Chapter 12
Leif
Connie slaps Grandpa on the wrist for trying to test out a cookie—“It’s too early for sugar, John!”
I drop my cereal bowl in the dishwasher. “She’s right, Grandpa. Or at least learn to be stealth about it.”
Grandpa rubs his hand. “What happened to taking my side?”
I pull on my scarf. “Sorry Grandpa, I’ll always side with the cookie maker.”
“At least Floof still loves me,” Grandpa says.
She gives us the side-eye from her bed in the corner.
Connie’s dog has slowed down since I last saw her.
Last night, when Connie was out of earshot, Grandpa whispered that he wasn’t sure how much longer they’d have with her.
Then he’d rubbed his chest, and I wondered, with an ache in my heart, if Connie thought the same thing about him.
He looks so much frailer than he did the last time I saw him, and he’s had some scares in the past couple of years that have Connie talking about bringing in a nurse.
I kneel down to give Floof a stroke behind the ears. “Be good to Grandpa while I’m gone.”
“Where are you off to so early, anyway?” Grandpa asks as I stand up again, pulling on the coat I’d slung on the back of the kitchen chair before inhaling some cereal.
“Thought I’d get ahead of my Christmas shopping.”
“Is there a special someone you’re thinking of?” Connie asks, brushing her hands on her apron and winking.
I smile back. “Just you, Connie.”
She giggles.
Grandpa puts his hands at his hips. “You just want cookies.”
I grin. But just then the sound of the front door opening echoes through the foyer.
My stomach clenches. “I thought you said Dad wasn’t in until next week?”
Grandpa and Connie exchange a look. But it’s not Dad who strides into the kitchen a moment later.
“Enzo!” Connie exclaims.
I relax. That is, until Enzo heads straight for me, squeezing the shit out of me while pounding me on the back. “Thanks for not blowing up up there,” he says.
“Enzo!” Connie exclaims for the second time, her tone scolding this time. “Don’t say things like that!”
I laugh. “You’re welcome.” I’ve always loved how Enzo never minces words. His dad Eli’s like that too.
Enzo pulls away. He’s let his curly brown hair grow kind of shaggy, but his big grin—also inherited from his dad—is still the same. I’ve seen women literally swoon because of it. The difference between Enzo and Uncle Eli is that Enzo milks it.
Enzo squeezes my shoulders. “Shit man, you got big.”
Connie rolls her eyes at the curse word, giving up on reigning Enzo in. “Cookies?” she asks, holding out a plate.
Grandpa gawks.
“I kept up the pre-flight training,” I say as Enzo grabs a handful of cookies.
“It’s working for you. I’m gonna need that regimen.”
Continuing to work out has been the only constant in my life since getting back and trying to figure out my next steps. The only thing keeping my head clear. When I push myself as hard as I can, images of Noelle take a backseat—for a few seconds.
It’s the only time.
Enzo moved back to town a couple of years ago to take over his dad’s property business after he retired, so he sees Grandpa and Connie more than I do. But he still gives them a hearty hug each after pocketing the cookies.
“Where you going?” Enzo asks me, seeing the coat for the first time.
“I was just heading out to the craft thing,” I say to Enzo. “I need to get presents.”
“For me?”
“I already got you a moon keychain.”
This makes Enzo burst into hearty laughter.
I hesitate before heading to the foyer to put my boots on. Enzo can be a bit intense with his constant chatter. But maybe he’d be a good distraction.
I’m here early to spend more time with my family, anyway.
Enzo looks at me expectantly.
“You can come with me if you want.”
He grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”
The Mistletoe market moved outdoors a couple of years ago, to a parking lot off the Quince River.
It’s pretty here. December sunlight sparkles off the river, and there’s a park next door covered with snow-dusted trees.
Vendors and shoppers are bundled in puffy coats and hats, and a band is covering Christmas hits at the far end of the lot.
The elf at the entrance is a grumpy older woman I don’t recognize.
“Where’s Carla?” I ask Enzo.
“Moved to Florida,” he says, grinning at a group of pretty girls walking by.
Damn. “I liked her.”
“So what’s it like being back on the ground?” Enzo asks as we pass through the crowd.
A lot of people ask me this, and I never really know what to say. But Enzo and I have always had a no-bullshit relationship.
“Weird,” I confess. I scan the crowd feeling oddly like I did a few years ago, when I knew Noelle wouldn’t be there but I looked anyway.
