Page 100 of Peppermint Bark

“Let me in. We need to talk.”

Alex

At the baggage carousel, a strong hand wrapped around my bicep.

“Mr. Clarke,” he said breathlessly, like he’d chased me through the terminal.

“Connor? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pick you up.”

Nobody picks me up. I land, I get my stuff, I take a cab.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He grabbed my luggage. “Is that it?”

Yeah, that’s it. My whole life in a suitcase. Everything good, left behind.

We walked in silence to short term parking and he lifted my suitcase into a Chevy Malibu. “I never knew what kind of car you drove.”

“It’s my roommate’s,” he said sheepishly. “I borrow it when I need it.”

“I thought you were in the neighborhood.”

He pretended not to hear me as he merged onto 101. Just as well, I didn’t care.

I leaned my head on the glass, staring out the window at nothing.

“Did you have a good vacation?” he asked cheerfully.

“My father had a heart attack, Connor. It wasn’t a vacation.”

“Right,” he said. “Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up to my apartment building and cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re going to be ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be ok?” I snapped.

He shrunk and muttered, “No reason.”

And then I knew without a doubt why he picked me up, even though he had to borrow a car. My bitter laugh sounded like it was coming from outside my body.

Of course she called him. She was the only person who’d be considerate enough to make sure that I had a safe ride home after breaking my fucking heart. Of fucking course she did.

That meant Connor knew.

My head dropped onto the headrest.

“What did she say?” my voice sounded ground through a pepper mill.

He bit his lip remorsefully. “She said you probably shouldn’t be alone.”

I tried to feel righteous indignation at her for overstepping. I tried to storm out of the car. I tried to convince myself that all I needed was a hot shower, a handle of Jameson and my bed. I could sleep it off. Tomorrow, I’d go back to work and everything would be fine.

I was fucking fine, alright?

I tried, but I couldn’t muster the energy.

I ran my hand over my face in resignation.

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