Chapter 26
The day of her psychology final, Ramona is ready.
“You know this,” she murmurs to herself before Nick gives the instructions to flip over their test sheets and begin.
And as soon as her eyes flick over the exam, pencil poised, she realizes…she does.
She knows this, and as she bubbles in the letters, marveling at the pattern they make on her answer sheet, she can’t remember the last time she felt this proud of herself.
—
When Nick picks her up for their drive to Mammoth, Ramona refuses to apologize for how much she packed in her luggage set with thousands of glowing five-star reviews, only gives him a sheepish shrug as she stows it in his trunk. Shoves her whole body weight against it to make it fit.
“Where’s the rest?” Nick jokes as she slides into the passenger seat, and she just rolls her eyes. There’s a giant bottle of sparkling water waiting for her in the cup holder.
“I hope you’re ready to stop for me to pee about twelve times,” she says as she picks up the bottle, waving it in his face like a warning, even though little gestures like this make her heart stop every time.
“I don’t mind.” His face turns grave as he passes her his phone. “As long as you don’t abuse DJ duties.”
Sure, there’s some humor to it: taking her final and going on vacation with the professor the next day. But there’s a sense of freedom, too. An exhale that they finally made it to the end of the quarter, seemingly unscathed.
In the hazy stretch of what happens now?, she keeps thinking about their conversation at Lake Hollywood. Telling him it had been ages since she’d had anything serious, and almost wanting…
What? For him to make some grand display of commitment?
They’ve barely been together a month. Unserious is the only thing that makes sense. So it’s a good thing, then, that they’re in agreement: they’re having fun. There’s no need to put another label on it. To push him to admit something he may not even want.
End-of-quarter Nick seems lighter too, in worn jeans and a merino sweater, the kind she can imagine peeling over his head while they sit in front of a fireplace. She leans in, gives his woolen shoulder a kiss.
“You trust me too much,” she says, right before he backs out of her neighborhood and she very unseriously hits play on “Life Is a Highway.”
Ramona hasn’t been on a true vacation in a long, long time.
Sure, she’s traveled, but none of the touring ever felt like leisure.
She has the radical privilege of having seen the world without having truly experienced it.
Brazil and Switzerland and Australia and Singapore and a hundred places in between, and all she has to show for it is her collection of salt and pepper shakers.
This, going on a weeklong cabin trip with Nick, where she’ll be meeting his family, who she naturally pictures wearing matching Christmas sweaters and drinking eggnog in front of a roaring fireplace, and all that other domestic shit she used to dream of?
This is different. The kind of normal she’s always craved.
Something about the way he invited her—Do you even need to ask?—made her think her presence would make all the difference in the world. Made her think she was capable of doing silly, spontaneous things for him.
They hit traffic on the 101, and while she sips her seltzer and debates which song to play next, the one person with the ability to crush every good thing comes into view.
Calamityville, USA, screams the font on the billboard. Population: ???
Zander Parrish gives the camera his back, head twisted to stare out of frame, his visible features artfully dusted with grime.
The most anticipated new show of the year, apparently.
Ramona urges traffic to move forward, but that doesn’t soothe the tension in her chest. She’s been trying her best to forget about him, to leave him in the past. After all—he was part of her old life.
But suddenly she’s gripped by a terrible thought. That he could hurt someone again with no consequences, the same way he did almost ten years ago.
He already has.
Because isn’t it always “believe victims,” unless the perpetrator is someone people really, really like? That’s how it works in their industry.
Victim has never been part of Ramona’s narrative. She’s been the charming sidekick, the hot young pop star, the angry girl. Only the last one really stuck.
“Everything okay?” Nick asks her, and she swallows back the truth.
She’s never wanted to tell anyone, but she wants to tell him.
And that certainly feels too serious.
“Tell me about your family,” she says instead, trying to ignore the pressure in her bladder, because Jesus, they’ve barely been in the car fifteen minutes. “What am I going to be walking into?”
“My parents, Miguel and Dawn. My aunt and uncle, and her daughter and wife and their young kids. And obviously Lexi and Audrey.”
All of a sudden that sounds like a hell of a lot of people. “And they’re all completely fine that I’m the one you’re bringing.”
“I mean, they might ask if this is some kind of Make-A-Wish for adults.” Ramona pushes at his shoulder and he laughs, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles.
