So, I grab my boyfriend’s coat, and I walk back outside to find him.
Seven
Chapter 7
Nicolas is not saying anything.
I know he’s driving, and I know he’s never very talkative when he drives, because he focuses on the road, especially when there’s a lot of snow like today, but… today feels different. Today, the air in the car feels heavy, and I… and I feel like crying again. I don’t want to, because this is silly to cry over, and I don’t want to act upset, but my eyes are stinging, and my throat is tight, and I’m trying really, really hard not to sniffle.
I messed up. I know I did. I should have noticed earlier that Nicolas was shutting down… I should have checked on him way earlier. How could I mess up so badly? We left as soon as I realized, but I know it was too late already. Even if leaving early was the right decision… the damage was already done, and the silence in the car is suffocating.
I glance at Nicolas, but I can’t read him at all.
His expression is neutral, and he’s looking at the road, not me. But even if he’s looking at the road, I can tell he’s thinking. He had shut down earlier, but this feels different. He’s here,just… not talking. He’s never so still or so focused when he’s relaxed, and I can justfeelsomething is still wrong. He feels so remote, and I don’t know what to do to make things better. Should I speak up? Or stay quiet? Is it better to wait or try to talk now? Does he need time? I really, really don’t like how this feels right now, but I don’t know what to do to fix this, and I’m so scared to say or do the wrong thing!
…We haven’t even turned on the radio, I realize. It’s too quiet, even if it isn’t really. I glance outside because I don’t want Nicolas to see me crying, and I realize he’s getting off the highway. This isn’t our exit. He’s taking the exit into a commercial area.
“Why are we exiting?” I ask, my voice wobbly.
But he doesn’t answer, and my throat tightens a bit more. Oh no, is he mad? Could he be mad? Nicolas has never been mad at me before.Never. I twist my fingers on my lap nervously. God, what if he’s mad? Is this it? Is this our first fight? Or worse, does he want to break up with me? Oh my God, no. I can’t handle it. He wouldn’t, right? But what if he is? It was just one bad Christmas, but it wasourfirst Christmas! What if he’s decided we’re incompatible? I know I messed up. I should have seen he wasn’t okay. I chose him, but it was late, and I should have known my family was too—
“What would make you feel better?”
I blink at his question, completely taken aback. I glance at him, but Nicolas is still focused on his driving, and I realize we’re in the drive-thru of a popular cafe chain.
I’m so confused; Nicolas hates drive-thrus, and we always eat at home.
“What?” I blurt.
“I know you’re upset,” he suddenly says with a serious tone. “We both are, understandably. But I know you’ve always told me hot cocoa and sweet foods make you feel a lot better. So I figuredwe should get you a hot cocoa and something to eat, if you’d like, and then we can talk calmly later, once we’re home and we’ve both settled down.”
“I… Nicolas, y-you’re the one who should be upset,” I mumble, feeling the tears escape. “The time with my family was awful for you. And I didn’t even notice! I-I…”
“Ophelia.”
I sniffle. Why isn’t he calling me sweetheart? I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling this upset, and I don’t like this tension between us! I don’t hide my sniffle, and Nicolas frowns, but just as I’m about to worry again, he takes a deep breath before speaking up.
“I’m sorry this wasn’t the Christmas we wanted. I’m sorry I couldn’t handle it better. I did get overwhelmed, but it isn’t your fault.”
“It is,” I cry. “I-I should have noticed—”
“I wanted you to enjoy the time with your family,” he says. “Just like you tried to enjoy it with mine. You shouldn’t be responsible for me when you want to enjoy time with your family, Ophelia.”
“B-but…”
“We will discuss this at home,” he whispers. “Right now, I think I should get you a hot cocoa and a treat. I don’t like you crying, and I just want to make you feel better.”
I’m about to protest, but it’s our turn, and Nicolas moves up to the window to order. I’m glad they can’t see me, because I’m frantically wiping my cheeks with my sleeve, and probably covering it in snot!
“Merry Christmas,” the seller greets in a bored tone. “What can I get you?”
“We will have two large hot chocolates, one with extra whipped cream, sprinkles if you have, and caramel drizzle,” Nicolas says, before turning to me. “What would you like?”
“I, uh… I could have a brownie,” I mumble.
“We will have a brownie, a baked apple croissant, and… one of those chocolate muffins, please.”
“Coming right up.”
