Chapter Forty-Three
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
It took longer than anticipated to find the time to move the rest of my belongings over to Macon’s house.
After Thanksgiving came the dreaded Black Friday, and then my little store prepared for the following Small Business Saturday.
Amelia Louisa had pulled off the miracle of arranging a signing with Susie Corners, a celebrated but reclusive children’s picture book author and illustrator who lived on a farm outside of town.
She’d only ever done one event at the Tick-Tock, and it had been before my time.
Susie was odd and prickly, but she arrived in her trademark overalls, and her readers (and Jo) were euphoric.
For the first time ever, Bildungsroman was slammed from opening to closing, and we had lines at the registers all day.
And then—extraordinarily—we stayed busy.
November slipped into December, and Mika went all out with the holiday decor.
Inspired by the piles of shipping boxes in our back room, she trimmed the cardboard into enormous three-dimensional trees and menorahs and wreaths and dreidels and moons and stars.
She crafted stockings and a plate of cookies for our fireplace, and Santa’s leg to dangle above the flames.
She snipped toilet paper rolls into rings and strung them into countless garlands.
And everything was twisted and sparkling with white fairy lights.
It was a breathtaking sight. Many new customers walked in the door just to admire her creations.
Macon applied for the reference job and was immediately called in for an interview.
I was proud of him and not the least bit surprised that they viewed him as a strong candidate.
He reported that it had gone well but declined to speculate on his chances.
He seemed unusually stressed out about the whole thing, probably because it had been years since he’d tried for something new.
I assured him that no matter what happened, the higher-ups knew he was interested now; he would have more opportunities. But I could tell he wanted this one.
We finally made it to the micro-studio early one Sunday morning.
It only took two carloads to empty it out, and we dumped everything in Edmond’s room on top of the rest of my belongings.
The chaotic heap looked so distressingly familiar that I had to remind myself this wasn’t another temporary move.
We’d sort everything out when we had more time.
First, I needed to keep a promise to my friends.
Macon and I donned our matching Colburn County shirts, chucked out the milk crates, installed the bathroom door, and painted the walls a smoky green that Mika and Bex had picked out.
After that, we scrubbed the entire studio from top to bottom and helped them carry in a new dresser.
None of us could believe the transformation.
The studio had gone from a depressing, bare-bones hovel to a soothing, meditative space perfect for a solo traveler.
“You might want to replace the lamp,” I said, handing over the key.
Mika and Bex laughed, but it felt symbolic to leave behind this final piece of my life with Cory as I entered into my new one with Macon.
And then Macon was issued a last-minute invitation to my sister’s wedding. I don’t know why this caught us both off guard, other than I’d had numerous conversations about the wedding that year, and he’d never been involved in any of the plans before.
“You’ve been invited,” I said, hanging up with Riley and entering the bedroom.
I’d been searching for a missing sweater that I wanted to wear to work the following day.
He was already in bed, but he’d overheard enough to understand.
He set down his library book with clear apprehension.
His expression was strained, maybe even freaked out.
“To the giant wedding? The one with the possible media coverage and your entire extended family?”
I understood his dread and reluctance, and my impulse was to help him. My skin flushed as I willingly—hurriedly—provided the excuse. “It’s okay. I’ll decline on your behalf. I’ll tell them you don’t have any more vacation time this year.”
If anything, his misery increased. “Won’t it make me look bad not to be there?”
“Everyone will understand. It’s Christmas. It’s so last second.”
But he looked like he needed to be convinced. Like he wanted to be convinced. I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, cupped his unhappy face in my hands, and kissed his lips.
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
“Are you sure?”
My fingers traced over and smoothed his worry lines. “Of course.”
“Rescuing me again.” He kissed me back with more intensity. “God, I love you.”
I laughed and let him tug me into the bed. As he traveled down lower to thank me with even greater enthusiasm, the book fell to the floor. I saw stars. God, I loved him, too.
But later, when the book was back in his hands and his attention had returned to the hidden social network of trees, I lay on my side of the bed with my lamp off and wondered if it really was just the size and scope of the event, the potential media presence, the prospect of meeting my entire family at once—all of which would be genuinely overwhelming—or if an additional factor was involved.
Did the wedding itself freak him out? Did marriage?
I recalled the beginning of the year when Alyssa had learned of Riley’s engagement and had asked Macon about proposing to his ex.
His flattened response. There were no circumstances under which I would have proposed.
It was easy to interpret this as there being no circumstances under which he would have proposed to Danielle, but a second interpretation was possible, too.
And when I’d asked about his high school and college girlfriends, he’d said, They’re both married with children, living lives I’ve never wanted.
I knew he didn’t want children. But what about marriage?
Maybe having a father who wanted nothing to do with his mother had made him resent the entire concept.
Maybe because he didn’t grow up around it—when Bonnie got married, she’d left town—it was possible that he couldn’t see any value in it.
And then there’d been his reaction after witnessing the awful courthouse wedding. Why bother at all?
Were these individualized cases or were they blanket statements on the subject? It was strange, after all these years, that I had no idea what he thought about marriage.
As I squirmed beside him, another wretched—and severely belated—thought occurred to me: I had no way of driving to Orlando for the wedding.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Macon stiffened, and I heard him set down his book. “What is it?”
I rolled over and told him.
“You can borrow my car.” He smiled, relaxing with the easy solution. Grateful to be of service again. “I’ll use your bike.”
“I canceled my insurance, remember?”
The smile faded. Anything related to driving fell into the category of things that he didn’t like taking chances with. He thought for a moment. “What about Cory?”
It was jarring to hear that name come out of Macon’s mouth in Macon’s bed.
“What about him? He’s not going to the wedding.”
“But is he going home for Christmas? Do you think he’d give you a ride?”
It was a smart idea. And a generous one, an act of trust and love. I scooted against him—kissing up his arm, his shoulder, his face, shoving my arms around his back, crawling onto his lap, climbing up him, wanting to touch and hold every part of him, unable to get enough.
It turned out that Cory was going to Florida, and he was happy to give me a ride back to Ridgetop, but he wasn’t leaving early enough for me to participate in all the necessary wedding preparations.
Macon was trying to convince me to let him pay for an expensive, one-way plane ticket to Orlando when my sister stepped in and saved the day.
“We’ll drive you there,” Riley said. Her apartment in Atlanta was two and a half hours away.
She and Jess offered to drive north to pick me up, and then we’d all make the long haul down to Orlando together.
“Surely you don’t have time for that,” I said. Jess would only have just arrived from Turkey. She’d been granted a very limited window of leave.
“We want to see your store,” Riley said, and then her tone darkened. “And I want to meet this new guy you’ve already shacked up with.”
“I told you, he’s not exactly new .”
Riley harrumphed. “Then why isn’t he coming to my wedding?”
When I’d told her I’d moved in with him, she’d been happier for me than my parents had but still with significant reservations.
In her shoes, I would have felt suspicious and protective, too.
I decided not to tell Macon because I didn’t want to give him any more reasons to be anxious about their visit.
He already felt guilty for avoiding their wedding.
Riley and Jess would arrive on a Sunday, stay with us through Monday, and then I’d leave with them early on Tuesday morning.
Macon and I borrowed an air mattress from Alyssa and set it up in his study.
Then we frowned at the inflated object with concern.
“Where have your previous guests stayed?” I asked.
“Same place you did that first time—on the couch.”
“What about Bonnie?” Remembering his couch, I was offended for Bonnie’s sake.
“She stayed with my mom. You’re the only one I ever offered the bed to.”
I swooned.