Page 39 of One Foggy Christmas
“When I graduate from law school this spring”—Stetson places his hand on top of mine, barely glancing my direction, not long enough to see my emotion—“I’m going to take Sadie somewhere special to celebrate.”
“Maybe the trip could double as a honeymoon,” my mom squeals in delight. “I’m still waiting for you two to set a wedding date.”
His fingers squeeze mine as he smiles at my mom. “No need to rush things. We’ve been together this long. We can wait and have the wedding when our ducks are in a row, and I’m graduated. Maybe next fall is a good time.”
“You could have the wedding here on the lake if you do it in the summertime,” my dad chimes in—ever the proud homeowner.
“Whatever you decide,” my mom laughs, “I’ve already told Jay to prepare his wallet. Sadie has always wanted a big wedding.”
“Sounds like she’ll need to pull extra hours at the home health and hospice to help pay for it.”
Everyone laughs at my dad’s joke except me.
Lines deepen across my forehead as my brows lower. “I want to go to Switzerland.”
“What?” Stetson asks through his chuckles.
Slowly, my face turns to his. “I want to go to Switzerland. Maybe for our honeymoon or maybe for Christmas next year.”
He looks nervously at my parents and then back to me. “You know I can’t fly.”
“No, youcouldfly; you're just scared of it, but you could do it for me because I love to travel, and you love me.”
“You think you love to travel,” my dad puffs. “Just wait until you get in a three-hour customs line. You’ll change your tune.”
“No, I won’t.” My glare snaps to my dad but finds its way back to Stetson. “I want to see the world.”
“Sorry, babe, but you’ll have to see the world with Autumn, or you could plan a trip with your parents during a busy time for me. We’ve made it this far in life without traveling the world. I’m sure we can make it the next fifty years.” He squeezes my hand again then lets go, returning to his own space and the easy conversation before I interrupted with hard questions about my wants and needs.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” I scoot my chair back and walk away as more wedding discussions happen behind me.
My feet carry me to Tate’s room. I hesitate outside, not sure I can handle the emotional agony that’s sure to accompany a walk down memory lane, but I push the door open anyway. Belongings are scattered across his dresser and bed as if he’d quickly packed as much as he could when my dad kicked him out. I shed a tear for the haphazard version of Tate that was strung out on pain meds. Different from the straight-A athlete I grew up with who always had a clean room and a smile.
In a lot of ways, I wish we could reverse the clock and go back to the time before all the bad happened. When everything in life was easier. When my parents were the people I respected most in the world. When Tate had a scholarship to play football. When Stetson was the man of my dreams.
I was happy then, naively thinking I was headed in the right direction. But one day, eight months ago, I woke up and realized my life had no real progression forward, almost like I’d already reached my destination. Every decision had already been made. I was standing water. No movement. No current taking me to new and exciting places. I woke up in the middle of the night in sheer panic, thinking, ‘Is this it? Is this all my life is?’ It scared me, suffocating me to the point that I had to look elsewhere for air. Then, one day, my professor told me about the internship in Chicago. It was the breath of fresh air I so desperately needed.I didn’t care who told me not to go or what a big mistake I was making.
I didn’t want to be stagnant anymore.
Chicago breathed life into me in ways I didn’t even know were possible. But slowly, I feel myself being pulled back into the standing water my life in Skaneateles offers.
I sink down on the edge of Tate’s mattress, a wave of depression striking me as I glance around.
If I marry Stetson, this is all life is.
A folded brown paper on Tate’s nightstand steals my attention. There’s just enough writing visible under the pile of gum, Chapstick, and papers for me to know exactly what it is.
I brush everything aside, freeing it. My lips curl into a smile as I read the note from the Cubs game that Tate had saved just in case.
Bro, I’d love to take out your sister. If she’s lying about having a boyfriend and you don’t think I’m crazy, please give her my number.
I run my fingers along Nash’s phone number, tracing the lines of his handwriting.
Life with Nash wouldn’t be stagnant. It would be a raging river. A life where I’d feel confident in my capabilities and adored for who I am.
He said earlier this week that he’d more than like me if things were different, and deep down, I know I’d more than like him too. My feelings might already be there. I just haven’t dared admit it.
Flutters of hope fill my chest, an anticipation that true happiness is within reach. But with that feeling comes a deep sadness and despair.
