“That is shitty.” She helps people only to be remembered as a bad person. “I don’t want my family to see you like that. Let it be my fault. Let them think I’m the asshole.”
“You wanted to know my process, right? This is the way it is.” She pulls away. “Let’s go get those groceries.”
23
Henri
Ican tell the conversation about our fabricated break up must bother Liam because he’s mostly quiet on the drive into town, turning up the radio as we navigate the winding roads down the mountain. But at least the conversation’s out of the way, and he knows what to expect when I leave.
While we shop, deciding on what we want to cook and eat on our little getaway provides a new, safer topic of discussion. Liam’s mom texts him to pick up candies for the gingerbread houses and any other decorations we can think of, extending our trip. I don’t mind. I like just lazily spending time with him.
We do in fact go to aisle three and grab condoms because a cabin fuck fest doesn’t sound too bad. Okay, fine,Igo to the aisle and grab the condoms, toss them into the nearly-full basket from five feet away, and nearly give Liam a heart attack as his head whips to where an older man with glasses is walking by.
“That’s my principal,” he hisses.
I cock a brow. “Does he have kids?”
“Yes, six.”
“I was going to say he knows what condoms are, but now I’m not so sure.”
A smile splits his mouth as he buries his red face in his hands.
I have to leave. I know it. He knows it. But right now, this is good.
We finish our shopping and load up the Subaru when we’re done. The trunk closes with a solid thunk. Instead of going back up the mountain, we head to the town square, a collection of mismatched colored shops with snow-dusted awnings. Light posts trimmed with garland are posted in front of small brick buildings with hand-painted windows illustrating winter wonderland scenes. Trees strung with warm-hued string lights are tucked into every available corner, and the mountain watches over the town, appearing a purplish blue in its majesty.
We walk slowly as Liam peppers me with questions that I guess are inspired by his attempt to write this morning. Still, he doesn’t pull out his notebook, he just listens. I like that a lot—more than I should. It makes me think my words might be something worth holding onto.
“How do you do it? Convince people you’re in love?” he asks as he steps over an ice patch on the sidewalk and waits for me to do the same.
“It helps that, for the most part, the people I help are decent. I don’t think like myself, and I’m not really myself in these contexts. I’m the woman they need me to be, so I think about being that woman. What does she see in them? What part of them is lovable? I cling to that. I remind myself that they’re determined or passionate about their work or are so funny they could actually be a stand-up comic, but I’d never tell a man that because we really don’t need more men out there in the world trying to be funny.” I look at Liam and wait for him to ask what I cling to for him.
It’s easy, just resting there on the tip of my tongue. He’s curious in this intensely genuine way. He cares more for the people around him than for himself. For years, I knew him by the words he put on the page, but the real deal is so much better.
Instead he says, “Not everyone can do that.”
“You can. You can interview the shit out of people—make them comfortable with being heard. Or at least that’s what you did with me.”
You saw me. Intentionally. Willingly.And what a gift it is to have someone want to understand you.
A familiar voice comes from down the alley just ahead of us, shattering the moment. “Like I told you when we talked over the phone, I’ll come back down for the second load.”
“Is that . . . ?” I ask.
“June.” Liam nods and we both head toward the alley. There, Juniper is standing, hands on her hips, next to her SUV. The car’s trunk is open, revealing that every surface is loaded with clear tubs holding deep crimson linens with threads of gold shimmering through the weave.
Across from her, a gray-haired man with a cane says, “Come back tomorrow morning. We close at three today, but by the time you’re back, it will be late.”
“I don’t have time in the morning. I have other vendors to work with and I went out of my way to come here because your driver is unable to fulfill the request we make every year. Maybe you could leave the extra linens with one of the other shop owners?” Juniper says, the edge in her tone a tell-tale sign that she’s close to snapping.
“What’s the problem?” Liam asks.
“His grandson took a last minute trip to Steamboat and can’t help deliver the rentals for the gala that we use every year. I need to get them to the staff today so we can start to steam them andprep the ballroom, but my car will only carry so many boxes.” Juniper gestures behind her.
“We have some room in our car. I’ll take whatever’s left,” Liam says, more to the shop owner than to his sister. “Does that work?”
“Just pull around here when you’re ready,” the shop owner says before ducking back inside.
