Chapter 20 #4
We stroll slowly, the cold winter air nipping our noses.
Her eyes stay wide and awed, full of joy at the lights and the holly and the decorations.
Small speakers hidden in the trees lining the sidewalk play traditional Christmas songs, and couples stroll together, just like us.
A ten-foot-high mound of snow in the back of the municipal complex parking lot is swarmed with laughing, squealing children.
We wander to the far end of Main Street, cross, and head up the other way until we reach Benji's Cafe—it's a new place that popped up in the last six months, replacing an overpriced clothing boutique that went under.
Benji's is a coffee shop during the day and serves beer and wine in the evenings, offering prepackaged salads and sandwiches and such during the day and limited made-to-order meals later in the day.
It also offers free Wi-Fi and community workspaces.
I lead Cadence in and we order some drinks and a snack—light beer and hummus with pretzels, flatbread, carrot sticks, and celery slices.
We sip and eat and talk about nothing in particular.
Eventually, Cadence sets her pint glass down and gives me a look that says she has something to say. "I wanted to thank you, Riley."
I frown, shake my head. "For what?"
"Giving me the space I need, these last few weeks.
It's no secret that I've struggled a bit since coming back, and I think if it wasn't for you, I would be in a much worse place, mentally and emotionally.
" She clears her throat; she's begun dropping the formality and archaic speech patterns with me more and more, but when nervous or upset, falls back into it.
"Your love, patience, and support have been invaluable. I am not sure if you are aware, but I have been seeing a therapist via Zoom while you are at work. She has helped me process a lot of what I went through.”
"You mentioned you were planning on it, but I’m glad you're getting that help, baby."
She hesitates. "I am faced with decisions, now, however. What do I want to do next? Where do I belong? I…my parents' home in Chicago has been my home, or at least my home base, my whole life. But I am increasingly dissatisfied with that arrangement.”
My heart pounds. “I…um…what are you…?"
"I love being with you, Riley. But I feel like I am taking advantage of your generosity. I have lived with you for weeks now and contribute nothing."
"I…it's not generosity, Cadie. It's love.
It's support. You went through hell, and if you need a few weeks or months to heal and figure out what you want in your life, I am absolutely fucking thrilled to be able to give you the time and space you need.
I make more than enough money to take care of us. "
She shrugs, shakes her head, eyes on the table instead of me. "I used all my savings to get to Sudan."
“That's okay."
She shakes her head again. "It's not." She sighs.
“I feel dumb, I suppose. I went over there knowing it was dangerous, knowing that I would see and experience things that were…
difficult. I just…I did not understand the scope of it.
And now I feel adrift in my life because of my choices.
I am relying on you and that does not sit well. "
"You felt called, and you worked your ass off to answer that call, sweetheart.
You sacrificed to help people. You should be proud of what you did.
And yeah, you're gonna need therapy and such to help you process it all, and that's okay.
You're not broken." I lean across the low table between our chairs.
"I'm glad you're relying on me. I'm glad you're here.
I'm glad I can take care of you. I want to.
But I also get the need to work, to contribute.
So I support whatever you need to do as your next step. "
She swallows hard. "I think what I am really asking, Riley, is about us.
If…if I am overstaying my welcome in your everyday life.
You did not sign up to have me move in one day and never leave.
We did not discuss it. You just…you showed up at the airport and brought me to your home and—" she trails off, sniffling.
"I love you, and I know you love me. But is this…
are we in a relationship? Am I what you want for your life?
" She shakes her head again, tips it back and sniffles.
"You bring me on a sweet, romantic, beautiful Christmas date, and this is my response? I am sorry, Riley. You deserve better."
I stand up and offer her my hand. "C'mon. Somethin' I wanna show you."
She takes my hand and lets me pull her to her feet. "Oh—okay."
I lead her back out in the sepia-and-gold lighting, "White Christmas" floating in the air, the strains of the song all tangled up with the swirling snow.
There's a small courtyard, more of a tiny park, between the bookstore and the movie theater, and it's Three Rivers's Christmas hub.
There's a twenty-foot-tall spruce tree garbed in lights and ornaments, with gift-wrapped boxes beneath it, and benches surrounding it.
There's a tiny hut made to look like a gingerbread house with Santa Claus inside—a jovial, white-bearded local named Jimmy Kazinski—dandling kids on his lap and listening to requests and taking photos every night from Thanksgiving to the week of Christmas, from five to eight. Once his time slot is up, he rides away on a sleigh pulled by giant draft horses wearing fake reindeer antlers—weather permitting, obviously. It’s a fun spectacle, and Cadence watches with obvious glee as kid after kid approaches Santa and climbs on his lap while Mom and Dad snap photos.
And then he's trundling away through the snowfall, ho-ho-ho-ing out of sight…
behind the municipal complex, but the kids don't need to know that.
Now comes the part I wanted her to see: a church choir from St. Michael's, dressed in red velvet robes and hats, carrying candles and singing "O Holy Night" as they fill the square. The candles flicker in the cold and the dark, and their harmonizing voices soar, and beside me, Cadence is quietly crying, squeezing my hand, alternating looking at me with that adoration I have a hard time feeling like I deserve, and watching the choir sing. They finish “O Holy Night” and start in on “Silent Night,” and one by one, more voices join in as locals and tourists and shopkeepers and shoppers and diners fill the square until we’re packed in shoulder to shoulder.
Cadence presses into me, rests her head on my shoulder, and we sing. I keep my voice low, because I've been told the sound of my singing is so offensive it's a violation of the Geneva Convention, but Cadence, at least, has a high, soft, lovely voice.
The choir leads us through a couple more songs, and then they file out. I feel a hand press something into mine—Felix, coming through with the request I texted him earlier.
Cadence doesn't see him, thank goodness—she’s too fixated on the scene around us.
The square empties until she and I are the only ones left.
When silence reigns once more, Cadence turns to me. "Riley, that was—" she gasps, hands flying to cover her mouth.
My heart is crashing in my chest as I kneel in front of her. My mouth is dry, my stomach flip-flopping, my hands clammy as I clutch the small red velvet box—a family keepsake Felix has held onto for years.
"Riley?"
I've had this moment in the back of my mind since I saw her in that airport lounge, all but catatonic. I've put it aside. Tried to dismiss it as premature.
Too soon.
But it's all I can think of.
All I want.
Her.
Mine.
Forever.
And yet, now that the moment is here, the speech I've crafted in my brain is totally gone and my mouth is glued shut.
"I…"