Chapter 7
Nicolas is not saying anything.
I know he’s driving, and I know he’s never very talkative when he drives, because he focuses on the road, especially when there’s a lot of snow like today, but…
today feels different. Today, the air in the car feels heavy, and I…
and I feel like crying again. I don’t want to, because this is silly to cry over, and I don’t want to act upset, but my eyes are stinging, and my throat is tight, and I’m trying really, really hard not to sniffle.
I messed up. I know I did. I should have noticed earlier that Nicolas was shutting down…
I should have checked on him way earlier.
How could I mess up so badly? We left as soon as I realized, but I know it was too late already.
Even if leaving early was the right decision…
the damage was already done, and the silence in the car is suffocating.
I glance at Nicolas, but I can’t read him at all.
His expression is neutral, and he’s looking at the road, not me.
But even if he’s looking at the road, I can tell he’s thinking.
He had shut down earlier, but this feels different.
He’s here, just… not talking. He’s never so still or so focused when he’s relaxed, and I can just feel something is still wrong.
He feels so remote, and I don’t know what to do to make things better.
Should I speak up? Or stay quiet? Is it better to wait or try to talk now?
Does he need time? I really, really don’t like how this feels right now, but I don’t know what to do to fix this, and I’m so scared to say or do the wrong thing!
…We haven’t even turned on the radio, I realize. It’s too quiet, even if it isn’t really. I glance outside because I don’t want Nicolas to see me crying, and I realize he’s getting off the highway. This isn’t our exit. He’s taking the exit into a commercial area.
“Why are we exiting?” I ask, my voice wobbly.
But he doesn’t answer, and my throat tightens a bit more.
Oh no, is he mad? Could he be mad? Nicolas has never been mad at me before.
Never. I twist my fingers on my lap nervously.
God, what if he’s mad? Is this it? Is this our first fight?
Or worse, does he want to break up with me?
Oh my God, no. I can’t handle it. He wouldn’t, right?
But what if he is? It was just one bad Christmas, but it was our first Christmas!
What if he’s decided we’re incompatible?
I know I messed up. I should have seen he wasn’t okay.
I chose him, but it was late, and I should have known my family was too—
“What would make you feel better?”
I blink at his question, completely taken aback. I glance at him, but Nicolas is still focused on his driving, and I realize we’re in the drive-thru of a popular cafe chain.
I’m so confused; Nicolas hates drive-thrus, and we always eat at home.
“What?” I blurt.
“I know you’re upset,” he suddenly says with a serious tone.
“We both are, understandably. But I know you’ve always told me hot cocoa and sweet foods make you feel a lot better.
So I figured we should get you a hot cocoa and something to eat, if you’d like, and then we can talk calmly later, once we’re home and we’ve both settled down. ”
“I… Nicolas, y-you’re the one who should be upset,” I mumble, feeling the tears escape. “The time with my family was awful for you. And I didn’t even notice! I-I…”
“Ophelia.”
I sniffle. Why isn’t he calling me sweetheart? I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling this upset, and I don’t like this tension between us! I don’t hide my sniffle, and Nicolas frowns, but just as I’m about to worry again, he takes a deep breath before speaking up.
“I’m sorry this wasn’t the Christmas we wanted. I’m sorry I couldn’t handle it better. I did get overwhelmed, but it isn’t your fault.”
“It is,” I cry. “I-I should have noticed—”
“I wanted you to enjoy the time with your family,” he says. “Just like you tried to enjoy it with mine. You shouldn’t be responsible for me when you want to enjoy time with your family, Ophelia.”
“B-but…”
“We will discuss this at home,” he whispers. “Right now, I think I should get you a hot cocoa and a treat. I don’t like you crying, and I just want to make you feel better.”
I’m about to protest, but it’s our turn, and Nicolas moves up to the window to order. I’m glad they can’t see me, because I’m frantically wiping my cheeks with my sleeve, and probably covering it in snot!
“Merry Christmas,” the seller greets in a bored tone. “What can I get you?”
“We will have two large hot chocolates, one with extra whipped cream, sprinkles if you have, and caramel drizzle,” Nicolas says, before turning to me. “What would you like?”
“I, uh… I could have a brownie,” I mumble.
“We will have a brownie, a baked apple croissant, and… one of those chocolate muffins, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Nicolas nods, and I realize his thumb is gently stroking the back of my hand while we wait.
This has to be a good sign, right? Or is he doing this without thinking?
