Chapter Forty-Three #2
On Sunday, I hurried home from work to help him.
Because Macon’s love language was food, he’d been preparing dinner for hours: butternut squash ravioli with a sage béchamel sauce, a Bibb lettuce and endive salad, smashed garlicky fingerling potatoes, and a sticky toffee pudding for dessert.
We were still cooking when our guests arrived.
Jess slung their bags on the floor and threw her arms around me.
“Whaaaaaat this place is like a storybook!” She shouted over my shoulder toward Macon, who was lingering in the kitchen, “It smells amazing in here!”
I always forgot how loud Jess was, but I loved her warm energy.
Her body was strong, and her presence was huge.
Her hair was loose tonight but on game days, she wore it in a high, tight bun that meant serious business.
Her expression was stoic and legendarily intimidating, confident in her status as an elite on the court.
But off court, she was an energetic goofball.
Riley looked like what she was: a younger, tougher, nurse version of me.
Her blond hair was bluntly but stylishly cropped, and since she’d started dating Jess, her body had grown more athletic, which suited her.
We hugged and held on tightly. Eighteen months had passed since we’d last seen each other, when Cory and I had driven down to Atlanta for a game.
It had been too long, and a lot had changed.
Macon stepped into the room, looking nervous, though less than I’d anticipated.
His professional work face was on, which was masking most of it.
But now that I recognized his shyness, it was easier for me to spot it.
Jess introduced herself enthusiastically and shook his hand.
He glanced down in surprise, and I hid a smile.
The roughness of her hands had startled me the first time, too.
I’d been worried that she might overwhelm him, but since her friendliness was authentic, he responded to it in kind, easing another notch. My sister was the challenge.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” he said. “I’ve been hearing stories about you for years.”
Riley was polite but reserved as she thanked him for hosting them.
I showed Riley and Jess around the house, pointing out everything we’d done and still planned to do, so Macon could finish up in the kitchen without anybody underfoot and have a moment to collect himself again.
They were impressed, which was gratifying, and Jess sighed with wistful envy.
“We won’t be able to settle down like this for years,” she said, shooting an apologetic look toward my sister.
She was referring to playing overseas in the offseason, plus the potential of being traded to another team in another city.
But Riley just said, “We have the rest of our lives,” and I could tell it was a common reassurance. As she reached for her fiancée’s hand, Riley’s engagement ring sparkled.
Settle down , Jess had said. I did feel settled, or at least I figured I would once I had time to settle.
But I still didn’t think of this house as ours, because it wasn’t.
It belonged to Macon. That unsettled feeling cracked through my exterior again and slithered inside.
I grabbed hold of its tail and flung it back out.
He called out that dinner was ready, and we helped him carry the dishes to the table and pour the sparkling wine. Our small feast looked and smelled as festive as the season. We raised our glasses, toasted the brides-to-be, and dug in.
“Dear lord,” Jess said. “Is this ravioli handmade?”
“Macon makes everything from scratch,” I gushed. “And the vegetables and herbs are all from his garden.”
“Not to bring up your ex, Iggy,” my sister said, beginning to relax into her usual self, “but this is way better than eating with you and Cory.”
“ Riley ,” Jess and I said together.
But Macon laughed, not minding that particular comparison.
“There was a lot of frozen pizza,” Riley said.
“Who do you think has been feeding your sister vegetables all these years?” Macon said, and they clinked glasses.
“Nothing wrong with a frozen pizza,” Jess said.
“Thank you,” I said. And then, “Actually, I don’t know why we’re defending DiGiorno all of a sudden.”
Everyone laughed, and I maneuvered the conversation to their wedding because it was what they always wanted to talk about.
The dinner was enjoyable. After her austere greeting, I was relieved that Riley seemed to be putting her hesitations aside to give Macon a fair chance.
I hadn’t known what to expect because I’d never introduced my family to anybody but Cory.
That night in bed, Macon said, “Your sister calls you Iggy.”
I knew where this was going. The ghost materialized back into our bedroom.
“I thought Cory was the only one who did that,” he said.
“He learned it from her.”
Half a minute later, he said, “Am I supposed to be calling you Iggy?”
