Nicolas nods, and I realize his thumb is gently stroking the back of my hand while we wait. This has to be a good sign, right? Or is he doing this without thinking? He does that, sometimes… I wipe my tears some more, and I manage to calm down a bit by the time we collect our order. Nicolas calmly puts our drinks between us and hands me the bag of treats.
“Thank you,” I say. “…Can we talk?”
“We can talk,” he nods, driving us back onto the highway, “but I’d like it if we don’t talk about any upsetting matters until we’re home. Not while I’m driving.”
“…Are you very upset?” I ask.
Nicolas shakes his head.
“No, I’m not, but I really think we should wait to talk about it at home.”
Do I want to wait to talk about it at home? Is that a bad sign?
“Okay.” I decide not to push further. “Do you mind if I eat in the car? I know you don’t like it, but—”
“My preferences aren’t relevant right now,” he says. “I don’t mind you eating in the car if it makes you feel better. I wouldn’t have gone to a drive-thru if I didn’t.”
“Okay. And… can I put on some music?”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath, and I turn on the radio. It feels a bit silly now, but even after the chaotic Christmas we’ve had, finding a station playing Wham!’s “Last Christmas” makes me feel a tiny bit better for a hot second. I’m about to change it, because I don’t think it’s appropriate, but Nicolas stops me.
“Leave it,” he says. “You like this song a lot.”
“…Thank you.”
He glances at me, like he’s trying to decipher my expression, so I give him a shy smile, and he nods, visibly satisfied. Please, please, let this be a good sign… I don’t know what’s brewing, but my stomach is in twists and knots about this.
That’s it for the rest of our trip back to Boston.
We drink our hot cocoa in mutual silence while I munch on my brownie, and because I can’t resist munching when I’m nervous, and because I’m really, really anxious, I finish the croissant too. I still can’t believe Nicolas agreed to let me eat something so messy in his car; I’m pretty sure he’ll get it detailed first thing tomorrow. But apparently, neither of us cares right now.
Nicolas was right: by the time we reach Boston, I’ve stopped crying too. I’m a bit too full, but for once, I don’t mind. The chocolate made me feel a lot better, and I really needed that…
When we finally enter my neighborhood, I force myself to relax a little. I’ve got this. We are going to discuss what went wrong, outline the problems that arose, and find a solution together. Right, that sounds like a great plan. Maybe I should have thought of what to say while in the car, but I’ll be fine. I’m not mad at all, and I’m sure once we both agree that any issue can be solved, then—
“Do you want me to accompany you up?”
I blink at Nicolas. I didn’t even notice that we’ve arrived at my building! But he didn’t make his usual detour to the parking lot; instead, we’re stationed right in front of the entrance.
“What?” I blink at him.
“You don’t have a lot, but would you like me to help you upstairs?” he asks.
It takes me a second to register what he’s saying, and when I do, my stomach sinks.
Oh, no.
“Y-you’re not coming?” I blurt out.
“No,” he replies.
“B-but you said we’d talk,” I hear the tears in my voice again.
Don’t panic in front of him, don’t panic! Everything’s fine. Maybe he needs a bit of time. Perhaps he just needs some time alone to cool down, and then—
“We will,” he replies, “but not right now. I have errands to do first. I will come back later.”
