I smile, putting on the tea kettle. “Bring your laptop. We can watch Christmas movies while you shop.”
“I’m not rewatching A Prince for Christmas,” she warns. “You made me watch that four times last year.”
“There’s a cute new one on Netflix. Just come over.”
Annabelle opens my front door without a knock. She takes one look at me rolling out a pie crust as the gingerbread bakes and knows something is wrong.
“You only bake when things have gone to shit. What happened?”
I swallow, lifting the rolled crust from the counter and setting it over the pie pan. “Did you see Filson outside?”
She nods. “I assume you hired him as a handyman to get this house some curb appeal.”
“Something like that,” I say, not wanting to tell her that only an hour ago I lost my virginity. It feels sacred — like something that is Filson’s and mine alone.
“How’d you even talk him into it? Isn’t he working like twenty-four-seven on that house on Peacock Lane?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I say, miffed that my best friend might know more about Filson than I do.
She shrugs, pulling off her coat. “He just mentioned it when he was in the bank last week.”
I frown. “Why was he in the bank?”
Annabelle gives me a look that says I sound crazy. “Um, maybe to deposit a check?” She laughs. “Why do you care about him? He’s the town Grinch and you’re the town Mary Lou Who.”
“I am not.” I turn from her and take the gingerbread from the oven. I blink back tears because whatever good girl reputation I’ve had for my entire life is out the window.
And not because I slept with Filson, but because I have poorly managed my money to such a degree that I’m going to lose everything.
Annabelle’s hand is on my back. “Hey, sweetie, don’t cry. It’s okay.”
I wipe my tears, facing her. “Is it though? Because I won’t even have a place to live when the bank takes my house.”
She shakes her head adamantly. “No, you’re gonna sell it and make enough to get an apartment while you look for a job.”
I swallow. “I have to tell Jody and Isaiah. They deserve the truth so they can look for new jobs.”
Annabelle nods in agreement. “Yeah, you do. But not tonight.” She takes a bottle of wine from her tote bag. “Tonight is all about girl time. Okay?”
I nod, scooping the filling for the chicken pot pie into the crust before placing it in the oven. Annabelle takes two wine glasses from the cabinet and fills them both.
We put on a Christmas movie and I give my opinions on the presents Annabelle picks out for her sister-in-law, her father, her nieces and nephews, and grandma. She has so much family to shop for; so many people in her life, that it brings fresh tears to my eyes.
“Oh, Maple, don’t cry over the movie,” she says, handing me a tissue.
But I’m not crying for the happily ever after that the actor and actress seem to magically find at Christmas.
I’m crying over the fact I don’t have anyone to celebrate the holidays with. And sure, Annabelle says I can join her, but I don’t want to crash another family’s celebration.
“Hey, I forgot to ask,” she says, eyes bright, clearly trying to cheer me up. “Weren’t you going out with Asher today?”
I roll my eyes ready to launch into that catastrophe just as there is a knock on my front door.
It’s Filson.
“Finished the lights,” he says. “If you wanna take a look,”
I slip on my cozy boots and walk outside to the sidewalk to take it in.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, taking it all in. “It finally looks like Christmas.”
“I was wondering about that. You don’t even have a tree up. You calling Bah Humbug for the first time in your life?”
I wish I could explain. But I don’t want Filson to think I’m a failure. I want him to think I am something great. So, I keep my mouth shut, letting my silence speak for me.
He stands next to me, but he doesn’t make any indication he’s softened from the earlier blow. My heart aches, wanting to reach out to him, but I don’t know how to reach inside him when he is so closed off. How did Mary Lou Who soften the Grinch?
I offer him dinner, telling him I have a chicken pot pie in the oven with gingerbread for dessert. He shakes his head and won't even meet my eyes.
“I’ll be off,” he says gruffly. “It’s getting dark and with the snow, I don't want to get into any trouble on the roads up to my place. Don't worry, I'll be back tomorrow as I told you I would be.”
It feels so final, so cold. We went from having his fingers deep inside me, our naked bodies pressed tightly to one another to this. Nothing. A deep feeling of cold sweeps over me and it takes everything within me not to break down and cry.
He turns back and looks at me before getting inside his truck. “Maple, I meant what I said earlier. Thank you for today. For everything.”
I swallow, not wanting his thanks. What I really want is his love.
Filson
Driving home, I feel like a goddamn fool. I am a fool. It's not like it's something I've just learned right now, I’ve always been his way. Pushing the good things in life away.
But this time I fucked it up. I feel it deep in my bones. As I pull up to my house, I focus on my dog, knowing I can’t fix the way I wronged Maple overnight.
I go through the motions. I get food for Sammy, stoke the fire, check to make sure the lantern has batteries in case the power goes out. All the while, wishing I were the kind of man Maple deserves.
I know exactly why I pulled back my word love. Love is this scary-ass thing. Something I've never had before and don't feel I rightly deserve. Especially not Maple’s love. Particularly not now, when it’s nearly Christmas.
I wish I was one of those men who could just go all in, give it my all. My heart and soul. But I've never been like that. For a long time, I blamed it on my father — for his drinking and his drugs. I blamed it on my mother leaving when I was so young. But those are excuses. The truth is I'm a grown-ass man who scared of being rejected.
What does that say about me? Especially when I could have everything I want with Maple. Maybe. Who knows? She might turn me away, but she might not. She might want me as much as I want her but looking around my cabin, I know that is impossible. This place is a home I'm proud of, but it's not a home for a girl like her. A woman who knows how to make chicken pot pies and gingerbread. A woman with walls painted pink and a white bedspread. No, this is too rough and tumble. Too gritty, too severe.
Part of me wonders if Maple might see past it. May ask what I'm really working for, what I'm really dreaming of. If she asked, I might just answer.
I grab a beer from the fridge and pop it open. I take a long drink as my eyes land on the kitchen table. There, lying on a stack of papers, I see the manila envelope from Asher.
Shit.
I'd pretended they'd never been delivered this morning, but here they are glaring me right in the eye. I can't look away. I pull them open already knowing what it's going to say and I'm right. I scan the letter.