Chapter 21
AFTER DINNER, ROSE AND I stand over the sink. She’s washing the dishes while I dry them. She looks over her shoulder and makes sure no one else is in the kitchen right now. The others are busy clearing off the table.
You know, she says quietly. He’s a lot more playful with you than anyone else.
She hands me a pot to dry and I don’t respond right away, so she goes on. There’s a lightness to him with you that isn’t always there. I think you help loosen him up, Flora.
I’m spared from having to think of a reply as Alba comes barrelling into the kitchen with more plates.
My god I am stuffed to the brim, she says, putting down the dishes and ushering Rose out of the way. My turn, she says, kissing her partner on the cheek.
The big day is coming up quick, you two, I say.
Not quick enough, they both say in unison and burst out laughing.
Alistair pokes his head in the kitchen. Can I help with anything?
Yes, I say while Alba and Rose say, No, again at the same time. They grin at each other. I hand Alistair the dish towel and perch myself up on the kitchen counter beside him.
Are you just going to watch me dry these dishes, Fast Florence? Or will you be helpful and put them away? He holds out a plate to me, his eyes dancing.
Mmm, just watch I think, Al, I say, testing out the nickname and grinning, and not taking the plate from him.
He tilts his head down and makes a face, the gesture as clear as day: Are you serious right now? I chuckle and hop down from the counter, putting the plate away.
Alistair glances over, noticing some of Alba and Rose’s pictures on the fridge. There’s one of the three of us in Argentina; another of Alba, Violet, and I from that dark year in Toronto. Our little Covid bubble.
Alistair points to Violet, Who is that? Her medium-length dark hair has streaks of purple here. We’re out on the balcony of her apartment. She has on giant sunglasses and an I heart Toronto T-shirt, some of the tiny tattoos along her shoulder visible below the short sleeves.
That, I tell Alistair, is our friend Violet. We met in New York when we went to school there. This is when we stayed with her in Toronto for a while, during the pandemic.
You would love Violet, Alba chimes in, as she finishes cleaning the last dish.
She’s super weird, but in the best way possible.
I feel a pang of missing Violet and I tell Alba we should try and FaceTime her tomorrow.
She agrees, emptying the water from the sink, her role in the cleaning-up finished.
Alba walks out of the kitchen and flings herself dramatically onto the sofa in the living room, lamenting again about how much she’s eaten, while Uncle Albie tries to find something on TV to watch.
That was all delicious. I’m stuffed as well, Alistair says, handing me the last pan to put away.
Well, you better make room for dessert! I spent hours toiling away in this kitchen to bake it, I say, but I’m only half-joking. And actually, I think Rose made a trifle too.
Please tell me there will be time to digest first, he says, a look of something akin to panic flashing across his face.
Don’t worry, I pat his shoulder reassuringly. I’m pathetically desperate for an excuse to touch him. There will be plenty of lounging time first.
I kind of fancy a walk, to tell you the truth. Want to join?
I love this idea and I tell him exactly that. The others boo us—literally boo us—when we tell them we’re going for a walk.
How can you even think about moving at a time like this? Alba demands from where she’s sprawled out on the couch.
It doesn’t take long for the two of us to get bundled up to brace the cold. It’s so quiet out and already pitch black, even though it isn’t that late in the day.
There’s a path up this way, Alistair says and motions his hand towards the woods behind the cabins.
Oh, I know it, I say, a smile curving on my lips.
He sighs, almost exasperated. Do I even want to know?
I can’t help the manic laugh that peals out of me, ringing through the night air. No, probably not.
We start walking up through the trees. It’s a few minutes before he says anything.
So what is it about the adrenaline rush then?
What is this, an interrogation? I laugh.
He smiles down towards me. No, I want to understand it, that’s all. Oftentimes when people take part in those kinds of activities, especially in childhood, it can be about rebelling or acting out. But I don’t get the sense that’s the case here.
I shake my head. It wasn’t that, at least I don’t think so anyway.
When I was a kid, I always jumped right into everything, both feet first. I liked feeling like I was brave or fearless.
But as I got older, I did learn to start thinking before I acted, even if it was only for a split second.
Not that anyone believed me, I huff out that last line.
I felt like I was getting a bad rap. I was getting in trouble a lot and noticed that people were treating me differently, I guess. And I didn’t like that.
Differently how?
Alistair always seems to put me on the spot. He’s not shy about getting to the root of everything. If it was anyone else, this would feel like prying or even judgment, but there’s something about his tone that’s always so open. It knocks down my defenses. So I let it all come out.
Like I wasn’t smart, that’s the only way I can really explain it.
That I was being reckless, a word you know I hate, because I wasn’t smart enough to think things through.
It was never about the danger piece for me.
It was about the joy. I have a lot of energy, and that thrill-seeking urge seems to be wired into me. I couldn’t change it if I wanted to.
