Chapter 25
It’s Claire. Oh my goodness… the relief .
“Hey, you!” she says, leaning in to give me a hug. I tackle-hug her back, giddy with release that it’s not Austin on the other side of the door.
“Uh… this is nice, Libby, but I can’t breathe,” she says in a strangled voice, followed by a short laugh.
I let her go quickly. “I’m so glad to see you. Come on in.”
We sit on my bed, and Claire tucks her legs up under her.
I think back to when we were in high school.
I can still picture teenage Claire, with the blond fishtail braid she always wore and the metal braces she hated so much.
Now her teeth are perfectly straight and her blond hair is shoulder-length, slightly waved, with layers framing her blue eyes.
“Sorry for the pop-in, but we’re back for Christmas chili night. Staying at Kirby’s parents’ place, which means the kids get a lot of grandparent time, and I can hear myself think again.”
“I don’t know how you do it.” My voice carries my genuine awe. “I would not look this gorgeous—that’s for sure.”
“I have applesauce in my hair, and if you smell hot chocolate, it’s because I’m wearing half of Jonah’s.” She lifts one brow. “But thank you for the much-needed compliment.”
“Here for you,” I say, before it occurs to me that I haven’t been there for Claire for years. The list of things I need to work on, to change, grows by the day.
“Anyway, I wanted to check in to see if you and Amelia need help setting up? I am sans enfants for now, so I’m all yours.”
“We would love that,” I reply. “But how did you know I was here?”
“Saw Gigi walking Mary. Told me she dropped off her mac and cheese soup—I know, it sounds awful, but it is divine.” She crosses her heart.
“Well, I trust you,” I say. “And I was just about to head out, so your timing is perfect.”
We walk downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Is the cough productive, or is it dry?” Mom is talking to a patient on her phone, so I lower my voice.
“Dad, Claire and I are going over to the community centre.”
Mom glances up at Claire and her face lights up; she offers an enthusiastic wave and smile.
Claire was always a favourite in our house, and she continues to solidify that reputation by pulling a package out of her purse and handing it to my dad.
“My mother-in-law has been baking—whipped shortbreads.”
“Lucky us!” Dad replies softly, as the three of us move to the front hallway to avoid distracting Mom. “We’ll thank Charlotte when we see her tonight. I assume she’s going?”
“She wouldn’t miss it,” Claire replies.
“You guys okay? Is there anything you or Mom need, before I head out?” I ask, pulling on the Sorel boots and grabbing my coat from the closet.
“We’ll see you there once we finish up here—shouldn’t be too long.”
“You’ll let me know, right?” I slide my arms into my coat sleeves. “If you need help? Here, at the clinic, whatever, with Christmas stuff—happy to do anything.”
Last year, I didn’t make any such speech, and while I offered my help, it was limited by my very short trip. I’m ashamed by how self-centred I was, and I’m determined to handle things differently this time.
“Your presence is the only present we need, honey,” Dad replies, with a grin that warms me to my core. “Plus, you have to head back tomorrow for your trip. Don’t go worrying about us on your last night. We’re fine.”
A wave of panic crests at his mention of the trip, and what Helena confessed.
I need to call Austin, to make sure he’s not driving here and to let him know…
what, exactly? That I’m not coming back tomorrow, because I’m in an alternate timeline?
No—what I need to tell him is that I can’t get on that plane with him because our relationship has run its course, at least for me.
I have to deal with this, with Austin, before it gets more complicated.
I reach for my phone in my pocket, but it’s not there.
“One sec,” I say to Claire. “Forgot my phone in my room.”
I take off my boots and race upstairs. The phone is on my bed, and it’s illuminated with a text message. “Call me back. Need to know you’re okay. Worried.”
Speaking of Austin…
Then, a series of texts, which came in two minutes later.
“Where are you?”
“You okay??”
“Do you need me to come and get you? I can leave tonight. No surgery tomorrow.”
My heart races as I quickly type back a message.
“I’m okay! Helly said you guys ran into each other. No need to worry, I’m fine. Aftereffects of the food poisoning, I think. I was a bit of a mess when we chatted. Sorry about that. lol.”
I hit Send. Moments later, three squiggly dots. I don’t wait for his message, wanting to stay on top of the narrative. “Busy with stuff for my parents right now. Promise we’ll chat soon,” I type out.
The dots disappear. My finger hovers, the desire to confess it all overwhelming. I start typing again. “I also can’t leave right now. I’ll explain later when I…”
Sighing, I hit Delete. I’m struggling with the cognitive dissonance of trying to manage present-time Austin, when I know in a year we’ll merely be part of each other’s history.
So while it would be deliciously easy to give myself an out via text message, it’s not the right way to have the conversation—regardless of what the future holds.
So instead I type: “I’ll call soon. Heading out the door—the party’s tonight!”
Austin replies, “Hope it goes well—wish your parents well for me. And don’t overdo it, if you’re not 100 per cent. Talk soon. Love you.”
I stare at his text, knowing past Elizabeth would reply with a “Love you, too.” Instead, I double click his message to leave a heart emoji response, then turn my phone to Do Not Disturb, and head back downstairs.