“Grandma let us have chocolate for breakfast!”
That last one makes Karan's eyes find mine again. A question forms in them, an acknowledgment of how much has happened in his absence. I look away first.
“Rachel.” He sets the boys down but keeps his hands on their shoulders. “I’m so sorry, again. I hope I can—”
“Your bags are still in the car?” I cut him off, unable to handle his apologies right now.
Not when I can smell his cologne—the same one I gave him for our anniversary—mixed with cold air and something uniquely him.
It’s going to distract me from what I have resolved to do.
He nods, and I grab my coat from the hook. “I’ll help you bring them in.”
“Oh, I can—”
“It's fine.” I’m already moving past him, careful not to brush against him in the narrow entryway. “The boys need to finish their puzzle anyway, so you can help them with that.”
The cold hits me like a slap, but it’s better than staying inside. Better than watching him with our children and remembering all the reasons I fell in love with him. Better than seeing how easily he fits into this family gathering, like he never left us stranded at the airport.
Because of course his family is proud of him for being a hard worker.
The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way to his rental car. Behind me, the door slams shut, then his familiar footsteps sound out as he follows me into the gathering dusk.
Once back inside, the stairway to the guest rooms is impossibly narrow. It forces us closer together than I’ve been to Karan in weeks as we carry his luggage to our room. His suitcase bumps against each step as I back up the stairs, guiding it while he lifts from below.
“Careful,” he murmurs when I stumble slightly, his hand brushing mine on the handle and sending an electric shock through my system.
The touch catapults me back fourteen years, to our first Christmas here. We’d snuck up these same stairs after everyone was asleep, giggling and drunk on cheap wine and youth. Karan had pressed me against this wall, his kisses tasting of peppermint, the fire for him burning deep in my belly.
Now, the memory sits like lead in my stomach.
We reach the landing, and I step aside to let him maneuver the suitcase into our room.
Our room.
The words feel wrong now, like trying to squeeze into clothes you’ve outgrown.
The space is exactly as I remember it. A queen bed is pushed against the wall, handmade quilt in shades of blue and grey, a small window overlooking the bay. And nothing was wrong with the room for the last two nights I’ve slept in it.
But now, seeing Karan set his bag next to mine, everything feels different.
Smaller. More confining.
My wedding ring catches the late afternoon light streaming through the window. A shiver runs down my spine.
“Rachel.” Karan’s voice is soft, hesitant. “Can we talk?”
Before I can answer, thundering footsteps on the stairs announce the arrival of our sons. They burst into the room like a tornado, climbing over the bed and each other to reach their father.
“Daddy! Come see the fort we made!”
“No, first you have to see my drawing!”
“But you promised to read us a story!”
Karan laughs; that deep, rich sound that still gives me goosebumps. A sound I haven’t heard enough over the last year.
“I’ll come and look at everything, I promise. I’m just placing my stuff, okay?”
