The sun shiningthrough the snow-covered trees outside illuminates my room and wakes me. I rub my eyes until they’re no longer bleary and look around, remembering that I decided to stay at Jett’s last night, rather than driving all the way back to Heartwood.
I turn over and bury my face in the soft, feather pillow and try not to think about the fact that this is the last time I can stay here. Once Jett gets home from World’s, the divorce process will truly begin. We’ll both sign the papers, and that will be that.
I don’t think it’s super appropriate to continue sleeping at your ex-husband’s house, even though these sheets are divine. I wonder if he’ll notice if I take them with me.
Getting out of bed, I throw on my sweater over Jett’s t-shirt, which I slept in last night, and make my way out to the kitchen.
The house is silent, but this morning it’s a peaceful quiet, the serene view of the bright white snow and clear blue skyvisible through the floor to ceiling windows that make up the entire side of the living room and kitchen.
I make myself an oat milk latte with the espresso machine Jett bought for the place while I was staying here. So I could have a coffee up to my standards every morning. I pour the steamed milk over the shot, into a large pottery mug, and I settle on the couch to soak up the morning sun while I drink it.
After a minute or two of sitting in the silence, I realize that there’s been no sign of Cordelia all morning, so I take my coffee with me, and make my way down the hall towards Jett’s room to look for her.
All my time spent staying here with Jett, I’ve never actually stepped foot in his bedroom, and doing so this morning feels like an intrusion. I was only joking about snooping around in his personal items last night.
When I step into the room, it’s not at all what I’m expecting. It’s not overly lavish, and it’s clear that he didn’t have the interior designer that did the guest room do his as well.
But it’s tasteful, it’shim.The room is painted a dark brown, almost black, and the mid-century modern furniture contrasts nicely against it. There’s a single plant, a fiddle leaf fig, in the corner, and if anything is surprising to me, it’s the fact that Jett has managed to keep it alive and thriving.
Cordelia is curled up on top of his pillow, her black fur creating what looks like a smudge on the crisp, white linen.
“There you are,” I whisper, still feeling like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be by being in his room. I go over to the bed to pet her, and when I approach what looks to be the side that Jett favours, I notice something on the nightstand.
A photo. A printed picture of us, from the day Jett took me skiing. Half our faces obscured by ski goggles and helmets, but the lower half is all anyone would need to see to know that we’re stupidly happy together. I was stupidly happy that day.
Next to it, is something familiar, made of the same green cotton yarn I gave Jett when I taught him to knit. I pick it up and look at the dishcloth. It’s nothing like the first one he made. The rows of this one are all even, the edges straight, each stitch perfectly defined.
He’s been practicing on his own.
I keep turning it over in my hand, picturing him working on it as if he wanted to impress me with how much he’s improved, when the doorbell rings.
My palms are suddenly sweaty, and I drop it on the nightstand before I make my way out to see who is at the front door. Am I supposed to answer it? What if it’s a reporter? What if someone followed me here last night?
My thoughts are swirling around as I try to figure out what to do, but when I round the corner, Wren is peering in through the window beside the door, Hudson and his golden retriever, Ruby standing behind her. I let out a breath, and open the door, glancing out to the street to make sure no one followed them here.
This whole debacle has made me so paranoid.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, as Ruby shoves past me, sniffing the floor, following the exact path that Cordelia took when she came in last night. “You know Jett’s in Zermatt, right?”
“Yeah, we’re here to see you,” Wren says, and I flash her a quizzical look. “Hudson texted Jett to find out where you were whenwe couldn’t track you down at the café or at home. We tried calling you but?—”
“My phone’s dead,” I finish. It died late last night, after I got off the phone with Jett, and I was too afraid to go rummaging through drawers around here to find a charger.
“Yeah, so I’m assuming you haven’t seen the news.”
Oh god, what now?
My heart drops, because nothing good has ever started with “have you seen the news?”, at least not in the last few months, anyway.
“No…” My voice trails off, and I hear something that sounds like news coverage coming from the living room.
Hudson is already in there, flicking through channels to find one that is replaying the story they want me to see. I understand why when I make my way into the living room, and I hear a familiar voice. It’s missing the same cocky, confident lilt it normally has, but the deep, warm timbre warms me through to my core.
When I look up at the screen, it’s like those cocoa-dark eyes can somehow see through the camera into the house, to me.
A banner flashes across the bottom of the screen as Jett listens for the reporter’s next question. It readsJett Landry to Compete at World’s Despite Setbacks,and below in smaller letters,Zermatt, CH.
Pride swells in my chest.
