He flicks the newspaper to another page. “Don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
When they leave the room, I expect despair to swallow me whole again, but it strangely doesn’t. It’s as if their love parted the curtains of that darkness, shining a light in. And even though they’ve gone downstairs, even though the half-finished mug of hot cocoa on Hall’s bedside table makes my eyes sting, I think that light will remain.
*
Chapter Twenty
I WAKE UP ONDecember twenty-sixth back in my town house, afternoon streaming through gold gossamer curtains, breathing deeply for any trace of peppermint.
Nothing.
I fly downstairs, hoping against hope that Hall will be bustling about the kitchen, which he’s made adjustments to in our absence—it’s more practical now, with powder-blue polka dot dishware and tropical houseplants that are mercifully fake. He’s transformed what was his bedroom into an office space. Instead of a sleigh bed, it holds a craft table laden with calligraphy sets, a Cricut Joy Machine, a printer, and containers of sequins, glue, and stickers.
While the gift makes me smile, his absence feels like a big redREJECTEDstamp over all my efforts. Christmas is over. Hall is gone, which I can’t undo, no matter how strong my willpower might be. “It’s not fair,” I mumble. “I discovered the true meaning of Christmas! Isn’t that enough?” Honestly, what’s it going to take?I was up in the wee hours of the morning methodically planning how many new leaves I’m going to turn, estimating how much better I’ll have to become as a person before I’m rewarded for it.
Something else that isn’t fair: Teller City is gorgeous today. We’ve got crisp white heavens and six inches of snow, when in a world where there was any justice it’d be slushy right now, sky a gloomy gray blob. I hear laughter wafting from outside, where children are inconsiderately enjoying themselves, and my first instinct is to go ruin it. I’ll shoot ornaments off the giant Christmas tree in the town square with a BB gun, then start slinging snowballs at children who dare to come admire my pretty gingerbread house.
Dressed in Hall’s sweater, which now he’ll never be able to wear himself, I thump outside and puncture a hole in a blow-up Nutcracker soldier with an icicle. I’m going to be a typhoon of misery! I’m going to spread it everywhere! If I can’t be happy, then—
There’s a small parade flowing down the street.
A parade of Watson-Hugheses.
Mom and Marilou are carrying pies; Sean, Grandpa, and Felix are holding boxes of dishware; Grandma’s got a painting under her arm that looks like a genuine Edgar Degas; Athena’s got a cutting board; Kaia has a hand-paintedHome is where a Hughes iskey hook. The children are busy swinging around baskets, soap dispensers, and embroidered hand towels. Ichabod chucks a vase like a football at Frangipane but misses, and it shatters on the sidewalk. Kaia gives him a gentle noogie.
“Happy housewarming,” Dad tells me, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Look, it’s shaped like Colorado!” Athena says brightly, handing me the square cutting board.
It’s all too much. My mouth wobbles.
“Oh, sweetie.” Mom’s smile falls. “What’s wrong?” She already knows the answer, not giving me room to reply before continuing, “Where did he go? Why’d he have to leave?”
“It’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about it. I...” I glance around at all their gifts, my rib cage suddenly too tight. “Thank you, everybody. This is incredibly thoughtful of you.”
“We can’t stay long, but we wanted to give you a proper housewarming,” Marilou tells me. “Felix and I are taking off in an hour, and your parents’ flight is at six.”
“We also wanted to snoop.” Felix invites himself into the house to deposit all my stuff in the kitchen while everybody else pokes at the lawn ornaments. “Grandpa told us this is where you live.”
Mom tips her head back to contemplate the house. “Well, isn’t this thecutestlittle place. How long’s it been here?” She takes in the location of my neighbors, the café and gift shop. “Where’d the milk truck go? Am I imagining that there used to be an old milk truck here?”
“Bettie!” It’s Grandpa. “What do you say about going to the movies today?”
Going to the movies reminds me ofHis Girl Fridayand sweet, handsome Hall in the seat next to mine, our hands touching in the popcorn bag. My face crumples. I’ll never meet anyone that wonderful again. This planet is wall-to-wall with men who only want one thing, and that one thing isn’t copying the décor of the Cheesecake Factory for a magical treehouse, the blueprints of which I found stashed under Hall’s pillow after he left.
“Or not!” he hastens to add. “We could go to... the Bahamas?”
Dad shoots him an incredulous look. He throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t love the Bahamas? I’m helping!”
“Sister of mine,” Felix interrupts, and I notice that the scarf Hall knit for him is draped around his neck. “If you’re not makingMy Eyre Ladies, do you mind if I do? I’ve been rethinking my script, and you know, there’s some room for improvement. I’ll give you credit, of course... not that you’d want it, probably.”
“Bettie, I love your hair today,” Athena tells me with a straight face, holding her arms out to offer a hug. Baby Fang twists in his BabyBjörn, chubby hand up. It is the final straw.
I’m sobbing on the sidewalk in broad daylight.
“There, there.” Athena motors over, petting my hair robotically. “We’re here for you, Betts.”
To the kids, Grandma snaps, “Be supportive of your aunt Bettie! Her incredible fiancé has left her all alone, possibly forever, we haven’t gotten to the bottom of it yet, and, to make things worse, she doesn’t use retinol anti-aging serum. With all this crying, she’s going to have regrets.”
