The chicken bake turned out half decent.
I watch as Jesse and Penny take bites. No one’s complaining.
“Hey, don’t forget we need to wash those sweaters for our picture on Christmas morning,” I remind Fia, and Jesse chuckles.
“Still doing that?” he asks.
“It’s tradition, Jesse.” Fia smirks.
“Do you remember the year the carolers showed up and your Nan was so excited she just decided to join them on the spot?” Jesse asks, laughing to himself, and I can’t help but reminisce, too.
“I was so embarrassed, she just ran out the door and followed them, leaving us in our ugly sweaters on the front porch,” I reply with a hearty laugh.
Fia’s eyes dart between us, a small smile playing on her lips. No doubt happy that Jesse and I arefriendlyagain.
“She was the best.” Fia smiles to herself, and I know if we say one more word, someone’s going to end up in tears.
So I stay quiet, looking up at the old, crooked tree, the strands of lights twinkling next to the crackling fireplace, and the two people across from me.
A wave of guilt simmers in my gut, one that’s haunted me all damn week.
Guilt for trying to push Fia from this home, even if it’s still what I think would be best in the long run.
Guilt for not visiting Wilmington often the last few years, for thinking I had more time, or maybe not thinking about the time at all.
And then there’s Jesse.
He wasn’t wrong when he said he knew every detail about me. The things that made me tick, my biggest hopes, my fears. Thereonce was a time I shared that all with him. And if I’m being honest, I wonder what it would be like to share them again with him.
But that’s where the guilt comes in.
I slept with him last night when I knew I had to leave again.
In five days, I’ll be packing up my convertible and heading home.
He’s not some one-night stand I met at a wedding. He’s not an easy goodbye.
I’ve let myself slip into the cozy daydream that Christmas brings, but I can’t let myself forget what lies outside of this bubble.
We have separate lives. All three of us.
“Thanks for making this again.” Fia eats the last morsel off her plate, and Jesse pats his stomach.
I hold my fork, still chewing, deep in thought, because there’s another thing I feel guilty about. Tomorrow, I might drive to the prison to see my brother. I can’t go home, after all ofthis, without finding out if he’d be willing to sell the house.
Maybe he’ll be thrilled to get a third of the money—he can use it to start life again in a few months. I doubt there’s anything else we can talk about, if he’ll even agree to see me.
“I need to talk to you both about something that’s happening tomorrow.” I abruptly interrupt Fia and Jesse’s conversation about Tank.
They turn slowly to look at each other, and my stomach squeezes.
“Why are you two looking at each other like that?” I ask, feeling exposed.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something, too,” Jesse starts, and now I really feel sick.
“Okay…you go first,”I reply shakily.
Fia clears her throat, and I drop my fork. It clinks off the ceramic plate. They definitely aren’t tellingme something.
