate half-grimaces, half-smiles at my save—a new expression she’s been perfecting since we came home—and follows my lead. “Well, that’s what you get for trying to find your present before Christmas. I must have hidden it so well I completely forgot about it.”
Lillian jumps in. “Don’t worry, Honeybun, it’s perfectly normal to become a little forgetful when you’re expecting. You must already have pregnancy brain.”
Kate stares at her mom. “Pregnancy brain?”
“Oh, yes, Darling,” my mom piles on. “Say goodbye to your wits for the next three years, and just wait until those hormones really kick in! You’re going to lose it completely. All the info is in the book.” She points at her present for Kate.
“But all the suffering will be worth it once you hug your baby for the first time,” Lillian says, mimicking cuddling a newborn in her arms.
Everyone coos over the imaginary baby. At least they’ve forgotten about my missing present.
***
When all the gifts have been unwrapped, we settle down to watch the traditional Christmas afternoon family movie—Godmothered is the choice for this year. Once the movie’s over, my parents distribute a round of hugs and then head home, while Kate and I retire upstairs.
“What a day,” I say, blowing hair away from my forehead.
“Right.” Kate sighs as she sits on the bed. “You know, for a minute there I thought you were going to spill the beans.”
I sit next to her. “I considered it, but the concerned expression on Nana Fern’s face made me cop out. Would you have wanted me to speak up?”
Kate studies me for a long moment, then shakes her head. “No, Chuck, you were right to keep quiet. It was… nice. To have one last Christmas together.”
My chest tightens as I try to picture the holidays with the Warrens and the Roses not under the same roof. I can’t even remember a Christmas not spent with them—not spent with Kate. What will it be like next year? Will Christmas Day still be a joint celebration, but with Kate and me bringing different dates? The idea of spending the holidays with Marco the Ripped is nauseating.
***
I don’t sleep very well that night, and neither does Kate. She tosses and turns next to me, and I couldn’t honestly say who falls asleep first. When I do manage to sleep, anxious nightmares haunt me—of us telling our parents the truth, of Nana Fern having a fainting spell, of The Bluewater Springs Chocolate Company going under, all because of us…
When I wake up, acid is burning in my stomach. I take the usual squint at my wristwatch: six a.m. Even though Marco hasn’t called today to check on Kate’s shaky resolve to go for a run in the dead of winter, a few days of his early calls have been enough to align my biorhythm to his absurd schedule.
I turn my head on the pillow and find Kate equally awake, staring at the ceiling.
“Didn’t get much sleep, uh?” I say.
“Nope.” She huffs a bout of air out of her mouth.
“Today’s the day we tell them.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Nervous?”
She turns to me. “Worse than when we had to confess we’d eaten all of Mrs. Potter’s cherries straight off the tree.”
I laugh, remembering our incursion on the Potters’ farm as fifth graders. The fruit heist wouldn’t have been so egregious on its own. Our parents could’ve paid Mrs. Potter back for the stolen products and we could’ve gotten off with a minor grounding. Except, we had picked clean Mrs. Potter’s precious Autumn Flowering Cherry tree, which she had been nurturing with extra special care. She talked to the damn tree every day, trying to bribe it into producing its best cherries that she planned to enter in the Cherry Blossom Festival Best Cherry Competition.
Once the cherries theft was discovered, the town basked in the infamous whodunit mystery for an entire afternoon. Until both Kate and I got sick from having eaten too many cherries and got caught. As punishment, our parents made us work on the Potters’ farm for free all summer.
Worst summer of our lives. Mrs. Potter was a devil of a vindictive old woman.
I laugh. “Do you suppose they’re going to banish us to a farm again?”
Kate chuckles. “Honestly, that wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“But we agree, we tell them today?”
Kate nods. “This morning, after breakfast.”
