CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I awake the next morning feeling like I’ve just run a marathon, climbed a mountain, and then decided to swim across Lake Ontario. My body is sore in that delicious post-crazy-night-of-wild-sex way, and my eyelids feel as if they’re weighted down with sandbags.
When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, I’m confused. The room is nearly pitch dark; it’s still nighttime. Not taking time to contemplate what might have woken me, I turn, reaching for Hugh. I may be exhausted and my body may feel like it’s been through the wringer, but that doesn’t mean I’m too tired for—
My hand hits cool sheets and my eyes pop back open. I shove myself into a sitting position, squinting as I peer around the room.
“I’m here.” Hugh’s soft voice comes from the doorway. A sigh of relief nearly knocks the air out of me. The relief flees when I see he’s fully dressed. Faint light from the living room casts a halo around him, making me wonder for a moment if I’m dreaming.
“What are you doing?” I croak.
He enters the room and turns on my bedside lamp before sitting beside me. I fumble for his hand and he takes mine in both of his. “I need to leave in a few minutes. I didn’t want to wake you. Thought it might be easier for you not to have to watch me get ready, knowing I’m…well…”
I swallow hard. My brain is still foggy and it’s making it hard to grasp what he’s saying. “You’re leavingnow?”
“Aye.” His voice is tired, sad. He frees one of his hands from mine to scrub it over his face. It makes a rasping sound that seems loud in the otherwise silent room. “There’s no easy way to do this, Ivy. No easy way to say goodbye. I warred with myself how to do it, how to make this less painful, and finally decided it would be easier not to prolong it.”
“But I wanted to wake up with you.” My voice sounds childlike and my lip is wobbling. “Wanted to make you breakfast a-and…” I trail off, snapping my mouth shut. I sound pitiful even to my own ears. I know this hurts him as much as it hurts me, and I don’t want to make him feel worse.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I shake my head quickly. The motion sends tears splashing down my face. “Don’t be. I understand. You’re right about there being no easy way to do this.” I inhale deeply, filling my lungs and trying to gather myself. I can fall apart later. “Thank you for everything. These last few weeks have been…I couldn’t have asked for…”
“Me too,” he says when I don’t continue. “Me too.” He closes the small distance between us and covers my mouth with his. I taste toothpaste mixed with salty tears and wonder if they’re only mine. “I have something for you,” he says when he pulls away. He takes a wrapped package from the nightstand and hands it to me. “I was going to write ‘From Santa’ and put it under your tree, but I thought Fiddlesticks might try to claim it for herself.”
I let out a watery laugh. He motions for me to open it, so I do. The light is faint, but I can still see it’s a copy ofAnne of Green Gables. I’ve never seen this edition before; between the cover and the binding, I’m guessing it’s old.
“I thought I’d add to your collection.” He reaches out and catches a tear before it falls from my cheek onto the book. I didn’t even realize I was crying. “The perks of being friends with a bookseller. I had Piper help me search, and she thought you’d like this one best.” He flips the cover open and points to a blue sticky note inside. “It seemed blasphemous to write in such an old book, but my parents always said when you give a book as a gift, you have to inscribe it.”
I hold it closer to the lamp so I can read it.For Ivy, a true kindred spirit. You’re stronger and wiser and more beautiful than you know. Thank you for the last two months. Love, Hugh
I’m going to choke on the lump in my throat. I suck air in around it and set the book aside so I can launch myself into his arms. He catches me, holding on tight, murmuring soft words as I cry all over him. It’s like floodgates have opened and my promise not to make him feel worse has been swept away by the current. I can’t help it; the tears come and when I try to stop them they just flow harder.
He cups the back of my head with one hand and rubs my back with the other. Over my sniffles and quiet sobs, I hear him swallow hard a few times. I’m pretty sure he’s crying now too, which makes me feel even worse.
My eyes settle on the digital clock behind him and I gasp, pushing away. I’m a snotty, tear-soaked mess. This is so not the image I wanted to leave him with. “You’re going to be late.” I shove at him to get up so I can crawl out of bed. He holds me in place. “You still have to get back to your apartment and get your luggage and—”
“Ivy, it’s fine,” he says. “I have time. I need to make sure you’re okay before I go.”
I clench my jaw so tight I fear my teeth might crack. Gathering every last shred of willpower and dignity and self-preservation, I say, “I’m fine. Or at least Iwillbe fine. I promise.”
Despite appearing uncertain, he lets me pass him this time when I move to get off the bed. He follows me out to the living room. Fiddlesticks is perched on the back of the couch, her eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. Hugh scoops her up and gives her a nuzzle, speaking to her softly. I don’t catch most of what he says, but I do hear him say, “Look after her,” and I almost lose it all over again.
“Oh!” I say, suddenly remembering the care package I made him for the flight. I hurry to the kitchen and grab the small cloth bag from where I stowed it last night. When I was running around doing my shopping yesterday, I kept seeing things he likes—mini bags of chips, ginger snaps, a crossword puzzle book—so I decided to collect them for his long trip back home.
“It’s not much,” I say, handing it over. “It’s not a proper gift, but I thought you might like some things for the plane ride.” He peers inside the bag. When he smiles and reaches inside, I know he’s spied the TARDIS keychain I found while whipping around looking for a last-minute gift for Marla. “That’s not for the plane ride obviously, just something I thought you’d like.”
“It’s perfect,” he says. “The only thing I had time to get for the flight was a book, so these things will serve me well. Thank you, Ivy.”
“Thank you for the book,” I say. “It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me.” Later, when I’m alone and not feeling like a small gust of wind could knock me over and shatter me, I might contemplate the meaning of his use of the word ‘love’ in the inscription.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says.
“Well, I mean, it’s no wool sweater, but you know.” This elicits the laugh I hoped for. “Kidding. I love it. It’ll get pride of place on my shelf, right next to my succulent. I’ll think of you whenever I look at them.”
He nods slowly. His hand reaches for mine and I’m not sure which one of us holds on tighter. My fingers will likely be bruised later, but I don’t care.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed in Scotland,” he says. “And I’ll talk to you tomorrow on Christmas day. And then…”
