I reach over, rest a hand over hers. “I get it.”
Because I do.
My heart stutters, but I still choose to share this confession I’ve only recently accepted thanks to years of therapy and solitude. “If my ex-wife were to call me right now, I don’t know if I’d answer, but I think it would be very hard not to.” My breath catches. I don’t know what this thing between us will turn out to be, and for the same reason as her, the last thing I want her to think is that I’m still in love with my ex.
I will always have love for Marie, but it was supposed to be in sickness and in health, and when I was sick with grief, she threw that vow through the window on her way out the door. I understand, though. I empathize with her, even. She coped her way, and I did mine. I think it would have been easier for her if she had someone else to blame. Accepting that our son passed, and there was nothing we nor anyone else could have done to prevent it, was difficult for her. I don’t know, and won’t ever know, because I haven’t heard from her since the day she left. The divorce was simple, painless, and detached. I won’t get any answers to questions that kept me up all night for months on end. I’ve only recently become okay with that.
So, when Krystal asks, “Do you think you would ever try to make it work with her again?”
My answer is sure. I don’t think I’ve forgiven her for leaving me in my darkest moment; I don’t think I ever could. I wish her the best, but I don’t know if I could even be her friend.
“No,” I state. Her brows jump, and she nods her acknowledgment. “What about you? Do you think you could ever make it work with uhh, What’shisname?”
Jeremy.I more than remember his name, but I refuse to give it power through acknowledging its existence.
She frowns a smile, the first one since I left her to eat her lunch in peace. Knowing I’m the cause makes me feel herculean. “Hell. No.” She breathes each word like it’s a relief to be asked, and to be sure of the answer.
With that, I offer her a cheesy smile, push to start the SUV, and head into the town. “I haven’t done any shopping for Christmas yet, you?” I ask as we pull out of the driveway.
She huffs a bitter laugh. “No one to shop for.”
“Wait, you don’t have family you spend the day with?” I press.
“I choose to stay by myself,” she explains.
“But, why?” I ask, unable to imagine a solitary Krystal on Christmas, even if she’s bitter about it.
She shrugs. “I don’t want to ruin it for the people around me. I don’t want to shop, don’t want to bake cookies — none of it. I just want the season to pass. My family goes to North Carolina every year, but I’ve been skipping.”
Silence stretches between us. My heart constricts for her.
“Who do you spend the day with?” She follows.
“My folks,” I shrug, tossing her a glance before fixing my attention back on the road. “I have two sisters, so plenty of nieces and nephews to keep me occupied.”
“That’s not hard for you? Being around everyone else’s kids when…” she trails off.
“I think it would be harder for them to have lost their cousin, their aunt,andtheir uncle, too. It would definitely be harder for me,” I say. I figured out fairly soon after Marie left me that being alone, being unaccounted for, was dangerous.
Silence covers us once again. If I were her family, I would insist she come to wherever for the holidays. I guess I know enough about Krystal to understand how it might be challenging to get her to do something she doesn’t want to. “I would rather have Krystal the Grinch than have no Krystal at all,” I say, casting a sideways look over to her.
Her cheeks glow, flushing as she looks out the window, but she doesn’t say anything. I flick the radio on and flip through the channels until I get to the holiday station.Rocking Around the Christmas Treeis playing, and I toss my head from side to side,singing along in the most obnoxious high-pitched singing voice I can muster. When I start drumming on the steering wheel, she caves, laughing and sucking her teeth — rolling her eyes.
My heart skips a beat when she looks up at me, eyes absolutely amused and wearing a smile that takes up nearly half her face. I snatch my camera from where it rests between us and quickly point it in her direction.
“Nick!” She squeals, lifting her hand to block me in a weak protest. I can’t see what I’m doing with my focus still on the roads ahead of me. I don’t know if the lens is blurry or if she’s even in frame. None of that matters because she’s doubled over in laughter. The weight of our previous conversation seems to drift with the light snow whirring around us. We eventually settle into this light-hearted energy, and I take her soft hand and press her fingers to my lips as we drive into town.
Our first stop is the Soul Pages Bookstore. Books are a must as gifts for any young person in my life — easy, meaningful, fairly cheap. I love that this one is independently, Black-woman owned. The woman behind the counter offers us a bright smile, her deep chestnut skin only wrinkling with the movement. If the silver strands in her hair didn’t give her age away, I would have guessed she was in her early forties.
“Welcome,” she says, looking us both in the eye before returning to the magazine she was reading before we walked in here.
“What are you looking for?” Krystal asks, immediately zoning in on a turnstile stocked with postcards.
“I have three nieces and two nephews, all aged eight to fifteen. I wanna get them some books and maybe a few other things,” I answer. I blink down at her, loving the way the light creates a halo in the highlights of her hair and falls Rembrandtover her cheeks. I bring my camera up to my face, stealthily, so I can capture her like this.
At the sound of my shutter, she looks up — sucking in a gasp, her lips loosening. I snap another photo. My aperture is low, and my shutter speed is slower. There’s a slight motion blur to the image that gives it a magical feeling.
How can I explain thatthisfeeling is what consumes me whenever I look at her? She bites back a smile, shaking her head and turning to an aisle of thriller books. I continue my browsing and, after a while, I bring my findings to the register. Krystal joins me as Winsome, the woman behind the counter, rings up my stack of books, the puzzles, a card game, and an old schoolOperationboard game I found.