I text Mom and ask them to come over to the Warrens’ house as soon as they can. They arrive at around ten with Nana Fern in tow. We assemble the parents and grandparents in the living room and, holding hands for strength and moral support, we launch into our half-rehearsed speech.
“Thank you all for being here,” Kate says. “I know these last few days have been a whirlwind, but Chuck and I need to tell you that—”
“You’re having twins?” Lillian interrupts.
Kate’s mouth dangles open in disbelief. “No, Mom, we’re not having twins! In fact, quite the opposite.”
This time my mom interrupts. “Oh my gosh, is something wrong with the baby?”
“No, Mom,” I say. “There’s nothing wrong with the baby, because there’s no—”
The Warrens’ obnoxiously loud doorbell rings, filling the house with the tune of a thousand bells and preventing everyone in the room from hearing the end of my speech confessing there’s no baby.
Mick stands up. “Excuse me for a second,” he says, and goes to answer the door.
Loud, cheerful greetings are exchanged, and Mick walks back into the living room followed by Kate’s aunt and uncle.
The newcomers are jointly carrying an extravagantly large present. A belated Christmas gift, perhaps?
Unfortunately, Mick’s introduction is much more disturbing. “Uncle Jo and Aunt Mary have brought you kids an early wedding gift!”
Kate and I exchange a desperate look. Aunt Mary is one of the worst gossips in town; we can’t announce our breakup now that she’s here. So, we thank them, invite them to stay for a hot chocolate, and sit down for a good thirty minutes of nastily dull small talk.
We’ve barely got rid of Uncle Jo and Aunt Mary when the doorbell rings again. This time our unexpected guests are the Baxters. The husband, Carl, was the first employee of The Bluewater Springs Chocolate Company, and even if he’s retired now, he’s still a family friend. He comes in with his wife to bring us yet another wedding gift. And the dance starts all over again. Bluewater Springs Insta Chocolate Mix is brewed, served, and sprinkled in small talk.
The procession of gift bearers continues all day. It’s as if the entire town picked today to bring us their wedding presents and arranged their visits on a tight schedule. Considering how Bluewater Springs works, they probably did conspire. Or, more likely, someone said they’d deliver their gift today and the others, not to be outdone, followed suit.
A few visitors stay over for lunch, and the social calls don’t stop throughout the afternoon.
By the time we’ve thanked and small-talked all the guests, my cheeks ache from all the fake smiling. And after stashing all the gifts in Kate’s room, we’re both too mentally and physically exhausted to tackle any serious grand discourse with our families.
We sag on the bed and stare at each other.
“Do you think we’ll have to return all these gifts after we cancel the wedding?” I ask.
“I’ll marry you just to not have to see all those people again.” Kate groans.
“No, seriously, how did they buy presents so quickly?”
“And with all the shops being closed yesterday, too.” Kate suddenly gasps.
“What?”
“I just realized all our wedding presents will probably be horrible, recycled Christmas gifts with different wrapping paper.”
“Good,” I say.
“Why is that good?”
“Because no one will want ugly, recycled Christmas presents returned.”
“Oh.” Kate turns on her side to look at me. “Chuck, do you think the universe is trying to send us a message here?”
“What message?”
“That it doesn’t want our parents to learn the truth.” She leans back and sighs. “Maybe we should just stop fighting it, get married, and be done with it.”
My guard is down and, in a moment of excessive sincerity, I blurt, “I don’t want to marry you that way.”
Kate’s eyes become huge… because I’ve basically just told her I want to marry her.
But before she can reply, the doorbell chimes again, and we both groan in actual physical pain at the idea of having to repeat the dance one more time.
Then Lillian’s voice drifts up the stairs. “Kate, it’s a friend of yours.”
“We’ll be down in a second, Mom.”
“Okay,” Lillian shout’s back. “I’ll make Marco a hot chocolate in the meantime.”
Marco!
The name registers in both our minds at the same time, and we turn to each other, hands on our faces, mouths open in a silent scream a la Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.