In thirty-two years, I have never tried to explain this to anyone. No one’s ever really asked.
We get to a thin section of the path that’s so narrow, we’re forced to walk one person in front of the other. Alistair motions for me to go ahead.
I’ve noticed that he never walks ahead of me.
This is a big pet peeve of mine—when men go charging out in front of you.
I went on a date once with a guy in New York who, when we left the restaurant, strode off ahead of me.
I was so annoyed I turned around and went the other direction.
It was several minutes before he noticed and came running after me, but that was our first and only date.
I don’t know if it’s this realization that has softened me up, or if it’s the chill in the air or the stillness of the forest, but I feel like I can be honest. The words come out more quietly than I expect.
I think in my last relationship there was a bit of feeding into that energy, in a way… I trail off, trying to gather my thoughts. The path widens again, and I can feel Alistair tense a little beside me.
In what way?
He was really hyper-critical of me. The baking especially, but honestly in every aspect of my life. And I think trying to do things perfectly, having to walk on eggshells around his moods, produced a similar kind of adrenaline rush. I was on the edge, in a way, but there wasn’t any real joy.
Alistair takes my hand, never breaking his stride. Both of us are wearing gloves, but I can still feel the warmth coming from him.
So why keep dating him?
I’ve never really looked at the relationship with Justin under a microscope like this. It takes me a few seconds to answer. I almost have to force the words out.
I think in my fragile state at the time it was easier to try and mold myself into what he wanted.
I’m pretty good at dissociating, in case you haven’t picked up on that yet, and I didn’t really want to be myself anyway.
That person has known too much pain. So, if I could be someone else, someone better, maybe things didn’t have to be so hard.
He stops walking and faces me.
And now?
I bite my lip, thinking. I’m not sure. I feel more like myself, being here. Being home. I don’t say, being with you, but I think he hears it in my pause. I really don’t want him to push me further on this point—I’m not ready to go there yet. And I think he realizes that, too.
He leans forward and kisses me softly, barely a whisper of a kiss. I frown at how quickly he pulls away from me.
Okay, next question—
He doesn’t get to finish asking before I interject, This really is an interrogation.
He scoffs, but steps closer into my space again, towering over again. He takes my other hand in his, holding them both to his chest.
Do you trust me? The question is so direct, so quiet, so Alistair.
No, I say, almost out of habit.
Liar, he says again, his mouth hovering over mine. Can you do me a favour and not be a pain in my ass for one minute? I want you to stand here for thirty seconds with your eyes closed.
I feel a little panicky at this. Why?
Please trust me, ‘Just Florence.’ I’ll tell you if you really want me to, but I think you’ll like the surprise.
I swallow. My eyes rove over his face, where I find only openness and a hint of something like excitement.
I nod and close my eyes.
Alistair kisses both of my gloved hands before I can hear him walk away. After a few seconds I peek out of one eye, but I can see only darkness and the trees.
This is a little creepy, I call out to him. If this is where you finally reveal yourself to be a murderer, I’m going to be super pissed. You saw me in the snowbank with Alba that day, I’m not afraid to fight back!
I can hear him laughing, but he’s definitely not close by.
Just keep your eyes closed, Red Sizzler, he calls back to me. It’s not long before I can hear him jog again in my direction. Before I open my eyes, he takes both of my hands in his and pulls me in to kiss him, a little harder than before. I feel the heat spread up the back of my neck.
He pulls away, grinning, and asks, Ready?
Ready for what?
He only shakes his head and starts to lead me down the path, Come on.
There’s a little bend in the woods and I realize we’re about to go around a corner.
Alistair is watching me closely as we take the turn, and I catch a glimpse of light.
What is that? I ask, unable to stop my smile.
We keep walking and it almost takes my breath away.
There is a clearing right after the corner of the path, and a single balsam fir stands in the centre of it.
I would guess it’s about sixteen feet tall, looming in the empty space around it.
It’s wrapped entirely in Christmas lights, glowing brightly and illuminating the surrounding woods.
How? I ask, my voice a little breathless. There’s not an extension cord long enough to reach all the way out here.
He points to the bottom of the tree. They attach to a little battery pack there. He must have come up ahead of me so he could turn the lights on.
When? I say, laughing at my own inability to speak.
He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me nearer as we stare up at the tree.
A while ago, Florence.
I peer up at him, my heart straining to the point of pain.
Why?
He shrugs one shoulder. Why not? I mean it’s not as thrilling as the lights of, say, a kitchen fire—but I like a little Christmas magic. He looks down at me then, his voice a shade quieter when he goes on. I thought maybe we’d come up here sometime, that you might like the surprise.
He thought of this a while ago. I let that thought sink in and it feels like I’m lighting up from the inside.
I like you, ‘Just Florence.’ There’s no doubt about that. Couldn’t stop it if I tried.
I pull him down towards me, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to taste those words on his lips: Couldn’t stop it if I tried.