Page 69 of No Room in the Inn
Willow, please come, and please forgive me. We need to talk. I’ll save seats for you and your parents, free of charge. -N.
I swallow, my throat suddenly thick with unshed tears. And they’llstayunshed, dangit, because I refuse to cry over this man anymore. I mean, unless I find out he’s worth it.
A little voice in the back of my head says that ofcoursehe’s worth it; look at all the things he’s done for me. I push that voice aside and look at the invitation instead. When I read it, the tears finally come, though just a few of them. It’s an invite to the annual Christmas Eve dinner Granny hosted every year, and this year it’s in her honor. Tickets are fifty dollars per plate, and all proceeds will go to the inn, though I don’t know specifically for what. Granny’s money covered the costs of repairs.
I swipe at my tears, trying to get a grip on my emotions. Why is Nixon doing this? He wants me to forgive him, but he doesn’t offer any explanation—although I assume that’s why he says we need to talk.
Before I can change my mind, I’m pulling out my phone and calling him. He answers on the first ring.
“What is this?” I say, waving the invitation.
“What is…what?” he says.
Oh. Right. He can’t see me.
“This invitation,” I say. “You’re doing the dinner? How are you pulling that off? And I didn’t give you permission to do that.”
There’s silence for a second before he says, “I got some help. And do you have a problem with it?”
“No,” I say. “But you should have asked.”
I listen as he sighs. “I’m sorry. You’re right; I should have asked. But the proceeds of this will go to the inn—”
“I already paid for all of that! The repairs and everything? It’s paid for,” I say. This man makes me crazy in both the best and worst ways.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, his voice more gentle now, and I can imagine exactly what his face looks like—the way his eyes are softening, the way a little smile graces his lips. “But this money is for something special. Let me do this for you—for Granny. Please.” He hesitates for a second, then goes on. “Do what you want with the place. Sell it if you want. But at least let me do this.”
I swallow. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
I’m even more surprised to hear him chuckle. “What, that you should sell it?”
“Yeah.” I hesitate. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” he says. “But I’m not going to fight you on it anymore. Just let me do this one last thing.”
To be honest, it’s a good idea. I don’t know how he’s going to pull it off, but I love the idea of doing something to honor Granny. I sigh.
“All right. If you can make it happen, great.”
“Thank you,” he says, sounding relieved. Then, more hesitantly, he says, “Will you come?”
My mind flits to my parents, who I’m trying to forgive. I don’t know what made Nixon leave, but I’m willing to hear him out. Forgiveness is something I’m trying to be better at.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll come. But Nixon”—tears sting my eyes once more—“I still really don’t like you.” I’m more than half serious this time.
“I know, sweetheart,” he says quietly.
I ignore the fact that he called mesweetheart, and I definitely try to ignore how much I loved it. “Why did you go?”
There’s a silence, and then, “Let’s talk about it at the dinner, okay? In person.”
“Fine,” I say. “And I’m not wearing the Santa dress,” I add.
He just laughs.
***
Christmas Eve comes more quickly than I anticipated. I can’t help but think of the tree at Granny’s inn. Is Nixon there now? Is he still somewhere else? We haven’t talked since I called him, but this time I get the distinct impression that he’s purposefully giving me space, and I appreciate it.