He does that, sometimes… I wipe my tears some more, and I manage to calm down a bit by the time we collect our order.
Nicolas calmly puts our drinks between us and hands me the bag of treats.
“Thank you,” I say. “…Can we talk?”
“We can talk,” he nods, driving us back onto the highway, “but I’d like it if we don’t talk about any upsetting matters until we’re home. Not while I’m driving.”
“…Are you very upset?” I ask.
Nicolas shakes his head.
“No, I’m not, but I really think we should wait to talk about it at home.”
Do I want to wait to talk about it at home? Is that a bad sign?
“Okay.” I decide not to push further. “Do you mind if I eat in the car? I know you don’t like it, but—”
“My preferences aren’t relevant right now,” he says. “I don’t mind you eating in the car if it makes you feel better. I wouldn’t have gone to a drive-thru if I didn’t.”
“Okay. And… can I put on some music?”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath, and I turn on the radio.
It feels a bit silly now, but even after the chaotic Christmas we’ve had, finding a station playing Wham!
’s “Last Christmas” makes me feel a tiny bit better for a hot second.
I’m about to change it, because I don’t think it’s appropriate, but Nicolas stops me.
“Leave it,” he says. “You like this song a lot.”
“…Thank you.”
He glances at me, like he’s trying to decipher my expression, so I give him a shy smile, and he nods, visibly satisfied. Please, please, let this be a good sign… I don’t know what’s brewing, but my stomach is in twists and knots about this.
That’s it for the rest of our trip back to Boston.
We drink our hot cocoa in mutual silence while I munch on my brownie, and because I can’t resist munching when I’m nervous, and because I’m really, really anxious, I finish the croissant too.
I still can’t believe Nicolas agreed to let me eat something so messy in his car; I’m pretty sure he’ll get it detailed first thing tomorrow.
But apparently, neither of us cares right now.
Nicolas was right: by the time we reach Boston, I’ve stopped crying too. I’m a bit too full, but for once, I don’t mind. The chocolate made me feel a lot better, and I really needed that…
When we finally enter my neighborhood, I force myself to relax a little.
I’ve got this. We are going to discuss what went wrong, outline the problems that arose, and find a solution together.
Right, that sounds like a great plan. Maybe I should have thought of what to say while in the car, but I’ll be fine.
I’m not mad at all, and I’m sure once we both agree that any issue can be solved, then—
“Do you want me to accompany you up?”
I blink at Nicolas. I didn’t even notice that we’ve arrived at my building! But he didn’t make his usual detour to the parking lot; instead, we’re stationed right in front of the entrance.
“What?” I blink at him.
“You don’t have a lot, but would you like me to help you upstairs?” he asks.
It takes me a second to register what he’s saying, and when I do, my stomach sinks.
Oh, no.
“Y-you’re not coming?” I blurt out.
“No,” he replies.
“B-but you said we’d talk,” I hear the tears in my voice again.
Don’t panic in front of him, don’t panic! Everything’s fine. Maybe he needs a bit of time. Perhaps he just needs some time alone to cool down, and then—
“We will,” he replies, “but not right now. I have errands to do first. I will come back later.”
Errands? Right now? What kind of errands? Is he really coming back? My heart panics, but I know pressing him for answers won’t help…
“Are… Are you sure?” I eventually mutter.
“Yes.”
What do I say? Should I hold him back? Come on, Ophie, you need to do better than this! I should let him go, right? He made it clear he didn’t want to talk in the car, and he did say he’s coming back…
“Okay,” I finally mumble, “b-but we really should talk things out.”
“I agree. We will.”
I wait, but that’s it. Nicolas is silent again and visibly waiting for me to leave the car. He has that expression on, the one when he’s very focused on something, and I can’t talk him out of it… So, I take a deep breath, and I nod.
It’s fine. I’m fine. I can wait until he’s ready to talk. He wouldn’t lie and just disappear or something. …Right?
I quietly exit the car, with just my purse and the trash of crumpled, greasy paper. Nicolas drives off before I can think about it twice, and I can only watch as the car disappears down the street, leaving me on the snowy pavement.
I sniffle.
God, this has been such a long, complicated, and confusing Christmas… What was I thinking? What happened to us? I glance down at the brown paper of highway food, my cold and empty cocoa cup, and my eyes sting again. This really wasn’t the Christmas I dreamt of…
It’s too cold to stay outside worrying, so I get myself upstairs and into my flat.