If only there was an alternative universe, one where Marko picks me up at the airport as usual, swearing about the price of parking.One where I get to tell my dad that my hockey career still has life, and all I need to do is impress at a development camp.One where I go home and tell my parents about my new girlfriend, who speaks some Ukrainian and knows how to make varenyky.My mother would be thrilled to see me settle down.I can even imagine bringing Evie home and watching her charm my family with her old-fashioned manners and razor intellect.Finally found someone smarter than you, eh, Vitya?my father would joke.
Why am I even thinking about Evie?Our breakup is final and irreversible.I’m not someone who looks back in regret.
Maybe it’s the talk I had with Mats.He’s right—instead of breaking up, we should have talked, argued, yelled.Maybe we would have broken up anyway, but at least I would have found out why she did it and why she lied for so long.None of that matters except to make me feel less of a fool.
But breaking up seems to be my only option for any relationship conflicts.
I rise and grab my toiletries bag from my suitcase in the overhead bin so I can brush my teeth and comb my hair before disembarking.Once inside the cramped airplane washroom, I unzip my bag.When I pull out my comb, a tiny gift-wrapped bundle is dislodged.I turn it over, but there’s no tag or card.
I untie the ribbon and pull away the Christmas wrap.Inside is a sunflower made of yellow velvet with intricately embroidered petals.The middle has amber glass beads where the seeds would be, except in the very centre there’s a tiny blue heart.I turn it over to find no pins or clips to make it functional.
I crush the sunflower in my hand, feeling the softness of the fabric and the prickle of the beads.There’s a tightness in my chest, and I can’t breathe.
Her gift is like a poem.She’s given me something completely useless in the way art often is.Useless except for the meaning I read into it: the national flower of my homeland, the yellow and blue of the Ukrainian flag, and a heart representing hope.Hope for Marko.
And of course, everything about the sunflower reminds me of Evie: the velvet she wears, the crafting she loves, the consideration of her gifts.
I open my palm and the flower unfurls into shape: resilient and unbroken.
When did she put this in here?Was it when we were still together?No, it must have been last night after I kicked her out of my room.
I treat Evie like shit, and this is how she repays me—with love and empathy.
24
NO WALLOWING ZONE
EVIE
IT’S REALLY HARD TO BE AWUTHERINGHEIGHTSHEROINE PINING ON THE WINDY MOORS, WHENyou’re staying with your great-grandmother in Stillwater, named one of the most charming small towns in Minnesota.Since arriving here, I haven’t had five minutes to miss Viktor and figure out how I could have prevented our breakup.
When should I have told him about the Revenge Squad?In the car that first night?Once I quit Alpha Z?When he told me about Marko?Because none of those moments felt right.And besides, I’m right, in the entirety of our relationship, it’s not that big a deal.It’s like I wore a white blouse because he liked white, but what really counts is everything that happened after that.
But that doesn’t alleviate how awful I feel about Viktor’s pain.I tricked someone who already had trouble trusting women.And now that I know more about his horrible past, who could blame him?It’ll probably be years before he can open up to anyone.
Evelyn!Can you go to the store and get some cranberries for Christmas dinner?Nan hollers up the stairs of her lovely old home.
I stomp downstairs.Nan.Christmas isn’t for three days, and my mom and dad are arriving any minute.I know exactly what you’re up to, and I’m fine.She’s been assigning me a new task every five minutes, all of them completely unnecessary.So far I’ve swept her already spotless basement, shovelled snow from a side path that no one ever uses, and hand delivered Christmas cards.I even had to harness and walk her large cat, Bernie, an excursion that neither of us enjoyed.
Women in our family do not mope over men.Her hands are on her hips as she glares at me.Nan is twice-divorced with no regrets.
Viktor is not just anyone,I grump back.He’s the most accomplished man at Monarch.I’m never going to find another boyfriend that’s his equal.Now I regret my decision to aim high when it came to dating.
Do you think he’s moping about you right now?she demands.
Of course not.Viktor is probably out on a date with someone like Monique, just to prove to himself that he’s over me.
Then you do the same.She hands me a five-dollar bill and directs me to a specific market to get her can of cranberries.Luckily it’s only snowing lightly.And at least I get time to mope about how I miss Viktor with a soul-deep ache.
Soul-deep ache?Ugh, that sounds ridiculously sentimental.I am too much like Nan and my dad to wallow dramatically.Instead I buy a stress cookie along with the cranberries and eat it on the way home like a rebellious five-year-old.The peanut buttery deliciousness is the first thing I’ve really tasted since I got here two days ago.Nan is right, as always.I feel better for having gone outside and accomplished something.I put the cranberries into her pantry, next to an identical can.Of course.
I wander up to see what Nan is doing.Her craft room is an organized riot of colourful fabrics.Bernie is lying on top of a stack of quilts and eyes me suspiciously in case I try to walk him again.
Nan has a new quilt going in shades of purple, and the pieces are pinned and laid out on the table.I peer closer.On the surface, it looks like a traditional log cabin pattern, but there are subtle pattern variations.
I squint at it.Nan!Does this quilt say ‘Fuck the fascists’?
Of course it does.And if you’re not aware that Minnesota has been one of the most persecuted states under this administration, then what is your fancy college even doing?
