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Carl—December 24th
Idragmyselfoutof bed on Christmas Eve with a throbbing head and crusty eyes from last night. That’s what I get for indulging in a crying jag last night. Nick’s abrupt departure shattered all my dreams of a single perfect Christmas to remember. I shouldn’t be devastated that he put his career ahead of a week-old relationship that was supposed to be fake, but I really thought there was more growing between us. Until he left like it was nothing.
As I rub at gritty eyes, it strikes me that with Nick gone, there’s no one to run Tina’s craft booth at the market. Nick might not be the man I hoped he was, ditching us at the drop of a hat like that, but Tina deserves better. Especially on the last day of the market.
So even though my head is pounding in my skull with all the implacable force of Niagara falls, I get up and go through the motions. I smile for the last-minute shoppers who are making their rounds of the market. I sell every piece that Nick left on display, replacing them with more of Tina’s art from the plastic storage bins under the tables. My sale remain steady until there’s nothing left.
Then I sell some more when Beatrice and Tina enlist Beatrice’s niece, Susan, to bring over another several full plastic totes. Tina seems surprised to see me instead of Nick running her booth, but she mostly covers up her concern.
I let her know that Nick got called back to work. It strikes me as odd that he didn’t call to let her know he was leaving town. I suppose that’s what happens when you fall for a workaholic, you get forgotten and left behind.
A more charitable part of me realizes it was late when he left because he stayed with me until the end of Eliza’s party. Nick probably didn’t want to disturb his mother’s sleep. He must be absorbed in his work now, but I assure Tina that her son will probably be in touch as soon as he can. She pats my hand, like she sees right through my optimism, and empathizes with my dashed hopes.
While Tina and Beatrice fuss over the displays and handle customers, I help Susan bring the empty totes back to Beatrice’s car and the full ones to the craft booth. We chat about the abysmal weather and the dreary drizzle of rain that matches my mood.
“If this rain keeps up, it’s going to make for a rocky start to the season. We’re supposed to be open for tubing all next week while the kids are on winter holidays. At this rate, we won’t be able to open even with the snowmakers,” Susan says as we swap out the last few boxes.
“Fingers crossed the weather cooperates and all this drizzle turns to snow.” I try to sympathize, but the gloomy weather matches my mood.
The unseasonable rain is depressing. It obliterated the dusting of snow that made me feel some kind of way about Nick. Was it really only two nights ago that we held hands through the light flurries dusting down on the light parade?
Tina and Beatrice stay to help run the booth for a few hours before I shoo them off to go warm up and rest. I sell almost everything. It makes for a busy day, but I’m glad of the distraction. The steady flow of customers keeps me from obsessing over Nick until I get home. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the evening when I had so many half-formed hopes about spending tonight with Nick.
There’s a perfunctory knock on my door shortly after I get home from closing down Tina’s craft booth. Her display materials are all jammed into my car to deliver to her after the holidays. I can’t bear to face her right now, when I’m so mad at her son. Anger and pining are a noxious cocktail in my belly, pushing me to the verge of tears or puking, or possibly both.
Saint doesn’t bother waiting for me to respond to his knock before letting himself in. He must have been worried about me. After how last night ended, I’m not surprised.
He takes one look at me and opens his arms for a hug. I fall into his embrace and let the tears flow. Saint pats my back and mutters soothing nonsense into my hair.
“I thought he was different.” I eventually pull back and swipe away the tears, angry at myself for getting so invested in something that was supposed to be fake.
“Want me to beat him up for you?” Saint jokes.
I know he doesn’t mean it, but I still shake my head vehemently. A small part of me warms at the reminder of how deeply Saint cares, even if it’s not in all the ways I once wished for. But a bigger part is horrified at the idea of him hurting someone else I care about. As if more hurts can somehow cancel each other out.
“No.” I sniffle and try to laugh at myself, though it comes out as more of a broken sob. “It wasn’t even real.”
“Huh? You lost me, seemed pretty real when you were sighing over all those romantic dates you two shared. It was like a greatest hits reel from one of those lovey-dovey movies you adore.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, that was the point. Remember how you said I should find a fake date for Eliza’s party?”
“Yes. And you shot me down.” Saint reminds me.
“Well, I reconsidered. I told you how Nick and I bumped into each other again as I was leaving the market?”
“Because you happened to wander back past his booth after we parted ways?” Saint gives me a teasing nudge and a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.
“Or because you happened to shove me toward his booth before you ditched me,” I retort, flushing at the reminder of how I’d been drawn to Nick from the start.
“You’re welcome; you love me.” Saint puffs out his chest. He’s right, I do love him, smug self-satisfied smile and all.
I hold my fingers up, pinched together but not quite touching. “Just a smidge. Anyway, we got to talking, and I explained about the party, and how nice it would be to have the whole boyfriend experience for the holidays, and he agreed. I mean, that he wanted to experience it too. And we figured since he was going back to Toronto in a few weeks anyway, there wasn’t much risk of deeper feelings, so why not?”
Saint shakes his head at me. “Babe, I love you, but that is the second most boneheaded plan you ever came up with.”
I shove him. “What’s the first?”
“Marrying me.” He kisses my temple and rubs my arms. “But that turned out alright in the end. This still might too; you’re an easy guy to love.”
