Since You Happened by Holly Hall
Chapter 19
I leave my parents’ house filled with the level of content that only a family-filled weekend spent reminiscing about the “good ol’ days” and recanting embarrassing stories can bring. I never realize just how necessary relaxing weekends like that are until they end and I’m walking out the door, making promises to visit again soon. Even with my guard up, my mother somehow managed to corner me before I got into the car, under the guise of bringing me Tupperware-packed leftovers, to ask if I would bring Landon to Christmas. I told her I wasn’t making any promises.
Other than time spent dodging my mother’s attempts at prodding me for more information about my “new beau,” it was difficult not to spend every idle moment mulling over my recent conversations with both Landon and Arielle. I’ve even begun to consider Arielle’s offer to put me in touch with her friend. It’s like the time spent with my feet kicked up beside the people I love most gave me the fresh perspective needed to understand how Arielle would think recommending me for such a project would be a good idea. I know she only wants to help me get through the painful memories of my past, and when I block out the discomfort I would feel, helping with a cause that relates to me on such a personal level, I realize that it could do a lot of good. Not only would assisting be beneficial to the families the event honors, but maybe to me as well. Doing something for the victims of these terrible incidents is as close as I can get to redeeming myself for the ordeal four years ago. It’s the least I can do. Not to mention, Arielle will be thrilled.
The girls arrange for Friendsgiving to take place on Thursday to coincide with this week’s Bachelor night. It’s an annual event in which me, Haley, Arielle, and an assortment of our other friends make our own versions of traditional Thanksgiving treats to celebrate without the pressure of familial obligations. I was placed in charge of desserts, Haley’s handling the sides and beverages, and Arielle will be providing the main course of roasted chicken. We thought it would be too much work to cook a whole turkey.
We’re expecting Kara, along with a couple of Arielle’s work colleagues, around seven, but I show up early so I can tell Arielle what I’ve decided. Haley pulls up next to me just as I’m retrieving my pies from the passengers’ seat, and we walk in together.
“Hello, friends!” Arielle greets. She’s already setting the table with a coordinating set of stoneware, arranging everything around a centerpiece of candles nestled in fall-colored leaves. If there’s anything Arielle loves more than philanthropy, it’s entertaining.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” Haley says, placing a pan of foil-wrapped green bean casserole on the countertop in the kitchen.
“I’m not sure if anyone can prepare for your cooking,” Arielle jokes, placing the last of the flatware.
“Lord help my future husband,” Haley says in agreement. I take the foil off the pies, and Arielle peeks over my shoulder.
“Are they up to your impossible standards?” I ask, eyeing her.
“I think they’ll do. After all, you did make my favorite—pecan.” She reaches past my hands to pluck a pecan off the top and pop it into her mouth.
“Well, I have some news that might make you happy. It took me a while to think it over, but I’ve decided to help with the event your friend is organizing.”
Arielle grabs my shoulders and makes a little squeal. “Are you serious?” I roll my eyes. As if I would joke about this. When I nod, she squeals again, right in my ear. “You have no idea how glad that makes me! Emily will really appreciate the help. Trust me, you’ll love her!”
“What have I missed out on?” Haley asks, sprinkling fried onions atop her casserole.
Arielle fills her in on the event, revealing more details than even I knew. Apparently, the event is a dinner and silent auction, and all the proceeds will be divided amongst the families the organizers have chosen to honor. Haley’s eyes widen as she processes the magnitude of this news. “That’s really awesome, Blake. It’s the perfect organization for you to help out with. Can you imagine how good it will feel to see those families receiving help? You’ll even get to meet some of them!”
Despite the nervous jolt in my stomach at that prospect, I get a little misty-eyed just thinking about the innocent people who have been affected by similar tragedies, and how grateful I imagine they will be just to spread awareness. I give a tight-lipped smile, as it’s all I can manage while my emotions are teetering precariously on a cliff’s edge.
The rest of the girls arrive within fifteen minutes, and we all serve ourselves in the kitchen before taking seats around the table. Kara is as friendly as ever, with no mention about Landon’s outburst the night we all went out together. In fact, the girls reminisce loudly about that night, namely about Daniel’s unexpected dance skills.
The steady hum of conversation isn’t enough to keep my thoughts anchored to the present, and a bubble of fear rises in my gut when I slip back into thinking of what I’ve volunteered to do. What will this Emily woman think when I tell her just how closely I’m tied to this cause? Will she still want me to help? Will she pretend she does but secretly judge me the entire time for what a horrible person I am to let such a terrible thing happen? Will I be expected to speak? That thought makes me lightheaded.
