Chapter 17
THE NEXT NIGHT, ALBA, ROSE, and I are snuggled up on the couch, checking off the final item on our Countdown Catalogue: watching I’ll Be Home for Christmas on Christmas Eve.
We’re wearing matching pairs of pink pajamas, patterned with bright green trees and red candy canes.
Rose bought them for us, and I was honestly touched.
It’s been a gift seeing her get into our family traditions with Alba and I, while blending in some of her own.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my cousin wear pink, but it suits her.
Alba shivers next to me. Man, it’s like an emotional echo or something. I can still remember feeling exactly the way I did when I watched this movie as a teenager. Does that make sense?
I laugh, nodding. I always had a crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas and later learned Alba always had a crush on Jessica Biel. I can understand the type of feeling she’s describing, but I’m certain this time it isn’t Jonathan Taylor Thomas making me feel lightheaded.
I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Alistair was standing by the little grove of birch trees. You didn’t get your coat, he whispered, despite our being the only ones outside. That worried look passed over his face, his mouth twisting to the side, before he wrapped his arms around me.
I don’t need one, was all I said before I kissed him.
There was only a split second of shock before he melted into me. It felt like the moment when you hit the water after jumping into the lake: exhilarating, wild, free. There was such a softness about the way he kissed me back—and it was making me feral.
He pulled away, but only for a second, just to say, I thought I was going to kiss you.
Well, you snooze, you lose, Alistair. I shrugged, unable to admit to him, or even to myself, that I was terrified he wouldn’t. I’d spent so long running, dissociating, avoiding, that it felt so good to lean into the wanting. It was going to burn me alive if I didn’t.
But he did kiss me then, this time with enough heat that I felt it constrict something in my lower abdomen.
He nipped at my bottom lip. Somewhere I registered that it was snowing heavily now, but everything between us felt molten.
His tongue grazed over mine, again with that gentleness at first. An unspoken request. I kissed him back harder and—
Flora! I snap back to the present moment. Hello? Is anyone home in there? Alba is half-laughing, half-chastising me for zoning out during our favourite Christmas movie.
Whatcha daydreaming about? Or who? Rose pipes up beside her. They’re both grinning at me, looking like devil twins in their matching pajamas.
God, now there’s two of you, I say, quickly changing the subject. In the movie, Jonathan Taylor Thomas is promised a red Porsche if he comes home in time for Christmas.
I would look great driving a red Porsche, I tell them, as I shove more popcorn into my mouth and say between mouthfuls, would go great with my hair, too.
Alistair would pull you over in a second, Alba says laughing.
She and Rose grin at each other and I can only sigh in surrender.
Back in the movie, a man at a gas station is making a comment about how the main character—who is currently wearing a red suit, with a white beard and red hat glued to his head—has a mean disposition for a Santa.
You know who doesn’t have a mean disposition for a Santa? Alba says, raising her eyebrow at me. Rose starts giggling immediately.
I snort, then remember how sweet Alistair was with the kids when he was dressed up as Santa Claus.
As much as Alba’s jabs are annoying the hell out of me, I’m grateful that we’re all ignoring the other connection I have to this movie now: that Jonathan Taylor Thomas has not been home since his mother died.
We watch the rest of the film, Alba and I loudly quoting our favourite lines to each other, and as soon as it ends Rose takes herself up to bed, hugging us both on the way.
Alba turns to me, and I know what’s coming.
Okay, spill it, she says. I roll my eyes.
Spill what?
She shoves me. Come on Flora! Something happened between you guys last night! You think I didn’t see you slip outside? Then you were gone for ages! So tell meeeee.
I smirk. We made out in your birch grove.
Alba stands up so fast I burst into laughter. WHAT? Her smile is infectious. She sits back down again, clearly trying to calm down and asks, How was it?
It was… I pause, biting my lip to try not to smile quite so big. Delicious? Electric? Tantalizing? I swear I can still feel an imprint of where the tree bark dug into my back. Excellent, I say, my smirk deepening.
Ugh, you’re always holding out on me. I’m translating that Flora-speak as: utterly amazing. She stands up again and starts jumping on the couch. Soul-altering. Earth-shattering. Hot as fuck.’
We’re both laughing. Alba presses on. Okay, so what now?
Her question stops me cold. What do you mean?
She sits back down beside me. I mean are you going on a date or hanging out soon or what?
I frown, biting the outer corner of my bottom lip, my mind going a mile a minute. Well, it’s not, like, serious or anything.
Why not? She asks, looking at me like I’m an idiot. He’s been obsessed with you since the second you got here.
Well, I mean, I’m leaving eventually. The words tumble out and my tone is more defensive than I’d intended.
All the air goes out of the room. Alba blinks, then inhales in a way that tells me she’s trying to stay calm, before asking, Why? The question is so, so cold.
Because I have a life that isn’t here. I say, as if that should be obvious. She doesn’t hesitate for a second.
You don’t have a life.
What is that supposed to mean? The words sting, and I quickly decide that I don’t actually want the answer she’s about to give me. Albs please, come on, you know I can’t stay—
Why can’t you, exactly? She has gone terrifyingly still, and I know what’s coming.
Because I don’t want to, I say, but my trembling lip betrays me.
What about Alistair?
What about him?
She looks at me, pinning me to the spot. I try not to swallow.
Don’t give me that shit, you like him! Her tone is getting more and more agitated, like she’s losing her grip on herself. You know what Flora, I think you really like him.
I’m not you Albs, I’m not going to come home and meet the love of my life and stay forever. And I’m not just going to stay here for some guy. I only came back to see you and Rose get married. That’s all. It’s the final straw that teeters Alba over the edge and into a full-blown rage.
