Our Final Winter (Seasons of the East Coast #4)

Chapter 1

Rachel

Ican hardly believe it, but for the first time in months, my husband is coming out with me.

My phone pings, distracting me from my search for the perfect earrings. Tania’s name pops up in our group chat.

Tania

I seriously CANNOT wait, you guys better be ready

A hint of glee bubbles from my stomach. Oh, I am ready.

I go back to rummaging for earrings in the jewelry box I keep on my wooden dresser and finally snag the simple emerald-studded ones I was looking for.

Karan got me these for our thirteenth anniversary last year, saying he thought they’d bring out my eyes.

I adore the fact that we celebrate the anniversary of the day we first kissed and not the day we got married.

I hate that he forgot about it this year.

But tonight’s different. He’s making time for me. For us. As I put on the earrings, I’m so elated I could float away.

And yet, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Now fully ready, I step out of our bedroom and stop short at the sight of Karan’s broad back in the middle of the hallway. He’s facing away from me, standing still, his head hunched over. It looks like he’s checking his phone.

He’s already got his deep navy winter jacket on, and no hat to cover the thick black hair he’s pulled back into a bun. Raised in Abitibi, this stubborn man won’t wear a hat unless we intend to spend some real time outside.

“Ready to go?” I ask, placing a hand on his shoulder and moving past him to grab my own coat.

But his locked jaw, guilty eyes, and lack of a response as he looks away from his phone turn my elation to ashes on my tongue.

“Rachel…”

He gazes back down at his phone and starts typing a quick response to whoever he’s chatting with.

I can already guess who’s name is on the screen.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to bail.”

I knew it.

I should never have gotten my hopes up.

“You’re seriously not coming?”

My husband stares back at me with an apologetic look. He may take up nearly the entire entry hallway with his tall and broad shape, but at this moment, he’s never looked smaller.

Karan knows what he’s doing to me. And I know he hates it as much as I do.

So, why does he do it?

“Mom’s internet is down again, and she tried fixing it, but she can’t,” he starts with a sigh.

“If I don’t go and help her now, they won’t have internet for the whole evening.

Worse, my dad might try to fix it himself and mess it up more.

Mom won’t have her TV, she’ll get bored, and she’ll blow up my phone anyway. ”

“Okay, but we have plans.” I cross my arms, attempting to stand tall. “Tania and Nolan made the drive to make it, too. Don’t you think it’s rude to blow them off?”

Karan's jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. His fingers drum once against his thigh before curling into a fist. Those brown eyes dart away from mine, then back, then away again.

Our gazes lock. We share a strained look.

After seven years of marriage and twice that time together, we can read each other like a book.

Or, at least, we used to be able to.

Karan’s gaze falls to the ground. “I can join you guys after.” The deep timber of his voice is so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Your parents can live one night without TV or the internet.” Frustration balls itself up like a tight fist in my chest. “It’s really not that serious.”

I hold onto a lock of my long chestnut hair flowing over my shoulder and grip it tight, my knuckles turning white.

This man is literally going to make me pull my hair out.

Ever since Surinder and Martine moved to Montréal earlier this year, Karan has been like this; running right to his mommy whenever the tiniest thing is wrong.

It doesn’t matter if the twins have soccer practice, if he literally just walked in from doing overtime at work, or, like tonight, if we have plans with other people.

Most of the time, I let it go. Although the doctors have assured us that Martine is almost completely out of danger, she’s still undergoing the final bouts of treatment for cervical cancer.

But this isn’t about her cancer. I don’t know what it’s about, but the weight of it has been suffocating me.

Karan drags his hand down his thick beard. “It’ll give me a chance to say hi to the boys. You’re always saying I don’t spend enough time with them.”

I close my eyes and sigh. There’s no use. His mind is made up. And frankly, I don’t want to fight with my husband. I see him so little as it is. The last thing I want is to poison what little time we have together.

Or to hand that time over to his mom, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, apparently.

“The reason the boys are with your parents in the first place is because we were supposed to go out,” I let out, teeth clenched. “But whatever. Fine.”

“Rachel…” He grabs my arm before I can reach for the door handle.

Once upon a time, the sensation of his hand on my skin would light me up with stars. Make me forget everything else plaguing me.

Now it feels like nothing more than… just a hand.