When my mind arrives back to the present, I register that I’m just holding my fork over my plate, staring at my green beans without really seeing them. I catch the tail end of Haley’s description of her Thanksgiving holiday with her family.
“I’m not sure how a tiny baby can produce that much poop, but she did. Just picture that one disgusting scene from The Exorcist.”
Arielle makes a show of gagging over her plate. “Changing diapers is the most effective form of birth control.”
“Aww, it wasn’t so bad. Other than that twenty minutes when the entire house was filled with an un-humanlike stench, she was great. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone that much until my sister had her.”
“Yeah, but when it’s yours you can’t just love on it then give it back,” Kara points out.
“That it is named Elena, Kara,” Haley scolds, and the girls around the table laugh.
“You probably can’t even tell it’s a girl yet, anyway,” Arielle says. “Newborns look like potatoes.”
“You can with the ridiculous bows my sister puts on her head. Who decided that was a necessary accessory for baby girl outfits? Anyways,” Haley turns to me. “How was your holiday, Blake? Your mom still trying to convince you to leave the big bad city?”
I clear my throat to get rid of the lump that’s taken up residence there. “Briefly. She would’ve tried harder, but I told her about Landon.”
“You told her about the man you’ve been screwing for fun?” Arielle asks brashly.
“No. I told her about the man I’m dating.”
They stare at me for a few beats. “Wait, so it’s really official?” asks Haley, her fork pausing over her plate. I nod.
“I called it, didn’t I?” says Arielle confidently. “I told her that nobody looks at another person like that unless it’s something serious. And Landon looks at you like he’s never going to let you out of his sight . . . when he’s not busy looking at you like he wants to eat you alive,” she finishes with a wink.
I contact Emily a few days after the dinner to introduce myself and ask if we can meet. When we finally do, I learn, with great relief, how right Arielle was. Emily is kind and understanding—one of those women you immediately feel like you can entrust your every secret to. So, I tell her everything. I begin with the events of the night leading up to the accident and continue on through the aftermath.
I slip into a mechanical cadence when reciting the events of that night, as it’s the only way I can get through it without letting my emotions get the better of me. But Emily just smiles sympathetically and thanks me for sharing it with her. She treats me with respect instead of pity, and that just helps it sink in that I’m doing something worthwhile. Emily assures me that while everyone at the event—which I find out is called the Driving for Good Gala—would benefit from hearing me tell the same story, she understands if I don’t want to reveal my connection to the cause. She makes it clear that she just appreciates whatever help I can lend. So, she tasks me with assisting in finding donors for the silent auction that will take place that night. The event isn’t until March, but, as this is the season of giving, I immediately buckle down and begin asking around.
In early December, Landon is assigned to cover the annual Christmas Market for the paper. He groans about having to shoot the cliché, overexcited holiday enthusiasts and children all sugared up on candy canes, but when he asks me to accompany him, I can’t hide my excitement. It’s been hard enough to partake in the holiday cheer the past few years; I’ve always thrown my energy into work and distracted myself with friends who understand my aversion to Christmas movie marathons and Secret Santa exchanges. This year, I feel like there are more than enough things to be cheerful about.
I’ve still been tiptoeing around talking to Landon about the accident, but every day we spend together we get closer and closer, and it becomes increasingly more difficult to just drop that bomb on our relationship. I’m still convinced the right time will present itself, but a large part of me is skeptical.
The Christmas Market occupies every square foot of the convention center; a spread of red, green, and glitter everything, all bedecked with twinkling lights. We’re each given a map upon entry with all the stalls and attractions marked. At the center of it all is a giant carousel, featuring prancing horses and an array of other whimsical beasts: penguins, polar bears, and reindeer. They’re all frozen in stride, mouths open in either terror or joy—I can’t really tell—and all mounted by cackling children. Well, one girl is crying, but that’s probably because she’s stuck on the penguin. I bet she wouldn’t be crying if she got the reindeer.
Surrounding the carousel are rows of stalls displaying overpriced merchandise and Christmas treats, interspersed with carnival-style game booths boasting gigantic stuffed-animal prizes. It might be snowing and freezing cold outside, but inside, the very surroundings are contagious, with children’s calls and laughter piercing the air. Everywhere you walk, throngs of people brandishing shopping bags crowd the red-carpeted aisles between stalls.
