“It doesn’t mean anything,” I protest, though the text feels like a hug. “He’s a good teacher, he’s just inviting me for Mala’s sake.”
“Bloody ’ell ’e is,” Jules says. “The lad is keen to have a snog, mark my words.”
“There will be no snogging,” I assure her, but my mood is a bit bouncier, and I allow myself to be persuaded to come along with Jules to the next ride. It’s one of those drop towers that tries to convince you there’s nothing more fun that plummeting to your potential death. Strapped into my seat, the ride rises slowly until it comes to a stop at the top.
Jules lets out a whistle from beside me, and the kids on the ride are oohing and aahing at the view. I’ve got to admit, it’s pretty magnificent. London is all dressed up with a million and one places to go. The sprawling web of lights wiggle and wink for attention, and low clouds hover over the city, magnifying the radiance rather than muffling it. Off in the distance, the Thames weaves like a graceful serpent. Everything is sparkling and beautiful and looks like B-roll from a rom-com.
But just for a split second, right before the tower drops, I find myself thinking that this movie-worthy panorama doesn’t fill me up quite as much as the mundane view from my couch, when my head was resting on Rory’s shoulder.
Then the tower drops, and my nonsensical thoughts are sucked away with my breath, leaving me screaming with the kids—screaminglikea kid—as we fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It doesn’t take much for me to decide to go to the Christmas party at Rory’s school. It’s an innocuous setting, and I’m not going to decline just because I’m worried about pushing the boundaries of the friends-only line—a line which seems very thick and clear to both of us. And it’s the day before I fly back to Michigan for Christmas, so it feels like a nice kickoff to my vacation.
I work from home that morning, then slip over to the school around lunchtime. Rather than taking the afternoon off, I just put a personal appointment in my calendar. I’ve always been scared to do things like this—scared that one little thing like that would give them (the all-powerfulthem) reason to dock me of points. And so for years I’ve taken virtually no vacation, put off doctor’s appointments, missed lunches with friends, and delayed picking clothes up at the dry cleaner for weeks, all for fear of what would happen if I was caught being away from my desk. If my little green dot on the company’s instant message server turned yellow for too long. But itfeels different now. I’ve already had the promotion denied, so there’s not much else they could do except fire me, which would leave them in an even bigger mess than it would leave me (or so I like to think).
I’m emboldened enough to sneak out to the school party for a couple hours and deal with whatever consequences come my way. It’s a small thing maybe, but it feels big and rebellious.
Wanting to show up in theme, I wear an ugly Christmas sweater that I’ve bought at a charity shop in Camden Passage. The sweater features a prominent Rudolph, whose 3-D nose lights up when you press it.
I make sure the nose is glowing when I walk into Rory’s classroom. DIY snowflakes dangle from the ceiling, and a table full of cupcakes and candy stretches across one side of the room, the students swarming it like a bee hive.
It takes me a moment to locate Rory. Then I see him, standing at the snack table, monitoring to ensure the students don’t take more than their fair share. He’s wearing his typical trousers and button-down, but his face is masked under a white cotton beard and Santa hat.
“Please put those sweets back in your jumper, Charlie,” Rory says, lightly scolding a little boy who was covertly repurposing his sweater into a candy pouch for Smarties and Tony’s Chocoloney bars. Reluctantly, the boy unloads his loot and lopes sullenly back to his desk.
Rory and I make eye contact—the friendly, unexciting kind. “Hey there,” he says. “You came!” He seems like he wasn’t expecting me to.
“I told you I was going to,” I say defensively. “Nearly didn’t recognize you as Santa though.”
“I go by Father Christmas over here,” Rory says cheerily. “And if you’re thinking of pointing out that that I’m too skinny for the role, don’t bother, because the kids have already torn me to shreds.” He gives a self-deprecating grimace.
“I wasn’t going to,” I say, though I probably was.
“At least I can finally grow facial hair,” Rory says, stroking his beard appreciatively. “Love the sweater, by the way. I’ll be needing you to light the way on Christmas Eve.”
For an odd moment, probably just because I’m standing in a classroom full of little kids, I imagine flying through the sky with Rory in Santa’s sleigh.
“Bonkers,” Rory says, and at first I think he’s talking about my daydream. Then I see that he’s looking around the room at the students. The ones who aren’t raiding the desserts are tugging at Christmas crackers, opening them with loud popping sounds and trading the riddles and trinkets inside.
“It’s a combo of the sugar high, plus knowing it’s the last day of school before a two-week break,” Rory says. “Can’t blame ’em though … I used to be the same way.”
“You used to be a troublemaker?” I ask dubiously. It’s hard to picture.
“I mean, nottroubletrouble,” Rory clarifies, flushing in that rule-follower way. “But I definitely talked during movies and stuff like that.”
I gasp dramatically. “You rebel, you. Having the audacity to whisper in the middle ofThe Polar Express? The most condemnable of all mortal sins.”
Rory grins good-naturedly. “ItwasalwaysThe Polar Expressthat we watched right before winter break, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed.” It feels like sharing a memory with him. One that we never experienced together but experienced collectively at the same time, and sort of in the same place.
As Rory makes his way around the room to collect trash and wrappers, Mala runs up to me. She’s wearing knee-high candy cane socks with her uniform and donning a tissue-paper crown—one of those Christmas cracker prizes.
“Miss Kat!” she squeals, rocking back and forth with glee. “I knew you’d be here, Mr. Cooper said so! Say, have you seen our Christmas tree, Miss Kat? Do come have a look!” Tugging my hand, she leads me to the back of the room, where a pile of empty cans and bottles are stacked in a massive, messy pile, reaching the height of my shoulders.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Mala says, beaming at the pile of plastic like it’s the most magnificent sight in the world. “It’s not a real tree, of course, because we don’t believe in cutting down trees. It’s bad for Mother Earth—Mr. Cooper says so.” Without pausing for air, she whizzes right along. “But see here, this plastic tree is still shaped like a tree, isn’t it? We made it ourselves, from old bottles. And when we’re done with it, it’ll all go into recycling. No rubbish at all.”