I lowered my novel and looked at him in surprise.
“Is that what… your loved ones call you?”
It was sweet how unsure he sounded, and I considered my reply. “It was, once. But I’ve been Ingrid for even longer, and you are my most loved one.”
His eyebrows rose a little. After all, it had only been weeks. “Most?”
It had also been years. “Most.”
He sat with that for several seconds and then confessed, “You’re my most, too.”
The air mattress was a disaster, and Riley and Jess emerged from Macon’s study in a foul mood. They’d been bumping into each other all night and had woken up to find the mattress completely deflated. We apologized, unfairly blaming Alyssa.
“We’ll figure out something better for tonight,” I promised, as Macon shoved conciliatory piles of blueberry waffles and fluffy scrambled eggs at them.
“You’d better,” Jess said, giving us a flash of her intimidating game face, “or you’ll be the one driving our sore asses all the way to Orlando.”
“I just realized you don’t have any decorations,” Riley said, glancing around with irritation.
Understanding how much they loved Christmas, I felt bad that I hadn’t been able to deck our halls before their arrival. “We talked about it, but with the store and the move and the unfinished living room and me going away for the holiday, the effort didn’t seem worth it.”
“You always decorated your place,” she said.
It sounded like she was suggesting this wasn’t my home. “Yeah, and I have no idea where my decorations are.” I tried not to get defensive. “Somewhere between the litter box and all of my books.”
“Don’t you usually have a tree?” Jess asked Macon.
“Uh, not in the last few years. But I’m looking forward to getting one next year,” he added, with a fretful but sincere glance at me.
It was easy to imagine hanging ornaments and listening to Christmas records together, and my heart panged with longing.
The exhaustion of the year was settling into my bones.
Working this hard had paradoxically given me more energy—all of that forward momentum—but now that I was being forced to take nine days off for the wedding, I wondered how I would get through it.
And how would the store survive without me?
Until now, I’d only taken off the day after Macon and I became a couple and Thanksgiving.
It nauseated me to think about being absent during such a crucial sales week.
Macon was even volunteering there next weekend, and Bex was taking a few volunteer shifts, too.
We were close to the required sales number, but not out of the danger zone yet.
It felt like I was abandoning the store when it needed me the most. Like somehow me not being there might cause fewer customers to come in.
It made no sense but plagued me all the same.
I’d already made Mika promise to text me daily updates.
Thankfully, the scrumptious breakfast lifted Riley’s and Jess’s moods, and after taking turns in the bathroom, we bundled up and I walked them to Bildungsroman.
The branches were bare, and the air was frosty.
Macon had planted ornamental cabbages and flowering kale in our outside containers, and the storefront twinkled with its festive window decor.
They posed excitedly for a ton of pictures.
Jess posted the best to social media, where she had over a million followers, many of them in our region.
I wasn’t sure how sizable the crossover was between basketball and books, but it was our highest-profile mention so far, and I was grateful for it.
Riley was awed by what I had accomplished inside. Since her opinion ranked second only to Macon’s, I basked in her approval. And my coworkers were thrilled to meet Jess and admire her Olympic rings tattoo and hear her stories, which made Riley feel even prouder.
Afterward, she and Jess explored the rest of downtown and grabbed lunch at a cidery while I returned home to pack. Macon and Edmond kept me company.
“A week is so long,” I said, feeling needy and clingy.
“At least the wedding will keep you busy,” he said.
“Hopefully the time will pass quickly.” It was a valiant attempt at optimism, especially considering the source, but Macon was lying supine on the bed, equally morose.
I wondered if I should have tried to convince him to come with me, but it still seemed cruel to force him into a situation that I knew would make him miserable.
I held up my red dress for him before packing it away in my suitcase.
Macon groaned at the ceiling. “Nobody there will appreciate that dress the way I do.”
His anguish lifted my spirits a smidge. “I should hope not.”
He suddenly sat up. “I forgot to thank your sister.”
“For what?” I was taken aback.
“That dress.”
It made me laugh, but his mood slipped back into melancholy, and his body slumped back into repose. “I’ll never forget you walking toward me through that crowd. This crimson beacon.”