Meanwhile, I’m happy just to observe while Landon works. I wasn’t sure whether or not he would need my assistance, so I stay out of the way as he shoots, spotting different things that appeal to his artistic eye and capturing them on his camera. It’s a big, fancy thing, with more dials and buttons than I would know what to do with, and that I would be worried about dropping if he asked me to hold it, anyway. I can’t really tell what he’s photographing from my perspective, but from what I’ve seen of his work, I know the shots will be stunning.
“Can I at least hold the camera bag so I don’t just look like I’m following you around?” I ask when a herd of children gawks at Landon.
“You are following me around,” he says with characteristic facetiousness, but he hands it over before we cut through a throng of people. I shoulder the bag and trail along, enjoying the sights and smells of the market.
A group of carolers, dressed in what appears to be Dickenson-era attire, passes by on our right, singing “Silent Night.” I watch them as they pass, listening as their voices manage to carry over the noise of the crowds. It was always one of my favorites growing up, though I can’t say my singing is anywhere near as beautiful as this group’s. I turn to Landon, who’s just lowering his camera from his eye, noticing that it was just pointed at me.
“I don’t think your boss will appreciate receiving pictures of your girlfriend,” I say, before I can stop myself. Landon said he didn’t want to put a label on this, so we haven’t. It’s the first time I’ve referred to myself in that way.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m pretty sure everyone would appreciate receiving pictures of you. And besides, I’m supposed to be getting everything, from the sights to the attendees. That means you.” He raises the camera again and captures my unprepared expression.
I roll my eyes at him, though a smile pulls at the corners of my lips. When my phone buzzes in my purse, I pull it out and click on the text message from Arielle.
Arielle: I just got an email from Emily. She’s raving over how much help you are and berating me for not sending willing volunteers her way sooner. Thank you for doing this, Blake. I know it’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
“Tell your other boyfriend you’re mine for the night,” Landon says, and I realize I’ve been staring at the text message with a wide grin on my face.
“It’s Arielle.” I haven’t told him about the Gala, because I don’t want him to think I’m participating just to appeal to his more charitable side—or whatever ulterior motive manipulative girls come up with—but I guess it’s bound to come up sooner or later.
“There’s an event coming up in March she thought I would be interested in, so she hooked me up with the girl who’s planning it. It’s for an organization that supports the families and victims of drunk driving incidents.”
Landon’s face is a carefully-rehearsed blank for a few seconds, then his eyes soften. “That’s great, Blake. I know you’ll find it to be very rewarding.”
“Yeah. It’s a dinner and silent auction, and I’m helping to find donors for the auction. I’m enjoying it, but I never knew how much work it would entail.”
Landon fiddles with his camera, adjusting the settings as I speak. “Well, there are always people willing to help who just don’t know how. Many will offer services in place of items. Just keep an open mind when you’re looking for contributions.”
“Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”
I thought the cause might interest him enough to help, but he seems distracted. I understand. After all, it’s hard enough for me to stare my demons in the face long enough to be of some use to Emily. I can’t imagine what it would be like for him to attend an event like that and sit amongst so many people like him who’ve lost their loved ones on account of others’ mistakes.
“Cinnamon nuts,” I suddenly announce, perking up when I catch a whiff of a stall just ten yards away. I’ve smelled something delectable all night, and I’ve just now realized what it is.
Landon’s brows furrow. “Don’t tell me that’s my new nickname.”
“Not you. There!” I thrust my arm through his and lead him toward the stall with the candy-cane-striped arbor. I order a paper cone filled with cinnamon-sugar-coated pecans and pay a ridiculous amount at the register, but decide it’s all worth it when I pop a few of the roasted nuts in my mouth and the caramelized coating melts on my tongue.
“Yessss,” I groan as I chew, gesturing for Landon to open his mouth so I can toss a few in.
I’m trying to shield my cone of pecans from Landon’s greedy fingers when a pretty blonde, laden with several full shopping bags, stops in her tracks just a few paces away from us.
“Landon?” she asks, narrowing her eyes, as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. The man beside her glances over his shoulder and looks over us impassively. He must not know Landon.
“Shelby. Hi,” Landon says, his hand pausing over the cone of nuts. Her eyes bounce back and forth between us, and she isn’t quick enough to replace the look of suspicion on her face with the fake smile she’s wearing now before I see it.
“It’s been a while. You look well.”
“Yeah, you too,” Landon says, dropping the nuts and brushing his hands off on his jeans. They’re both standing stock-still, each slightly inclined toward each other like they’re unsure of whether to hug or not. I can tell there’s some history between them, woven through with tension.
