Chapter Twenty-Four
On Monday morning, David studied his reflection in the mirror and neatened up the edges of his beard, which was coming in nicely. He left the house early, though he did not take pains to conceal his departure, and went to the Corner Café for breakfast.
By midmorning, reality had violently set in; although he’d spent the entire weekend ignoring the outside world, it had nevertheless continued to turn.
Already he was inundated with emails and paperwork about the Corner Store’s centennial kickoff, and when he finally returned to the Corner Café for a late lunch and checked his neglected personal phone, he found a series of missed calls from both Bednarek and Leonard Flood.
Bednarek hadn’t left a voicemail, doubtless having reached the conclusion that David already knew of Todd’s departure.
Flood had, confirming that he’d withdrawn David’s offer as instructed by his late-night text message.
Upon hearing that, relief washed over David, as though a dark cloud hanging over him had cleared away.
Maybe he couldn’t stay at Midnight Cottage forever, but there was no urgent need to flee, no reason he couldn’t stay put for just a little longer, until he’d had time to think things through.
Besides, he hadn’t liked that oppressively cramped little bungalow anyway.
—
Though he really ought to cut his lunch break short and return to the growing mountain of paperwork in his office, David instead placed his long-overdue phone call to his father, who answered after the first ring.
“David?” he said in surprise. “Is anything the matter?”
David winced. Of course that would be his first thought, given how rarely he phoned. “No, no, everything’s quite all right. I was calling just to call, I suppose. I…I missed you,” he admitted.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
At the familiar warmth of his father’s voice, something inside of David seemed to settle into place, and part of the ache that had resided in his chest since Saturday receded.
He was content to listen as his father recounted the latest about Ruth and her two boys, and the neighbors, and the article he was writing at present—and was not in the least prepared for him to shift topics and delicately inquire whether he should expect to accommodate one or two at Christmas this year.
“Oh—well, I hadn’t really…” David trailed off.
He had not allowed himself to consider such a thing.
A week ago, the idea of him taking Meredith home for Christmas would have seemed ludicrous.
It ought to still. But now that the idea was in his head, God help him, it was exactly what he wanted.
In fact, the thought of going without him left David feeling hollow.
At the same time, a new possibility flashed into his mind, really no more than a passing fancy: staying at Midnight Cottage for Christmas and inviting his father to come to him—to them both.
Swirls of frost on the windows, mulled wine steaming on the stovetop, Bianca resigned to wearing the tiny sweater Mrs. Jupiter had knitted for her, Meredith curled up against him on the sofa while snowflakes fell softly outside.
“Sensitive subject?” ventured his father when David didn’t continue.
“No, no. Well—” David hesitated. Saying it aloud felt like something he couldn’t take back, but he forged ahead anyway. “There is someone, but things are a bit, er…undefined at the moment.”
“No pressure, then, eh?” His father laughed. “Really, I’m sure it’ll work itself out in time. In all seriousness, if there’s someone you’d like to bring by the time Christmas rolls around, I’d be delighted to have him, and if not, I’ll just be happy to see you.”
Once David had ended the call, he found himself gazing into the depths of his half-drunk coffee and trying very hard to avoid entertaining his wildly improbable holiday daydream any further.
—
When David finally arrived home, it was so dark that he nearly trod upon the bouquet of flowers left on the doorstep.
(In spite of his annoyance, he could not place blame on Meredith for not leaving the light on, not when David himself had failed to anticipate his own late departure from work.) Heart sinking, he scooped up the bouquet and trudged inside.
Tucked in among the wrapping was a card from the local florist’s shop, unsigned.
Grumbling to himself, he plunked the daffodils into a vase and dutifully texted Meredith:
Someone has sent flowers.
oh yes???
Reasonable or not, the idea of Meredith receiving anonymous flowers ignited a tiny spark of jealousy, and try as he might, David couldn’t snuff it out.
