Chapter 29
[Lumi]
The first night of Saint’s absence, I blindly climbed into bed, wishing I could sleep for a month. I’d been exhausted from the night of sex, then empty when I thought about it. Carved hollow by his absence.
In the morning, I woke numb. Showered. Dressed. Drank coffee. My day began like every other day of my life.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
The second night after my true love left me, I did a double-take as I walked past my living room.
After the Woolen Sock run, Saint hung our soggy socks along the mantel by small hooks permanently attached to the wooden plank above the fireplace.
Hanging the stockings by the chimney with care, I’d joked.
He’d only smiled, never confirming nor denying what he was doing. Who he was. Who he might be.
My thoughts scrambled that night. He couldn’t be Santa Claus. It was all a legend. A story written for children, based on small truths that grew into an epic tale.
One single man who delivers presents to every child in the world in a single night. Impossible.
Still, I stared at those stockings, now dangling from the mantel. Two sets. One pair for him. One pair from me. Just like his red coat on a hook in my hallway, the woolen stockings looked right hanging there.
Somehow, I made it through the third day of his absence, putting on my long, puffy jacket while ignoring the vacant hook that once held Saint’s red one. I’d learned to dismiss the empty hook because Danny once hung his things there as well.
At work, I stamped letters, registered packages, and organized the mail scheduled to leave our little town and travel the world.
All the same, I took in the mail. Love from everywhere across the globe. Packages marked ‘handle with care’ as they headed out to that special someone.
And like every other day, I read the postcards sent from Hideaway Harbor or those coming into our town, and dreamed of escape.
Some day. Maybe.
Each night, when my workday ended, I wasn’t hungry. Heading home to an empty house felt daunting. Yet I didn’t think I could ever look at The Chowder House Rules or enter The Shore Thing again.
One day, the sorrow would pass. The melancholy would subside. I lived here. Eventually, I’d give in to the pull of local restaurants and bars, turning back into who I was before him.
Saint.
But the heartbreak, I was certain, would linger forever.
Finally, on the fourth day after my true love left me, which is also thankfully a Friday, the most exciting thing to happen is a downed tree that blocks the main road leading into and out of Hideaway Harbor. The news doesn’t matter to me as no one is coming into town to see me. And I never leave.
That evening, I fold onto my couch which hasn’t dulled from the scent of peppermint and chocolate embedded into it.
“Thank the elves for Friday,” I mutter, pre-gaming the pre-planned evening with my sisters, by breaking into the holiday wine before their arrival.
The next week is a vacation from the post office, as I put in for PTO—personal time off—as soon as the new year began, so I’d be assured of the days off when Danny came home for the holidays.
I never questioned that he wouldn’t be here.
“Hello, hello,” Isolde cries out, entering my house, while Neve greets me with, “Ho, ho, ho.”
The phrase nearly brings me to tears, but I hike myself off the couch and hug my sisters.
Neve gives me a concerned glance, but I shake my head. After hanging up her coat, Isolde comes in for a hug, despite my stiff response at first. Neve must have warned Isolde that Saint is gone.
Neither sister mentions his absence.
In town, a dance is happening, which I’d always known I wasn’t going to attend, much like bachelor auctions and speed dating opportunities. I hadn’t been looking for love or incredible sex. It crashed into my life and then left just as suddenly.
Instead, tonight, the annual Snowe sisters make-fun-of-holiday-movies marathon is in order, which includes popcorn and mint chocolates as our dinner and copious amounts of wine to wash down the bad decision meal.
In years past, my sisters end up spending the night, and the three of us would climb into my bed together like we did as children. Which sounds great until one of us farts during the night or someone snores. Not to mention, three adult bodies don’t fit well in my queen-sized bed.
The space works best for two.
With popcorn made and a bowl of mint chocolates, we huddle on the couch together, sharing the extra-large knitted blanket, and begin one holiday movie after another, finding a few new ones that are surprisingly entertaining, if a bit heavy on the romance.
Between shows, a teaser for It’s a Wonderful Life comes on, and Neve pauses the commercial.
“I love that movie,” she says.
“It’s the story of my life,” I mutter.
“What do you mean?” Isolde asks.
“I’ve never left this town.” I tip my head back on the couch cushion, feeling the weight of it along with the heavy fog rolling in from too much wine and no solid food.
“Why not?” Isolde innocently asks, and I pop my head upright to stare at her.