“Drake, this is Landon. Landon, Drake. Landon and I are . . . old friends,” she explains to the guy she’s with, who’s just as caught in the awkwardness as I am. The two men shake hands as Shelby and I subtly size each other up, as female adversaries do. Wait, why am I even thinking of her as an adversary? I don’t even know her. Maybe because she has that effortlessly expensive look about her; she’s impeccably manicured, and dressed in a camel-colored wool coat, cashmere scarf, and tailored jeans that scream of money. Her hair is expertly-styled, sporting the kind of volume that could be used as an advertisement for one of those trendy blow-out bars. I meet her eyes determinedly, ignoring the skepticism in their icy-blue depths.
“This is Blake,” Landon says, after he and Drake have become acquainted. I nod kindly to each of them when Shelby doesn’t make a move to clasp my hand.
“I didn’t think you were into celebrating holidays,” Shelby says, one sculpted eyebrow raised in question.
“Working.” Landon lifts the shoulder bearing his camera bag.
“Oh. Been a while since you’ve done something like this, huh?” Her words are all pointed, like she’s trying to punch holes in him. I ignore the gnawing feeling that this girl seems to know him pretty well—maybe even as well as I do. I didn’t know he let anyone else get that close, but I have no business judging his dating roster.
“I guess so. Anyway, we should get going. Happy holidays.” Landon doesn’t wait for a response, so I follow him as he starts in the other direction. We weave through clumps of shoppers for a few minutes until I kick the heel of his boot, finally earning his attention.
“Did we just get caught by an ex-girlfriend?”
“Caught?” Landon says, his brows furrowed.
“She looked very surprised to see you with me.” We make our way back past the carnival games, our conversation unaffected by the cries of children tossing rings at bottles and crowing over gigantic, stuffed Santa Clauses.
“I’m sure she was; I’m far different from the Landon she knew. And I did tell her I wouldn’t date her. Not just her, but anyone.”
Oh. At least he gave me no time to get my hopes up at first. I’m sure that would feel like a slap in the face. “Were you close to getting serious with anyone else? You know, just so I can be ready for the next ambush.”
Landon gives me a sidelong glance. “No. After her, I was very straightforward with the others. I warned them early on that nothing would happen.”
I don’t want to think about the others. I don’t want to think that I used to be an other before I somehow became something else. I glance into the booths we’re passing, my eyes roving over the merchandise, but not really seeing anything. I can’t help but feel uneasy, like we’re naively skating over thin ice, just waiting for it to crack.
“What about me changed that for you?” I finally ask, pausing in front of a huge display of ornaments.
Landon stops with me and levels his gaze on mine. It’s steady and unrelenting; a stark contrast to the noise and activity of the people around us. “I didn’t get the impression that every time we were together you were trying to change me. Some of the others all thought their presence could somehow edge out the pain and memories of my past or something. You had no expectations. I didn’t tell anyone else the details I’ve told you, but a few of them found out I lost my fiancé.”
It's still difficult to wrap my head around. I’ve never lacked self-confidence, but I’ve never assumed I was anything overly special, either. People are more likely to have a lasting effect on me than the other way around.
“So what did I do if I wasn’t trying to change you?”
“You . . .” he pauses, stepping closer. “…you were unpredictable and exciting. Still are. You don’t act like I owe you anything, and I can never tell what you’re going to say next. You make me look forward to each day instead of dreading having to live through another twenty-four hours. You’ve accepted every fucked up, dysfunctional part of me without trying to force the pieces back together to create something that you deem acceptable.”
At some point during his explanation I lost my breath, because nobody’s ever said anything like that to me. I didn’t try to put him back together, because I didn’t know how. I don’t even know how to put myself back together. I didn’t know that by simply accepting his hazy past, I was made different than anyone else.
“Shelby found the photographs. She had a hard time understanding why I could keep them. I’m sure a lot of people would. You didn’t. It was like you immediately understood, though you weren’t even there to experience what happened.” I swallow, trying not to let it show on my face how wrong he is.
“Do you have any crazy exes I should know about? It’s uncomfortable just talking about mine,” he says with a short laugh.
I clear my throat and shake my head because, while he’s not crazy, there’s no possibility we will run into Sam. “Nope. Scott is as crazy as it gets.”
“Ahh, well, I think we handled that,” he says, and I nod, managing a tight smile. “Are you looking for an ornament?”
I realize that we’re still standing in front of the ornament booth, facing the displays. “No. I was just looking at them. I’ve never put up my own tree.”