“My parents don’t follow pop culture, or really much of current anything.
My dad does crossword puzzles every morning in the newspaper and acted offended when my sister told him he could find them all online.
My cousins…they did go a bit catatonic when I mentioned you, but now that you’ve gotten all this training in being normal, I’m sure they won’t even recognize you. ”
“We’ll be sleeping in the same room?”
He nods. “Is that okay?”
They’ve spent the night together at her place, of course, but sharing space while traveling isn’t quite the same. She tries not to worry about him thinking it takes too long for her to get ready in the morning. Or that she brought too much baggage, both literally and metaphorically.
Maybe once he spends all this time with her, the fun will have run its course.
“Depends on the other options. Is your dad cute?” she asks, and he lets out this horrified groan that makes her laugh so hard she snorts seltzer up her nose.
Four hours and five pit stops later, he pulls off the freeway.
“We’re not there yet, are we?”
“Nope.” He parks on a dusty pebbled road, gesturing for her to follow him down a little path to a sign that says Ada’s Antiques.
There’s a flutter in her chest that has nothing to do with antiques.
“Nick.”
“I saw it on the map and couldn’t resist. You get them when you travel, right? So you can find something to add to your collection.” The way he’s looking at her, creases at the corners of his eyes, the complete fucking earnestness…
He is so good, this man, and it makes her terrified that she’s never going to be good enough.
—
Now the proud new owner of a set of lemon- and orange-shaped salt and pepper shakers, Ramona unbuckles her seat belt when Nick announces they’ve finally reached the cabin.
Inside the antique shop, she could pretend they were a regular couple on vacation.
A dangerous way of thinking, but she wanted a moment to indulge.
She’d dragged him over to the record section, loving the way his face lit up when he spotted a rare Miles Davis LP.
“I already have so much Miles,” he said.
“And not nearly enough space.” When he put it away and Ramona paid for her shakers, she lied and said she had to go to the bathroom, showing back up at the car with the record in her hand.
Which he proceeded to lace his fingers through, keeping them on the center console until he needed both hands to turn.
The cabin looks like a charming ski chalet, with its triangle roof and wraparound deck, pine trees stretching into the sky.
No snow on the ground yet, but there’s enough of a chill in the air that Ramona is convinced it’s on the way.
The sun is beginning to set, across-the-street neighbors sitting down to dinner in front of the windows.
An elderly couple with two majestic Samoyeds. Nick waves hello, and they wave back.
Once they’ve dragged their suitcases inside, Nick hurries to start a fire.
“Are we the first ones here?” Ramona asks, gazing around the cabin. Tall exposed-beam ceilings, rustic furniture, plaid throw blankets and accent pillows. The scent of cedar and, now that the fire is going, woodsmoke.
Nick taps a finger to his mouth, a little sheepish. “Everyone else is coming tomorrow. I thought maybe we could settle in first.” He steps closer, places a hand on her hip, voice even warmer than the fire. “Just the two of us.”
She shuts her eyes for a moment, imagining spending every year here with loving parents, getting to bring your own kids to the place you grew up.
“This has been in your family for a while?”
“My parents and aunt and uncle went in on it together a few decades ago. They rent it out most of the time, and we try to make a few trips out as a family every year. Growing up, it was always my favorite place. Now that my parents are retired, they spend more time here.”
“Is your family going to think—I don’t know.” Ramona bites down on her lip. “I’m guessing you and your ex came here every Christmas.”
He nods. “Yes. But it’s been two years since the last time that happened. I don’t think they assumed I’d stay single forever.”
Every time he brings up his ex, she’s struck with a feeling of—not jealousy, but something else. A little rage. A lot of heartbreak.
“Have you ever thought that your wife falling for someone else was her issue, not yours? That you didn’t do anything wrong?”
His jaw goes slack, gaze falling to the floor, and Ramona wonders if she’s gone too far. Ruined what should be a romantic moment in this winter dream of a cabin.
“Of course I thought about it,” he says. “But that wasn’t something I could fix. If I’d messed up in some way…The self-hatred just felt easier, I guess.”
Fuck, if she doesn’t know what that’s like. “I hate thinking about you hating yourself this whole year.”
“Not the whole year. Maybe…seven-tenths of it.”