Chapter 53 George
GEORGE
I have made an important decision. Not a life-altering decision. Not a change-the-course-of-human-events decision. Not even a tell-someone-about-it-the-next-day-at-the-water-cooler kind of decision. But a decision that is within my limited control: I am not going to wallow.
At least I’m not going to wallow today. I make no promises about tomorrow, but we’ll see.
For now, even though it’s my ex’s wedding day and I am alone in a strange town, it is also the day after I turned in my latest manuscript.
I have a new project on the horizon that I’m genuinely very excited about. And it is a freaking holiday.
So I am on my way to the store to pick up some wine and cheese for one, and I am going to goddamn celebrate.
I arrive at the town square and pause to take it in.
The storefronts with their holiday decorations.
The tree, humble compared to the one in Rockefeller Center, but sweet.
Welcoming. Snow on the ground, an inch or two deeper thanks to the storm that passed overnight, and in the corner of the square, I now see, a couple of new snowmen being fashioned by a group of kids.
It’s over-the-top charming to the point of being ludicrous. I love it anyway.
As I push through the door into the store, the bell jingles its jingle, and Ruth looks up from behind the till.
Carol is there too, leaning against the counter.
I wonder if they’re gossiping about me or if they’ve moved on to something else.
They must gossip about other things, right?
They’re going to have to find a new diversion soon enough.
“Ladies,” I say with a nod.
“Hi, George,” They say in unison.
I grab a basket and collect my supplies. A bottle of the one kind of champagne (okay, sparkling wine) they have in the store, a chunk of local Vermont Cheddar. Some fancy crackers. A small bag of handmade maple cookies.
This ought to do it. I’m only here for a few more days, and I probably ought to use up the rest of the groceries I have back at the cabin. I’d replace all of the many frozen meals I ate of Owen’s, but I think both he and I would prefer I not attempt that sort of thing.
So that’s it then, I guess. I bring my purchases to the counter.
“Excellent choice,” Ruth says, holding up the maple cookies. “We’ll make a Vermonter of you yet.”
“Oh. I’m afraid not. I’ll be heading back to New York in a couple of days. Actually, I probably won’t make it into town again,” I say, suddenly realizing this is probably goodbye.
Ruth gives me a sad smile that tells me she’s thinking the same thing. “So soon?”
“Yeah. You know, it’s the temporary part of the whole ‘temporary swap’ thing.” I shrug.
Carol tuts. “Well, we’ll miss you, George. Any chance you come back and visit us? I’d love to bring you into the library for a signing or an author talk sometime.”
Oh. Somehow, I pictured never seeing this place again. But that’s a little overdramatic, isn’t it? It’s not like the town ceases to exist just because Owen and I stopped… doing whatever it was we were doing.
“Yeah. I might be able to do that.”
“Really?” She is so obviously both surprised and excited that I almost laugh.
“Yeah, here, give me your phone. I’ll type in my contact info.” She does, and I do.
“Maybe we can do it in the summer when my nephew Caleb comes to help out at the library. He’s a huge fan of books with queer characters… Although…” Carol looks uncertain. “He does prefer romance.”
Interesting. Maybe nephew Caleb will enjoy my newest project…
“Hockey romances, actually. Which I know is really specific, but he seems to love them.”
… And never mind. “Well, I’d love to meet him either way.”
Carol giggles like I’ve just asked her to the junior prom. “Oh! And maybe you’ll meet Owen then, too! It’s so strange how you both spent so much time in each other’s spaces and never actually got to meet in person.”
“It’s a shame,” says Ruth. “I bet you two would have gotten along like gangbusters.”
Oh, Ruth, if you only knew. “Yeah.”
She puts the last of my purchases into the bag. But before she hands it to me, she gestures for me to bend down. Then she leans across the counter and plants a kiss on my cheek. “It’s been lovely meeting you, George.”
Suddenly, inexplicably, there’s a lump in my throat. I am a grown-ass spy novelist. I am not going to cry in the middle of a backwoods general store just because a nice lady is saying goodbye.
“You, too.” I manage. “Both of you.”
Carol gives me a little nod, and then I’m off. But just before I get to the door, it swings open, and Allie appears.
“George is going back to New York,” Carol tells her.
“Oh yeah?” Allie looks at me. “Don’t be a stranger.” She punches me on the arm. It actually hurts a little, but it seems just right for Allie.
When I’m back out in the cold, on my way back to Owen’s one last time, I’m a little surprised to realize I really will miss this place.
I am, in fact, so caught up in my thoughts that I almost don’t register that there is a truck in the driveway.
I do, however, very much register that there is a man on the front porch. A tall blond man in jeans and a jacket and tie under an open parka, pacing the porch in front of the door and running his hands through his hair.
I stop at the top of the driveway.
“Owen?”