I turn back to him. With more than a foot in height difference, I have to crane my neck up to meet his gaze.

“I said fine, Karan. Just go. I don’t want to fight.”

He lets my arm go.

I hurry out the door without another word, the cold December evening air hitting my face with a thermal shock.

Karan follows sheepishly behind me as I make my way down the winding staircase leading to the sidewalk. I turn left to head toward the metro station.

“I’ll join you guys as soon as I’m done!” Karan calls out to me, waving with the car keys in hand.

He’s taking the car to head to his parents’ place, since the metro doesn’t make it all the way to Pointe-aux-Trembles.

I muffle a quick sound of affirmation, but I don’t look back.

I cross my arms to protect myself against the cold winds of the oncoming winter. Gritting my teeth, I try to get my mind on something else—anything else—besides my husband and his antics.

I never wanted to be that wife. The nagging wife. The wife who complains about her mother-in-law. A mother in law who has cancer.

When I stood on the altar and said “I do,” I didn’t only vow to love Karan in sickness and in health. I vowed to myself to stay true to who I was. I refused to let the difficulties of life slowly poison me and turn me into a frigid bitch.

I wouldn’t say I’m at “frigid bitch” levels yet, but damn do I feel myself getting there sometimes.

I can’t let myself get there. I’m not… I’m not them.

To get my mind off my argument with Karan and hopefully arrive at karaoke night in a better mood, I take out my phone and dial my sister Océane’s number. She picks up almost immediately.

“Why are you calling, you weirdo?”

“Because I’m walking and don’t want to have to type out a text?”

“You know what voice memos are, right?” She’s being snarky, but I can hear the smile in her high-pitched voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” But I wanted a more immediate connection to her.

Hearing her voice, knowing she’s all right, will always soothe me.

“So… what’s up?”

I stop at a red light and sigh. “Today’s one of those days.”

“Oh.” I hear the rustle of movement on the line as Océane’s breath hitches. “Do you want me to come see you?”

“I’m not home.” The light turns green, and I start walking again. “Just wanted to commiserate with someone. Also, you don’t always need to be the one coming to me.”

I don’t know why she insists. I don’t think I’ve been to her place in over a year, even when her flare-ups would make it much easier for me to go see her there.

“I know, I know.” She pauses. “Want to play ‘Wish they were our parents’?”

I chuckle right as I push on the heavy doors of the metro station, my hair flying out from the gust of warm wind that escapes from below.

“Hmmm… so, Cayce and Corey’s teacher this year is this lovely old lady nearing retirement. She’s the sweetest, patient teacher I’ve ever met. She’s especially patient with the boys’ separation anxiety.”

I pause when I reach the crowded escalators. To my despair, the metro is crowded tonight.

“I wish she were our mom,” I mutter.

“There’s this new guy at art therapy,” Océane continues. “He can’t stop talking while he paints. And he’s weirdly obsessed with painting mangos for some reason?”

She sighs. I wait for her to say the line I know is coming. The line we’ve repeated countless times during these games.

“I wish he were our dad.”

We keep going like this for a few more rounds as I wait for the metro. On days like today, being estranged from our parents feels so deathly lonely. Especially when I see how close Karan gets to be with Surinder and Martine.

But I never regretted my decision to get Océane out of that house. Not for one second.

The metro arrives, and I walk inside, using my free hand to grab onto the support pole. It’s not extremely crowded tonight, but there are enough people that no free seats remain. From the corner of my eye, I spot an elderly woman sitting in one of the seats, a worn paperback in her hands.

I squint to make out the cover and have to stifle a pleased giggle when I notice the bulging pecs and biceps of the half-naked man on it.

“There’s an old lady reading what seems to be a spicy billionaire romance sitting in the metro. I wish she was our mom.”

“Oh my God. I love that for her,” Océane laughs. “I wonder if she’s reading a spicy scene right now.”

“She’s got a complete poker face. She could be reading anything.”

I can only aspire to reach the level of bold confidence dripping from this sweet-looking old lady.

Soon, the friendly feminine voice of the metro calls out my station. I can finally get out of here.

“I’m almost there,” I say as I make my way closer to the doors. “Talk soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Is that disappointment I hear in her voice? “Love you, Rach.”

“Love you, Ann.”