I glance at Enzo, who’s looking at me expectantly. He doesn’t seem like he would be, but I’ve always found him to be a good listener.
I shrug. “For the first few weeks my body was all messed up. But after that it was mostly my head. I had to decide whether I was going to stay working for the space agency or move on to other things.”
“You’re going to go back up, right?”
“No.” The answer comes out so easily. “I went up. I saw what I wanted to, but the life I want to live now is down here.” With Noelle.
A brown haired woman passes and I do a double take. It’s not her. It’s funny how it doesn’t matter how far away Noelle is now—she feels close because we’re breathing the same air; treading the same earth.
Enzo lifts an eyebrow. “What’s the life you want to live now?”
While everyone knows the story about my one-night stand with one of Grandpa’s friends’ daughter, nobody except Grandpa and Connie knows Noelle and I have seen each other every year since. It’s too hard to explain to everyone else.
Luckily I’m saved by a chirpy female voice. “Enzo!”
A blonde woman flings her arms around my bewildered cousin.
“Oh…hey,” he says, his eyes wide on me over her shoulder.
He introduces me to her but not the other way around. After a moment, a promise to call on Enzo’s part and several batted eyelashes on hers, we’re on our own again.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Fuck if I know.”
“Seriously, dude?”
“I remember her. Just not her name. I was hoping she was going to say it.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Enzo lets out a weary sigh. I get the feeling this type of thing happens to him a lot.
“Guess you’re not ready to settle down, yet, huh?” I ask.
“Actually I kind of am.”
His answer surprises me. But he rubs the stubble on his chin.
“I just haven’t found the right girl. I always thought that if I met someone I really wanted to be with, I’d know, you know?
But I don’t know if that’s true anymore.
I’ve started to think the love they try to sell us in movies and songs is a myth.
Something they make up to sell concert tickets. ”
I’ve stopped walking, and I’m having a hard time keeping a straight face.
“That’s pretty funny considering your Mom’s career.
Hell, your parents’ marriage.” Enzo’s mom, my aunt Reese, is a famous folk singer, though she’s mostly retired now.
His parents still look at each other like smitten teenagers, just like my parents.
Enzo shrugs. “I dunno. It just sounds fake.”
“I guess if you didn’t know how it felt it wouldn’t seem real,” I say. I don’t know why I’m almost angry at him right now.
Enzo scowls. “What, you think love is real?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“Yeah right. I’ve never once heard of you having a long term girlfriend. Just wake-up naked one-night stands.” He grins.
I grimace, looking away. “She wasn’t a one night stand.”
Enzo’s grin turns into a frown. “So who was it?”
I run my hand over the back of my head. “I’m no expert, okay? I just know it’s real.” I try to walk again, but there’s a group of people moving slowly in front of us and a crowd blocking our way next to them.
“So how does it feel?”
My neck prickles. I’m suddenly embarrassed. Mortified I kept this line of conversation going. I’m no expert.
“You don’t know, do you?” Enzo says. There’s a note of something in his voice. Relief? Mockery? Vindication?
The crowd is too thick to yell at my cousin in, so I duck into a Christmas booth. Handmade ornaments, wreaths and knickknacks crowd the little tent and the person running the booth is occupied talking to a couple of customers.
I pick up a little felt nutcracker, irritation making my movements stiff. “I do know,” I say, my voice low.
“Prove it.”
I slam the nutcracker down on the table, making the whole thing shake.
“Jesus, Enzo. Fine. Love is going to bed thinking of that person. Waking up thinking of that person. And spending the rest of the time trying to function without thinking of that person. Because every time you think of them, you get this warm fucking feeling that takes over everything.”
I clench my jaw at his skeptical expression.
“It’s wanting to share everything with them, even the ugliest parts of yourself, and being scared as hell to do it.
It’s dreaming of being with them and feeling like you’re going to die if you don’t get to.
It’s…” I look up, then at him again. “It’s the easy decision to throw everything away just for the chance—the possibility—to spend a lifetime with her. ”
Enzo’s silent, for once without something to say. He just stares at me, eyes wide.
But it’s only when I sense movement that I realize he’s not the only one. The booth’s vendor and customers have gone silent too, staring at us.
I look over to see two women wearing Rudolf ears and big lit-up Christmas light earrings, and a man with his arms folded, an eyebrow raised.
“Hello, Leif,” Noelle says.