My cousin explodes.
What do you think is going to happen if you stay here? That some part of you will die if you face it? Well guess what Flora? That’s already happened. She stands up as she finishes her sentence and starts pacing in front of me.
You’re a ghost. You’ve been on autopilot for a decade, stumbling through life in a haze.
I never, ever thought I would see the person you used to be.
But I’ve seen her here— Alba chokes on her next words, angry tears spilling over her cheeks.
I have missed you so much. And not just because you’ve been away, because even when I do get to see you, it’s like one-tenth of your former self.
Alba sits down beside me on the couch again. She looks like she wants to reach for me, but doesn’t. She takes a deep breath. I want you to stay here—and I think you want to stay too, but you’re scared. Tell me why. What is it you’re afraid of?
I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t form the words, Everyone I’ve ever loved leaves or dies, but they hang in the air between us anyway.
Alba keeps going, trying a different approach now. What is it you’re going back to? You’re miserable on those ships. I was there for years, remember?
Everything I’ve worked for is there, I say, trying to defend myself. All of the work I’ve done—
No, I don’t buy it, Alba interrupts me, slicing her hand through the air to cut me off.
You don’t get any creative freedom with your baking.
It’s not like you can rise any higher in the ranks there.
Besides, your dream was always, always, to be your own boss.
To do things your way, to bake what you want.
And I know that you wanted to travel, and you have, and you still can!
But you don’t have to be on that stupid ship to do it.
She takes a heaving breath as I sit there, staying quiet. I don’t know what to say.
But then Alba throws out her final card.
And I know you’ve ended things with Justin, so what possible reason could you have for going back to that life?
How do you know that? I’m racking my brain trying to figure out how she could have learned about my text to him.
She smiles, but it’s bitter. He called me to try and get in touch with you. After you texted and blocked him.
What did you say? I realize quickly that I don’t care what he said to her. I think I’m far enough away from the situation now that there’s no risk of him worming his way back into my life.
I told him where he could shove his chef’s hat, for starters.
Alba seems pleased with herself about this.
I said that, for once, he should take you at your word: that you are done with his shit and to leave you the hell alone.
Then I said if he contacted me, or you, again, I’d call the cops.
The way she says this makes me think she means Alistair, and I’m suddenly certain that this is exactly what she means.
Some part of me knows she’s right but I don’t want to admit it. What am I going back to? But I can’t ask myself that question—it feels too raw, too overwhelming—so instead I lean into the rage.
And what would you have me do here, then? I slap the tears off my cheeks. In this boring, sleepy town where nothing ever happens? It wasn’t just me that wanted to get out of here, remember? And then you came crawling back to it.
Alba ignores the spear I’ve thrown her way, knowing on some level, I think, that it’s a distraction from the real conversation happening here.
Open a bakery, like you should have done ten years ago!
Or don’t stay here if that’s really what you want—which I don’t think it is, for the record.
But that’s fine, go back to New York, or go to Toronto or anywhere else, but stop running.
Her eyes are wide now, and I can tell it’s about to all come crashing out.
You can never let anyone in, Florence. Ever.
Not even me. You won’t let anyone help you.
That’s not true, I say, but we both know I’m lying.
After the funeral, for example, Alba says, blowing right past my lame rebuttal.
Everyone from Christmas Island was here, wanting to support you, to show up for you the way your mother always showed up for them.
I wish she’d stop, but she doesn’t. Instead you let your pride, your stubbornness, stop them from seeing you, what, cry about your mom? Of course you were going to cry!
I can feel the fear of judgment on me that day like an extra layer of skin.
It wasn’t only that I didn’t want them to see me cry, although I’m sure that was part of it.
It was all the years of knowing my mother was judged for me.
The way I was always getting into trouble; that I never knew who my father was, and she had to raise me as a single mom.
I try to think back to that day. Can I have really misread it so badly?
I reach back in my memory and think of all the flowers in the church.
Who had put those there? I know on a logical level it was impossible for my uncle to have done everything on his own, which means he had help.
Which means maybe there were people wanting to help me, too.
But the realization is so painful, I shove it aside, trying a different tactic with my cousin.
You have— I feel the anger like acid in my throat and it trickles onto my words. No idea what it is like. To be here, when she’s not here. To miss her—
I don’t know what it’s like? Alba is shaking her head at me, looking incredulous. To miss her? To lose a mother? I know both of those things perfectly well, thank you very much.
This is sliding to a dangerous place that neither of us can come back from. I’m breathing heavily, not sure whether I’m about to burst into more tears or scream at her. Alba rubs her palms over her eyes in frustration.
Are you this stubborn, Flora? That you would stand in your own way to prevent even a shred of happiness for yourself?
The rage has evaporated from her voice and only a deep, weary sadness is there now.
You don’t have to be miserable for your whole life, you know.
You’re allowed to be happy, even though she died.
Auntie M would want you to be. And you could be happy here—I know you could; I’ve seen it these last few weeks.
You could have everything you ever wanted, possibly more, right here at home.
Possibly more. I know she’s referring to Alistair here, but before I can dig into that further, she continues.
I feel like I have one chance. Her voice cracks and I feel something in my own chest crack at the sound.
This is my one shot to get through to you, and if I can’t, well, that’ll just be it.
You’ll be destined to this wandering, half-life forever.
I don’t want that for you, Flora. And your mother certainly wouldn’t want it for you either.
With that, she stands up abruptly and storms upstairs, leaving me alone in the glow of the Christmas lights with my thoughts.