Chapter 14
The next few seconds feel like a decade in my body.
The lump in my throat. The wide-eyed, horrified, painful expression.
The sudden pull back from Eben like I’m committing the worst sin on earth—unmarried, in a compromised position with a man I barely know—while my mom, dad, and little brother stare at me blankly.
We lock eyes for a full minute that feels like a century, and somehow they’re looking at me and through me at the same time.
I scoot away from Eben, trying to put oceans between us. Thank God there’s no cliff to impulsively shove him off, because if there were, he’d be at the bottom of a ravine. I’m angry, sad, mortified—and shocked by how much you can miss people who are less than ten feet away.
Eben cautiously touches my arm, and I yank it back, barely registering his confusion.
I tip my face to the sky, praying that whatever deity lives up there—God, Zeus, aliens, or nothing at all—will zap me into oblivion. When I look down again, part of my prayer has been answered.
My family has turned its back on me and is walking away.
I watch, overwhelmed by how odd it is to be strangers with the only people who’ve known me since birth.
People who’ve seen me in both dirty diapers and acid-wash jeans.
Who held my hand in the ER when I broke my arm, who razzed me for always leaving a nasty toothbrush in the sink.
And Mom—who instinctively pressed her warm palm to my forehead at the first “I don’t feel good.
” Who else knows I puked in a Dairy Queen parking lot after the first day of kindergarten?
Their absence is a hollow void inside my chest. But the pain of not being able to erase my life—wipe my memories Men in Black-style—is sharp and jagged, a feeling I haven't figured out how to be estranged from.
My little brother, only ten, turns around to get one last look at me, but Dad quickly guides him forward. I watch them recede while the lump in my throat grows.
Once they’re out of sight, I come back to Earth and see Eben studying me carefully.
“Is that your family?” he asks, so softly, like a louder word might pierce my composure.
I let out a shaky sigh. “How’d you know?”
He takes my hand. “Everyone looked… in pain.”
The way he says it knocks me back. I bite my bottom lip, stunned he thought we all looked in pain—not just me. I want to believe it, but it’s hard to imagine they’re feeling this, too, especially when the separation was their choice. Mostly.
“What would happen if you went up and said hello?” Eben asks, innocently, though the question strikes a match on an already defensive flame.
I suck in a deep breath and stare at the tulips again. Glittering, multicolored—the most secular of the secular display. They remind me of the Wizard of Oz (yes, I know those were poppies, not tulips). They are whimsical and beautiful—now suddenly laced with a poison I can’t see.
I let a minute pass. “My parents would say hello. The way you say hello to someone crossing the street.”
He nods and then tilts his head. “Do you know that for sure?” He can’t imagine parents speaking to their daughter in the same tone they use for the UPS driver.
“Let’s walk a little,” I say, needing to move.
Eben slips my hand back into his coat pocket, like he’s trying to warm my heart—not just my hands—after that chilly interaction.
“So,” I say after a long silence, broken only by the crunch of snow-covered leaves under our feet. “There’s a playbook.”
His grip tightens. “Like… ‘How to Cut Off Your Family 101’?”
“Basically. There are materials, pamphlets, and protocols. They script how to act, what to say—blah, blah, blah.”
“That’s cult shit,” he says, stunned.
I can’t help but laugh. “Uh, yeah. Turns out cults aren’t just for Netflix documentaries.”
He’s quiet, shaking his head. I’m blowing this man’s mind tonight—and not in the way I’d hoped. I’m not sure if Ally would be thoroughly amused or disappointed that my family just upstaged my sexy red dress and our smoking-hot chemistry.
He hasn’t actually seen the dress yet, so there’s still a chance for redemption.
“Hey, look,” he says, pointing to a snow-dusted beech with a smooth trunk. At first, I didn't get it. It’s out of the way, not part of any light display, tucked in a corner with rocks, dirt, and snow. Not exactly part of the spectacular secular extravaganza. Not even evergreen.
Up close, the bark is a palimpsest of hearts, arrows, and tangled initials. A lover’s tree—with the occasional “so-and-so was here” from the self-admiring.
Eben crouches down to sift through the sticks until he finds a sharp one—ready to do some damage. The plant-lover in me jumps in front of him. “You’ll kill the tree! No way that’s allowed.”
He scans the tree, the etchings barely worn despite countless seasons. He points at a half-buried plaque and brushes off the snow with the elbow of his coat. It declares this the park’s official “arborglyph” tree—the one tree visitors are allowed to write on.
In other words: here’s the one sacrificial lamb you’re allowed to vandalize, you sentimental hooligans.
He offers me the stick. “What do you say?”
I take the stick, but I’m paralyzed—both on the health of the tree, and the fact that we’re not actually lovers. Isn’t he in love with someone else?
I feel his breath on the side of my face. “If it helps, I think this tree is really old—and the initials don’t seem to hurt it.”
It does help, but I still can’t make the first cut—even if it’s allowed. Plus, what would I write? What are his initials? Does he even know mine? I think back to the intake forms on Missy’s desk.
While I’m busy spiraling, he’s leaning in front of the tree, carving something I can’t see. When he’s done, he takes my hand and pulls me closer to admire his handiwork.
SC+MC
My brow furrows. Who the hell are these people?
Eben chuckles at my apparent confusion and bends to my ear, nuzzling with a warm mouth and a cold nose. “Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus,” he whispers.
It’s cheesy as hell, and I love it. My heart stops, my lungs forget to breathe, and somehow I survive the next few moments without air.
He pulls me in, our lips hovering—the heat between us melting me from the inside out. Before he can close the distance, I pull back.
“You don’t want a throuple, right?”
Eben laughs, surprised. “What?”
“I’m just… not into that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I’m a monogamy girl. I mean, I haven’t been in a relationship in forever, but three people? I can barely handle one, and I—”
Eben steps forward and brackets my face in his hands. “What goes on inside that brain of yours?”
I sigh. “A lot.”
“I can see that. Who are we in a throuple with?
“Your… girlfriend?”
His brows knit. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Why do you think I have a girlfriend?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” (Because I eavesdropped on you and Missy, but let’s not unpack that.) “Um, you don’t have a wife either, do you?”
He drops his head in amused frustration. “Who hurt you?”
“Many people.”
He smooths my hair back and meets my eyes. “Melody, I don’t have a wife, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, or any combination of the above. I am an eligible bachelor. Is there a rose around here I can give you to convince you?”
“Maybe a light-up one?”
“Perfect. When we get to the gift shop, I will buy you one. A dozen, if you want them.” His thumb traces my jaw, tipping my face up. Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Until then, will you settle for this?”
He tilts my chin and leans down to kiss me.