I don’t want to remind her that our mother died when she was still in high school.
And I got pregnant. The twins needed someone in their final years at home, and Dad had turned selfish.
Neve never intended to go to college, so she slipped into the auto shop and did what she could to win Dad’s favor and keep the business afloat.
Between raising Danny, keeping an eye on my family, and working at the post office to have a steady paycheck and benefits, there wasn’t time to roam the world.
“You know, an entire town isn’t going to walk in and hand over tons of money to save your bank,” Isolde innocently says.
“I don’t own a bank,” I mutter, thinking if I did, I’d pay off Rusty’s debts then take a long overdue vacation.
“What she means is, you can’t rely on others to bail you out,” Neve adds.
“Preach,” I counter, lifting my wine and bringing it to my mouth for a sip, but Neve’s hand covers the rim, and I end up kissing the back of her hand.
“What the hell?”
“He wasn’t going to save you,” Neve says, taking a proverbial hammer to my chest.
“I never said he was,” I counter, glaring at my sister.
“No one is going to whisk you out of this town,” she continues. “You need to get yourself out of here.”
“Thank you for reminding me of the pin in my dreams.” I scowl at Neve.
“You don’t need to pin your dreams,” Isolde says on the other side of me. “Danny is taking care of himself. Neve has the shop. I have teaching. You only need to take care of you.”
She makes it sound so simple, and yet she isn’t entirely wrong.
Danny’s absence proves he doesn’t need me. He’ll always need me in some manner, but not for all the basics of life. He is a functioning adult, employed and responsible for himself, and I am so proud of him for living his life to the fullest.
Neve and Isolde, and even Icelyn, have taken the reins of their lives, running a sleigh along whichever road they wanted to travel.
I was the only one stuck.
“Plus,” Isolde tips her wine glass toward the television.
“That movie”—implying It’s a Wonderful Life—“ends with a happily ever after. George Bailey learns that every day of his life has been an adventure. Marriage. Kids. A rundown house. A failing business. He contributed to his community, and they worshipped him in return.”
Isolde shifts on the couch, jabbing her bent knees into my arm.
“Tell me three good things about your life.”
I sigh. “What is this, Lumi intervention night?”
“Humor me,” Isolde asks, combing her fingers through her long dark hair.
“Danny, obviously.”
“Obviously.” She taps my wine glass with hers, then drinks.
“Oh, is this a drinking game?” I take a sip of my own wine.
“You guys.” I glance from Isolde to Neve and back.
“Obviously,” Neve counters, and we all sip again.
“And . . .” I pause on the third gratitude, considering that Dad living longer than Mom was certainly a blessing, but also a small curse. Draining the business. The financial constraints after his passing.
“Saint,” I whisper. For the blip of a couple weeks, he was a great adventure. Like the one he’d once asked me if I’d go on with him.
Instantly, I recall his vulnerable tone. The fear that I’d reject his invitation. Maybe he was afraid I’d reject all of him if he told me more about his life.
The secrecy of his home. The absence of the toy company’s name. The pressure of whatever his position was within the family business.
“Saint,” Isolde whispers, and I catch her watching me. “No matter how long you had him, you still had him for a little while.”
Her sigh is wistful, dreamy, as if she pines for someone herself but has never obtained his attention.
Neve snorts, breaking into our little bubble of unrequited love.
“Fuck that. No man defines me.” She drinks heartily from her glass and stands for another bottle, although she wobbles when her feet hit the floor.
“And Saint didn’t define Lumi,” Isolde defends. “He simply gave her a few good weeks to see that she could have a wonderful life, even in Hideaway Harbor.”
I stare at my younger sister. “When did you get so wise?”
“Or romantic,” Neve hollers from my kitchen.
“When I’d been the other half left behind.” She offers a sad smile, as she implies our sister, her twin, Icelyn, who ran off for a bigger city.
Icelyn hasn’t been home for years. I don’t want Danny to turn out the same way.
When Neve returns with a newly opened wine bottle, Isolde reaches over me for the remote and bypasses the teaser about the classic black and white holiday tale.
“Round two,” she states.
“I think we’re on round four,” Neve counters.
“We’ve already made it through four movies?” Then I realize I’ve made it through four nights without Saint.
Only three hundred and sixty-one more days to go, give or take a few days until next Christmas.
I’ve already decided to skip it this year.