Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter
Thirty-One
Hi all!
We’ve still got a few sessions left, but it looks like everyone’s holiday schedules got busier than anticipated, so we’ll be postponing until after the New Year. Keep an eye out for a new scheduling email to come soon.
Happy holidays!
Cheers,
Warlocke
His email comes through the day after I get home, and its cheery professionalism makes me sick. My stomach churns with an uncomfortable mix of anger, regret, guilt, and resolve, and I try to swallow it all down.
Before the weekend at the cabin, Wesley would have just shot us a casual message via Discord and not bothered with the official Game Knight email account.
But of course, if it weren’t for what happened at the cabin, Wesley wouldn’t have needed to message us at all.
We would have just kept playing as usual.
I doubt we have more than a session or two left.
I think of Vadrien, immortal after all, frozen in a story that doesn’t have the chance to end.
Now the Discord channel sits awkwardly silent, and for a while, I don’t talk to anyone—not even Mona.
I pick up extra projects at work, buy the last of my Christmas gifts, and throw myself into finishing Afterwards.
I stop sharing files with Wesley and cut him off completely from seeing the changes and updates I make to the game.
Feeling petty, I even buy a month pass to a more crowded commercial gym.
I refuse to miss my workouts—if anything, I push myself harder now than I ever have.
With every new present I wrap for my stepsiblings, cousins, and more, I try not to think about what the holiday will be like for him—what questions Lynn and Stuart will press him with this time.
I even go out one night for drinks with work friends, and I think about trying to meet someone while I linger at the bar.
But I keep seeing him everywhere, thinking that the flash of a crooked smile or the reflection of lights on pale hair in the crowd might be him, until the person turns around and I find myself disappointed and lonely.
I sip at my cranberry vodka—so festive! I think bitterly—and stick to myself.
On Christmas Eve, after the little ones have gone to sleep, Mona and I sneak out from the basement guest room we’re sharing to put the presents under the tree, at Mom’s request. When we were little, we’d ruined the Santa secret for ourselves pretty early.
The tree was tucked into the same corner every year, and one year, we crawled out of bed and hid among the gifts underneath branches heavy with handmade ornaments.
We watched, wide-eyed, as Dad walked in after midnight and began placing even more presents, these wrapped in different paper and tagged as “From Santa.” We might’ve gotten away with it if Mona hadn’t burst into tears shortly after.
Now, after arranging the kids’ presents in a semicircle around the tree, next to our gifts to each other and the unopened cards Dad mailed, Mona and I lie down and scooch back until our heads are underneath the tree, the wine bottle we’ve been sharing left off to the side.
We squint up at the multicolored lights as they wink above us, ornaments swaying over our faces.
Carving out some time for ourselves on Christmas like this has become something of a tradition.
“Do you think this is what cats feel like when they crawl under these?” I ask.
But Mona’s not looking up—she’s looking at me.
Her eyes are so wide and earnest that I can see dozens of lights reflected in their depths, and it reminds me of the way Wesley looked at me on the porch swing—before it all fell apart.
Unease twists in my stomach.
“What is it?” I don’t bother to keep the resignation out of my tone.
“We have to talk.” I set my jaw, but she shakes her head gently. “Not about Wesley—though I hope we will talk about that eventually.” She takes a deep breath. “Rea…I couldn’t find the right time to tell you this, but—Shay got into grad school. In Portland.”
“Maine?”
Mona shakes her head. “Oregon.”
My heart squeezes. “Oh, Mona. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I know how well things were going. I just—she’s really leaving? Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. I’m so happy for her.”
“But what about you?”
“Reagan—” Mona pauses to wet her lips, and I suddenly notice the way she’s steeling herself. The way her narrow shoulders are pushed back and down, the way her brow knits and unknits across her forehead.
She exhales in a rush. “Reagan, I’m going with her.”
“Oh.”
I turn my head back up toward the Christmas tree.
The lights seem to swell and brighten, the halos around each one glowing as I stare, unblinking.
Reds and greens swim in my vision, bleeding together like watercolors.
Two trails of heat seep out of the corners of my eyes and run down my face into my ears, but still, I don’t blink.
I hear Mona’s voice as if from underwater: distorted, wobbly. I’m picking up only pieces of what she’s saying. I think she’s crying, too, but I haven’t looked at her.
She’s been working on applications, but I didn’t want to tell you about it because there was no guarantee she’d be accepted. I didn’t want you to worry.
I know it’s super far, but this program was her top choice.
We wouldn’t move until the summer, so we still have plenty of time, okay?
I feel terrible.
I thought if I could help you find another D)
I also just wanted to say how happy I am for you and Shay. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a yoga studio in Portland—hah! I can’t wait to visit one day.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart.
All my love,
Dad
PS: Tell your sister I’m thinking about her.
I stay there for a long time sitting among the presents, the tree looming large behind me. Hours later, I finally return to our shared room, and I’m relieved that Mona’s fast asleep as I slip into bed beside her.
