Chapter 23 Henri
Henri
Ican tell the conversation about our fabricated break up must bother Liam because he’s mostly quiet on the drive into town, turning up the radio as we navigate the winding roads down the mountain. But at least the conversation’s out of the way, and he knows what to expect when I leave.
While we shop, deciding on what we want to cook and eat on our little getaway provides a new, safer topic of discussion.
Liam’s mom texts him to pick up candies for the gingerbread houses and any other decorations we can think of, extending our trip.
I don’t mind. I like just lazily spending time with him.
We do in fact go to aisle three and grab condoms because a cabin fuck fest doesn’t sound too bad.
Okay, fine, I go to the aisle and grab the condoms, toss them into the nearly-full basket from five feet away, and nearly give Liam a heart attack as his head whips to where an older man with glasses is walking by.
“That’s my principal,” he hisses.
I cock a brow. “Does he have kids?”
“Yes, six.”
“I was going to say he knows what condoms are, but now I’m not so sure.”
A smile splits his mouth as he buries his red face in his hands.
I have to leave. I know it. He knows it. But right now, this is good.
We finish our shopping and load up the Subaru when we’re done.
The trunk closes with a solid thunk. Instead of going back up the mountain, we head to the town square, a collection of mismatched colored shops with snow-dusted awnings.
Light posts trimmed with garland are posted in front of small brick buildings with hand-painted windows illustrating winter wonderland scenes.
Trees strung with warm-hued string lights are tucked into every available corner, and the mountain watches over the town, appearing a purplish blue in its majesty.
We walk slowly as Liam peppers me with questions that I guess are inspired by his attempt to write this morning. Still, he doesn’t pull out his notebook, he just listens. I like that a lot—more than I should. It makes me think my words might be something worth holding onto.
“How do you do it? Convince people you’re in love?” he asks as he steps over an ice patch on the sidewalk and waits for me to do the same.
“It helps that, for the most part, the people I help are decent. I don’t think like myself, and I’m not really myself in these contexts.
I’m the woman they need me to be, so I think about being that woman.
What does she see in them? What part of them is lovable?
I cling to that. I remind myself that they’re determined or passionate about their work or are so funny they could actually be a stand-up comic, but I’d never tell a man that because we really don’t need more men out there in the world trying to be funny.
” I look at Liam and wait for him to ask what I cling to for him.
It’s easy, just resting there on the tip of my tongue. He’s curious in this intensely genuine way. He cares more for the people around him than for himself. For years, I knew him by the words he put on the page, but the real deal is so much better.
Instead he says, “Not everyone can do that.”
“You can. You can interview the shit out of people—make them comfortable with being heard. Or at least that’s what you did with me.”
You saw me. Intentionally. Willingly. And what a gift it is to have someone want to understand you.
A familiar voice comes from down the alley just ahead of us, shattering the moment. “Like I told you when we talked over the phone, I’ll come back down for the second load.”
“Is that . . . ?” I ask.
“June.” Liam nods and we both head toward the alley. There, Juniper is standing, hands on her hips, next to her SUV. The car’s trunk is open, revealing that every surface is loaded with clear tubs holding deep crimson linens with threads of gold shimmering through the weave.
Across from her, a gray-haired man with a cane says, “Come back tomorrow morning. We close at three today, but by the time you’re back, it will be late.”
“I don’t have time in the morning. I have other vendors to work with and I went out of my way to come here because your driver is unable to fulfill the request we make every year.
Maybe you could leave the extra linens with one of the other shop owners?
” Juniper says, the edge in her tone a tell-tale sign that she’s close to snapping.
“What’s the problem?” Liam asks.
“His grandson took a last minute trip to Steamboat and can’t help deliver the rentals for the gala that we use every year. I need to get them to the staff today so we can start to steam them and prep the ballroom, but my car will only carry so many boxes.” Juniper gestures behind her.
“We have some room in our car. I’ll take whatever’s left,” Liam says, more to the shop owner than to his sister. “Does that work?”
“Just pull around here when you’re ready,” the shop owner says before ducking back inside.
“June, is it just the linens? What else can we help with?” Liam reaches to touch her shoulder but she shrugs away from him.
