“A librarian? But you were going to be a journalist. You had that internship lined up at the Tribune, remember? You were going to change the world, expose corruption, win a Pulitzer...”
Her hands still on the wooden spoon she’s been using to mix the dough. “Plans change.”
The flatness of her voice tells me exactly when those plans changed. Eight years ago, when our world fell apart.
“Can we make sugar cookies too?” Axel asks. “The kind with the colored frosting?”
“We don’t have food coloring,” Cassidy says, “but we could make plain ones. Maybe cut them into shapes if there are cookie cutters somewhere.”
“Christmas Eve could be cookie decorating day,” I suggest, desperate to lighten the mood. “We could make our own frosting, maybe find some sprinkles.”
Axel’s face lights up. “Really? Like a party?”
“Exactly like a party,” Cassidy agrees, and when she smiles at him, some of the tension eases from her shoulders.
But I can’t stop thinking about journalism, about dreams deferred, about how many ways one terrible Christmas changed both our lives.
The house has settled into quiet with Axel finally asleep on his mattress by the fireplace. His small form is curled under the pile of blankets, his breathing deep.
I find Cassidy on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree in the darkness. She’s pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself small in the corner of the old sofa.
“Are you okay?” I ask, settling beside her on the couch. Not too close, but close enough to catch the scent of her cocoa body butter.
“He’s a good kid,” she says softly. “Sweet.”
I follow her gaze to the tree, but I can tell she’s thinking about more than ornaments and tinsel. She glances over at Axel’s sleeping form, and something shifts in her expression.
“Sometimes when I look at him,” she continues, “I wonder what our kids would have looked like.”
I turn to study her profile, the way the lights play across her features.
“Same complexion as Axel probably,” she says, almost to herself. “Maybe my hair texture, but looser. Your eyes for sure.” She pauses. “I think about that. A lot.”
“Cass...”
“Stupid, right?”
“Not stupid,” I say roughly, keeping my voice low. “I think about it too.”
She turns to look at me then, and there’s so much pain in her eyes it makes me ache. But there’s longing, maybe. Or regret.
“We had names picked out,” she whispers.
“Nina, for a girl,” I say automatically. “After your mother.”
“And Axel for our first boy. After your dad.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and before I can think better of it, I reach up and swipe them away. She doesn’t pull away.
“Tell me about your life,” I say quietly.
She shifts on the hardwood floor beside me. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Are you… are you happy? Is someone making you happy?”
There’s a long pause, and I watch her fingers twist together in her lap. “There was someone. David. We were together for almost three years.”
My heart dips. “Three years is serious.”