“Why not?” He reaches past me and spins a little ballerina where it hangs from a peg.
“I guess I haven’t seen the point. It’s not like I’m hosting Christmas at my tiny apartment.”
“True, but at least you would be able to see it. Come on, let’s pick out a few. Do you even have a tree?” He enters the stall and begins browsing through the displays. The owner, an older woman with a silver braid down her back, smiles and nods at us from where she’s seated on a fold-out chair in the corner.
“Nope.”
“We can get one somewhere else. This place is scarily expensive. No offense,” Landon adds to the owner, but she only shrugs, like she secretly agrees.
“We’re really going to decorate a tree together?” I ask him suspiciously, examining a glittery candy cane.
“I guess we are. Shocked?”
“Yes. I’m not sure I can handle this level of commitment.”
“Well, you’ll have to deal with it.”
I spot a little cartoon penguin holding a camera and get an idea. “How about we make a game of this? You find the ornament you think best represents me, and I’ll find one for you. Then we’ll judge which one is best.”
“Deal. You should be aware that I’m going to win, though,” he says, catching my eye over a display.
“Dream on, Farrar.” I slyly select the penguin and move on. As we browse through the tent, Landon ensures there’s at least ten feet of distance between us at all times, like it will be detrimental if I somehow see the ornament he selects before he reveals it to me.
“Search is over,” he announces a few minutes later. “You’re going down.”
“Alright, ready to lose?” I ask, approaching him with the penguin hidden in my hands.
“Yep. We’ll show them on the count of three.”
When he reaches three, we hold out our ornaments. And when I see his, I almost can’t believe he’s found one that so closely resembles me. It’s a little girl, though she’s got blonde hair instead of brown, standing in boots that are several sizes too big. It looks so similar to the photo on my entry table of me in my beloved white boots that I instantly grin. I accept the figurine from him, tracing my finger over the little lasso she’s swinging above her head.
“This is crazy!” I say, looking up at him. He only nods self-assuredly. When he takes the ornament I’ve selected, he laughs.
“Look at my googly eyes! And I’m holding my camera upside down. Clearly an amateur.” I laugh. “I think we have a draw.”
“Then we’ll just have to get both,” I decide. “These are our ornaments.”
“These are our ornaments,” he agrees, taking them both over to the woman.
Once our selections are wrapped in tissue paper and packed in a little gift bag, we leave the tent hand in hand, and I’m filled with a strange sense of satisfaction. Here I am, shopping for ornaments with a guy who might as well be my boyfriend, for a tree that we’ll go home and decorate together. The twinkling lights, the scents of cinnamon and apple, and the music and cheer all around us fill me with so much joy I could burst. It inspires visions of the month to come; wrapped in blankets by a fire—though neither of us have a fireplace—drinking Bailey’s and coffee, touring decorated neighborhoods, and huddling together in some little bar over old fashioneds while the snow falls outside. I’m not sure all those things are realistic, but they make a peaceful vision.
“My cousin mentioned the photo I posted from our drive to Aspen on Thanksgiving, so, naturally, my mom assumed you would be attending all future family events. I had to shut her down real quick.”
Landon drops my hand and drapes his arm around my shoulders instead, drawing me close. “Mine did the same. She asked if she should plan another place setting for Christmas dinner.”
I smile, relieved my family members aren’t the only ones getting ahead of themselves.
“You know we could throw them for a loop and actually do it,” he says slyly, and I look up at him to determine if he’s serious.
“I didn’t tell you that to guilt you into it. I wasn’t sure you would be ready for all that. Besides, you do not want to go into my house unprepared.”
Landon looks straight ahead of us for a few moments, contemplating. “No, I want to. It’s something I haven’t done in a long time, but it will be good. I want my mom to meet you. If she does, maybe she’ll stop worrying about me so much.” I grin to myself, unable to keep it contained. He wants me to meet his mother. Deep in my chest, my heart swells with pride.
“Mine will probably try to adopt you, but don’t worry, you can say no.”
“I will be saying no such thing if she makes more of that homemade pumpkin pie. In fact, she can lock me up in that house and force her cooking on me for as long as she wants.”
I poke him in the ribs, kind of like my mother would. “Do that and she’ll turn you into the Michelin man. She’s convinced I’m wasting away.”
Landon captures my hand where it’s digging into his ribs and uses the one that’s around me to tickle beneath my armpit. When I shriek, he covers my mouth with his and gives me a warm kiss. “Come on, we have a tree to buy.”
“Now?” I ask, taking a breath when he draws away.