“Nothing. I’ve got it. Once this is done I’ll just have to remake the stupid ski bracket because I haven’t found a replacement and I can’t use a software for it because I need to appease the rich idiots and give them the illusion of winning.”
“Next year, I’ll be here already and you can catch me up on things so I can fix them. That way you can focus on more important stuff. This can be my problem.”
“Yeah, you and dad have made that very clear, but this isn’t for you to swoop in and fix at the eleventh hour. If it’s a problem, it’s my problem.”
“June,” Liam starts.
“No,” Juniper bites out as she fishes for her keys. With them in hand she slams the car doors closed and takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, most of the fire has left her voice. “Thanks for your help, Liam, but I’m fine.”
Liam and I step to the side so we aren’t in the way as the SUV zips out of the alley and onto the street.
“I hope someone gets her to the spa soon cause all that stress can’t be healthy,” I mutter. Suspicion prickles at the back of my mind. Something is clearly off between these two. Unfortunately, though, I’m not a mind reader and don’t want to assume anything yet.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. She’s doing too much and is going to make herself sick, or get hurt.”
“I mean there is one way you could ease some of that stress.”
“Henri.” He sighs.
“Liam.” I raise a brow, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Maybe. I just need her to cool down before I suggest another way to take the spotlight from her. For now, let’s bring the car around and take care of this.”
As it turns out, there are only three tubs left. Any more and we probably wouldn’t have been able to haul the rest. Liam chats a little with the shop owner while the man starts to close up his business, no doubt making a connection that will be useful in years to come.
It’s a funny thing, seeing the threads of Liam’s future—one that I won’t be in. Next year, these two will likely talk about similar things while I’ll be somewhere else entirely. My phone chiming in my pocket saves me from the wash of melancholy thoughts.
A tiny bell chimes overhead as I push out of the shop to take the call. Speakers positioned around the square spill out a crackling jazz arrangement of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” into the brisk air.
“Hey, did your present arrive? It should be in today. I’m not telling you what it is, but keep a look out so Ms. Cooper doesn’t snag it,” I tell Iris.
Though our apartment is pretty great, Ms. Cooper in 3C has a tendency to grab extra mail “on accident.” She’ll return it if you ask, but it’s always easiest to get there first.
“Not yet, but I’ll stay vigilant. Last time I had to retrieve a package, she held me hostage with cookies and cats for two hours. So, how is it? I haven’t heard from you since you got there,” Iris says.
I tug my hat down further on my ears as the wind cuts by. “You can just say you missed me.”
“No, I’m just nosey. So, have you boned yet?”
“Iris,” I hiss.
“What do you prefer? Boinking? Bedroom rodeo? Cave diving?”
“I might prefer to stuff cotton in my ears if you continue.” I roll my eyes and kick at a snow drift that’s swallowed a section of the curb.
“Fine. But I’m not hearing a ‘no’ come out of your mouth.”
“That’s umm . . . Because.”
“No fucking way. I wasn’t serious!” She sounds as if I’ve told her I just won the lottery. Honestly, I kind of have. Empathetic, caring, hot men like Liam aren’t exactly falling from the sky.
“Yes, you were.”
“Okay, fine. But that’s because I’m a romantic and you’re perpetually repressed and avoidant.”
“I’m not . . .” Yeah, fine she’s right. “That doesn’t matter.”
“I can’t wait for you to have ridiculously cute freckled babies.”
“Hold the fuck up,” I say. “One, we’ve done nothing that would lead to baby making, just like everything else. Two, this is just a temporary arrangement.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how temporary it is when you’re both back in the city and don’t have that stupid article as an excuse for you to not be together officially anymore.” And I know if I could see her, she’d be waggling her brows at me.
“Iris.” My traitorous voice cracks. “He’s staying here. That’s the only reason he and I got physical at all. This is just fun.”
“God, this is just like you.” Which is probably the last thing I expect her to say.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand.
“You push him away when you think he’ll be around and only let yourself have something with him when you know it’s going to end.
I’m happy to move around with you, stick by you, but it’s frustrating to see you just shove good things away because you’re scared.
I know about the admissions emails you get, Henri. ”
“You know?”