My local coffee shop is busier than I expect it to be the day after Christmas; the line is so long that I consider turning around and just going for a cold, miserable walk instead. It would certainly suit my mood.
But the café is blessedly warm, and the smells of their signature dark roast and freshly baked pastries fill my nose. So I secure myself a table, brave the line, and wait patiently for a mug to warm my fingers on.
The barista flashes me a friendly smile as they hand over my mocha before turning to grab another order. They hold out a to-go tray with three drinks and a muffin and call out the customer’s name.
“Arthur?”
I freeze and turn.
Arthur gives me one of those thin-lipped almost smiles, his expression nearly disappearing into his overgrown vacation beard. He’s a little young, but honestly, he could make a passable Santa.
I sigh through my nose. “Hey, Art.”
“Merry Christmas, Reagan,” he says as he takes his order. “How’s it going?”
I rub the back of my neck. “It’s been hectic.” It hasn’t. “The holidays were fun.” Not really, but they were distracting. “How are you?”
“I can’t complain. I’m bringing the girls their favorites; they were in the mood for a treat. Just waiting on the bacon-and-egg now.”
“Do you want to sit while you wait?” I ask awkwardly. It occurs to me that I’ve barely spoken to anyone outside of my family all month. I haven’t even mustered up the bravery to get back to Nali—about the opportunity or about current events.
I feel out of touch.
Arthur levels a gaze at me, and I can’t help but feel like he’s looking through me, peering into my head. There are a few beats of silence before he finally nods. “All right.”
As we settle in at my table, I find myself hoping the barista calls out his finished order soon.
Seeing Arthur again just reminds me of the last time I saw him and everyone else, in Vermont.
I remember how proud Arthur had been to show us around the cabin, and how at dinner, Colin made Shay laugh so hard that Diet Coke had come out of her nose.
I remember how tightly Mona gripped the table during each in-game reveal, and the night I shared with Wesley afterward.
I’ve tried to forget the way his voice broke when he said, Loving is staying—and the way his face had fallen when I left anyway.
There’s a sudden pang in my ribs and a tightness behind my eyes.
I clear my throat. “Hey, congratulations to Shay. Mona told me about her acceptance.”
Arthur’s eyes start to shine. “Thank you. We’re very proud of her.”
“Will you miss her?”
His laugh is gravelly and a little wet. “What kind of question is that? Of course we will.”
“Has she ever lived that far away?”
Even with his rugged features, Arthur’s expression turns gentle. He knows where this is going. “Nope. My girl’s never lived outside of Connecticut.”
“Mona, neither.” Me, neither. I pick at the chipped wood of the table. “I’ve never lived farther than twenty minutes from her before.” I take a shuddering breath. “We’ve just always been there for each other, y’know? I’m handling it badly.”
“Do you want an old man’s advice?”
“Probably not, but I’ll take yours.”
He flashes me the ghost of a smile. “Good one. Listen, if I’ve learned anything by talking to Shay about this, it’s that maybe the best way you can show up for her is by letting her go.
Respect what she wants and what she’s trying to achieve.
Show her that you trust her to make the best decision for herself, and that you believe in her.
” He looks sympathetically at me. “Won’t make you any less of her sister. She’ll never stop needing you.”
I nod and sip at my coffee, which has gone a bit cold. I curl my fingers around the mug’s base. I shouldn’t ask, but I do. “How’s Wesley?”
“Hurt,” Arthur says bluntly.
“Has he…talked to you about it?”
“Nope, but it’s not hard to tell.”
The barista calls Arthur’s name, but he doesn’t move, just holds my gaze.
“I don’t know what happened between you two, but despite the hotshot persona that boy puts up sometimes…
I think he’s having a rough go of things.
He can take things real personal, and I don’t think he’s going to come to you first.” Internally, I sigh.
We have that in common, I think with some resigned fondness.
And yet, Arthur regards me with a measure of respect, even as he stands.
“You seem like the sort who’s got a little more mettle.
If you want to fix things, it might have to come from you. ”
His beard twitches again, and I see a half smile. “And I hope you do, y’know, want to fix things. Would be a real shame if I didn’t get to see my character claim his secret birthright prophesied by his god,” he says casually.
I laugh lightly. “Did you know he was going to do that? Was that part of your backstory?”
He lets out a low whistle. “Hell no. I had no idea.”
“He’s good at what he does,” I admit.
“The best I’ve seen. He’s a treasure.” Arthur gives me another nod before picking up his sandwich and heading on his way.
I sit in the coffee shop for a long time after Arthur leaves and let my mind wander.
Eventually, I take out a pen and the blank journal I got for Christmas from an aunt I don’t know well, and I lay them atop the table.
It’s not my usual medium of keyboard and screen, but something Arthur said about Wesley sparked an idea in the back of my mind, and I want to get my thoughts out before they fade away.
Five text-and-doodle-filled pages later, I set the notebook aside. Figuring out how to fix things with Wesley is going to take time. But with my sister?
I text Mona, Do you want to come have coffee with me? I want to catch up and hear more about Portland.
Her reply is immediate.
I’d love to.