Any idea who they’re from?
a secret admirer <3
Even over text, David was sure Meredith was not being truthful. He had no shortage of admirers, though rarely secret, and rarer still that they sent gifts. Still, David was certain: Meredith knew exactly who was responsible, and he wasn’t telling.
After spending far too long glaring down at the daffodils, David roused himself and snatched up his phone again. He needed an outside perspective, someone to talk sense into him.
He dialed Harriet, but she didn’t pick up.
—
The rest of the week passed by in a blur. David found himself working long hours in preparation for the upcoming auction, and Meredith seemed to spend every spare moment at the Lost & Found, so they never caught each other at home.
Finally, on Thursday, David slipped out of the office a bit early. Any final tasks that remained to be done before the auction could wait until the following morning. His mind would be fresher then, anyway. It had, of course, nothing to do with the fact that Meredith didn’t work Thursday evenings.
Except for today, apparently.
The note on the table read:
Working tonight.
No signature, no ridiculous closing, no needless postscript.
Well, that was fine. Having some time alone to unwind was just what David needed.
He fed Bianca, changed, and went for a run.
Before he’d taken a break for the winter, part of his usual route had been along the edge of the Midnight Wood, but today he went down the main road and all the way to the far side of town.
His thoughts had been swept into an uncharacteristic disorder, and the rhythmic pounding of his footfalls on the pavement helped to drive the swirling miasma of invoices and line-item approvals and the cost of cocktail napkins per gross from his mind.
Even the burning of his lungs felt good, a much-needed catharsis after too many hours spent behind a desk.
(There was another small matter, too: he could no longer ignore the extra weight he’d put on about the middle.
The realization left him a bit self-conscious, although Meredith certainly hadn’t seemed to mind.)
Before he knew it, David had reached the spot past the edge of town where Main Street forked into two county roads.
As he turned back toward home, a new realization struck him with an unpleasant jolt.
In reality, the thought had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since Maurice Wolkowitz had stopped by: Meredith still hadn’t returned to inflicting his overaffectionate greetings on him.
No air-kiss, not even an embrace, and suddenly David missed it, missed him, terribly.
It had been days—no, weeks, ever since the night when David had first kissed him, furious and frightened half out of his mind in the living room of Midnight Cottage.
Which he very much wanted to keep doing.
It wasn’t about sex—not just sex, anyway. It was affection and companionship and the way the scent of patchouli now made him go weak in the knees. David no longer cared whether he was Meredith’s first choice or hundredth choice, so long as he was on the list somewhere, and that terrified him.
Never before had he longed for someone with such intensity, and he didn’t know how to make sense of that. He didn’t know what it meant to love someone who constantly went upending everything David thought he’d understood about himself and the world.
David stopped dead in the lane.
Love?
Was it love?
He’d had a handful of past relationships, a few quite serious. Certainly he’d cared for his exes, cared deeply. With a couple of them, he would have said at the time that he’d been in love—had said so, in fact. He didn’t disavow that now, even though things had not worked out.
But this—this was something that went far beyond that, something that had spent the past five years stealing up behind him in the metaphorical night before bludgeoning him over the head with the realization at long last.
He still couldn’t dismiss the thought that had sprung into existence at his father’s invitation.
He wanted to take Meredith home with him, and spend holidays with him, and wake up next to him for the foreseeable future.
David couldn’t imagine returning to a state of existence in which he didn’t want that, and, in fact, couldn’t imagine how he’d gone so long believing he didn’t.
The idea of having that future snatched away from him just when he’d caught a glimpse of the possibility was more than he could bear.
But he still had no idea how Meredith felt about him.
He was free with his affection and casual in his choice of bedmates and had outright said that was the case here.
Well. Technically he had neglected to give his usual speech, but he’d said it meant nothing.
He’d said he was in love with someone else.
No, David realized with a start. He’d said he was in love with someone.
Surely he couldn’t have meant—no, no. That would be too much to ask.
Meredith rarely held back from doing exactly as he pleased.
If, by some minuscule chance, David were the object of his affections, he would’ve made some attempt, given some indication.