“Of course I know. You’re always on your damn email and our apartment is really fucking small. I’ve tried to be encouraging, but it’s hard when you’re not just lying to me, but it feels like you’re lying to yourself too.”
“Great. Thanks for telling me how you feel about me being fucking terrified of one of the biggest commitments of my life.” The truth tears out of me.
“Anytime,” she bites out.
I press the red end call button so hard that I’m surprised I don’t crack my screen. While I’m thinking of it, I check the tracking info for the gift. The email says it’s out for delivery, and even though I’m pissed at Iris, I forward her the tracking number.
I’m about to close my email when, of course, a new damn admissions reminder pops up at the top.
I toss my phone into the nearest snow bank, but the light swish it makes on impact is vastly unsatisfying.
I want to kick something, and due to the fact my options are the lamppost next to me and more snow, I’m shit out of luck.
Instead, I just stare up at the grey sky as heavy, snow-laden clouds swiftly block out the remaining blue. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” ends and gives way to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
A bell chimes behind me and shoes crunch in the snow before stopping next to me and I know it’s Liam without looking.
“You know, I hate this bit of the song,” I say to the sky, fighting the stinging at the back of my eyes. “Fuck the fates. Why do they get to allow anything? You can plan all you want, but one winter storm or little mishap and your fucked during the holidays. It’s not fair.”
“Any particular reason you’ve been possessed by the spirit Ebenezer Scrooge in the last ten minutes since I saw you?
” Liam asks as he crouches down, hand dipping into the snow to retrieve my phone.
He wipes the screen, pulling his sleeve up over his hand and rubbing the glass with his palm.
Once done, he inspects it and jerks back.
“Henri, did you see this?” He tilts the screen so I can see the email.
“Yup. I’ve had my admissions letter waiting for weeks now. I get one of those emails every day,” I explain, over hiding shit. What does it matter?
“Okay.”
“That’s it? No lecture? No you’re being a stupid coward, Henri?” I demand, throwing my hands in the air, even though it’s not him I’m mad at. I’m not even mad at Iris—she’s not to blame. Hell, she’s followed me everywhere.
I’m mad at myself. Why can’t I just go for it? I know I want that life in New York, I feel it deep in my chest. And yet, I can’t take this final step. Pathetic and scared.
“Seems like you’ve got all that covered already.
Though, I suggest not throwing your phone in the snow.
I mean they claim these are waterproof now, but I’m pretty sure that’s a lie.
” He holds out my phone to me and I grab it, but he doesn’t let go.
As his grip remains firm, he drags me to him until I’m wrapped in his arms.
I bury my face into the thick cable knit of his sweater and say to his chest, “I’m really scared. What if I’ve put in all this work and I’m not enough? Or if I do get in and go through all of it and my life is fucking terrible and I just have to live with the fact that I feel cheated by all of it?”
A hand ghosts over my hair to comfortingly clutch the nape of my neck.
“You are enough. A school doesn’t get to determine that.
And I can’t promise that it will all work out, but those fates you’re so mad at?
Sometimes they do let things just work out.
But you don’t know if you don’t try.” He scoffs a laugh, a quick rise and fall of his chest against me.
“I know I’m a fucking hypocrite for saying any of this shit, but you’re better than I am, Henri.
I’ve never had to worry about a damn thing.
I always knew I’d end up running this place; I’ve never had to risk anything. ”
“Do something terrifying with me, Liam?” I ask. “Take a risk?”
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Another one?”
“Well, you hate gifts and favors, so equivalent deals seem to be the only way to convince you to do anything.”
“Money,” I joke so I don’t have to acknowledge the hum of pleasure that rolls through me that comes from being understood.
“But only if you feel like you’ve earned it.” He lowers his head and whispers, “I know you like to work for the things that make you feel good.”
“Oh fuck off.” I bury myself in his sweater again as my cheeks flame.
He laughs again. “I’ll sign up for that ski team if you open your email.”
“I’ll open it once the competition is over.”
“After I submit the sign-up form.”
“Fine,” I relent, not feeling like arguing anymore today. “Just let me stay here a little longer.”
Wrapped up in you, where it’s safe.