“Now.”
“That one’s too tall,” I scold. We’re at one of those craft stores that put out their seasonal décor at least six months ahead of time, and Landon is eyeing what looks to be at least a twelve-foot tree.
“I think I’ve found a new goal in life.” I look over at him to determine what he’s talking about, but he’s still just looking at the humongous tree, his face slackened in awe.
“What’s that?” I turn back to the one in front of me—a more reasonable, six-foot one.
“To have a living room someday that will fit something like this. Just think of what the holidays would be like.”
My previous visions resurface almost immediately, though they’re now filled with a few more family members than before; all seated around that enormous tree, drinking their egg nog and dividing up gifts. Then I think of how just a little over a month ago, Landon didn’t even want a girlfriend. I have no idea where he stands on the future family situation.
“It’s hard to imagine all that without . . . I don’t know . . . having kids.”
“Who said I didn’t want kids?”
“You basically did, back in your rude days when you wanted nothing to do with me or any other woman.”
“I wanted everything to do with you,” he says, as though this should be obvious. “I just thought it was wrong.”
“As much as I like hearing that, you’re changing the subject.”
“I couldn’t imagine sharing my life with anyone else not long ago, that’s true. I guess it just never sunk in how permanent forever is. And lonely.”
“Well yes, being alone forever would be very lonely,” I say carefully.
I’ve been happy with how our relationship has progressed, but I don’t dare get my hopes up or assume it will go much further. Everything about what Landon used to say to me just a couple months ago made him feel very temporary, though his more recent actions have proven otherwise. Now he’s given me a taste of the possibility of a future, and it feels dangerous, though my heart soars.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling, but our conversation about shared holidays has made me think of something. “Hold that thought,” I tell him, motioning for him to stay. He just raises his eyebrows. “Keep looking,” I insist before rounding the corner and heading toward the home section.
After a minute or two of browsing, I’ve found the perfect Christmas gift for him. I peek around the corner where I’ve left him to ensure he isn’t snooping on me, but he’s entertaining himself with the tree toppers. Smuggling my selection to the checkout counter, I quickly pay for it and take the bag back to where he’s examining a star-shaped topper made of tin. Landon holds up the star before noticing the plastic bag in my hand. I offer it to him, and he just takes it without even looking at it.
“Well, go on,” I urge him, nodding toward the bag. He takes out the box I got the customer service associate to wrap in tissue paper to hide and unwraps the set of crystal, old fashioned glasses I got for him.
“What’s this for?” He asks amusedly, turning the box over in his hands.
“Well, you bought the ornaments.”
A crooked grin appears on his face even as he tells me, “You didn’t have to get me a Christmas gift.”
“Technically, I didn’t. It’s not Christmas yet, and I didn’t even wrap it. And you’ve been drinking old fashioneds out of wine glasses for God knows how long. You could use those.”
“So this is what being an adult feels like,” he says, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“Consider it a coming-of-age gift.”
We wander through the entire holiday section, placing various Christmas tree trimmings in a stray basket we’ve found, before ending back up at the trees. I’ve just about made up my mind on which tree I want when Landon speaks up from behind me. “So, you’ve somehow gotten me to discuss my future plans. How do you feel about it?”
“How do I feel about what?”
“Did you ever want kids with your ex?” With just one innocent question, my guilt reawakens and my past stirs restlessly. I can feel my pulse in my ears until I shake my head.
“I’ve always assumed I would have kids one day, but my ex wasn’t very secure or reliable. So no, I don’t think I ever saw that as an option.”
“What, you weren’t in love?”
Love. Just the sound of the word makes me cringe. I hear that love is supposed to be unconditional, that it’s “all we need.” What I found out four years ago is that it’s not always enough to influence people to make the right decisions or inspire them to be selfless. It’s not enough to prevent people from making mistakes. So why would I even need that in my life? A few years ago, I swore I didn’t. It complicates things and clouds your judgment. It makes you into something that’s all feeling and impulse, throwing caution to the wind. I used to have that. It was catastrophic. I don’t want to feel like someone holds my heart outside of my body and possesses the power to do with it what they want.
“I guess I thought I was. But you don’t treat people the way he treated me if you’re in love.” Landon searches my expression, urging me to go on. “This is the one,” I say, putting a stop to his search and pulling a cardboard box from the group. “It’s pre-lit and everything.”
He takes the box from me, but his eyes don’t leave mine. After a few loaded moments, he finally looks down. “You sure this is it? It is your first tree.”
“I’m sure,” I tell him.