Page 77 of One Foggy Christmas
On the sidewalk, the Ghost of Christmas Past says a famous line fromA Christmas Carolto a watching crowd. “I told youthese were shadows of the things that have been, that they are what they are, do not blame me!”
The words strike deep into my soul as my eyes drift to Nash. He’s what remains from the choices I made years ago. I can’t go back and change marrying him or avoid the path I put myself on. The thought weighs like a brick in my heart, tanking it down into my ribcage.
“I’m glad you came out today.” He smiles back at me. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m worried about myself,” I mutter.
“Did you watch Tate’s funeral?”
“I did. It was helpful. Thanks for finding it for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I saw in the video that you were there. Gutsy to come all that way when you knew I had a boyfriend.”
“You didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“What do you call Stetson, then?” I scoff.
“Anex-boyfriend. Stetson broke up with you the week before you moved to Chicago because he was upset you accepted the internship and were moving away.”
My brows lower in absolute shock.
I can’t believe Stetson would do something like that.
I’ll have to ask Autumn about it later. My current husband isn’t likely to give me the details I’m seeking. But I had to have been heartbroken or just really mad.
“Besides,” Nash continues, “I didn’t come to Tate’s funeral to steal your heart away from Stetson. I came because I knew firsthand how difficult losing a brother is.”
“Oh, right.” A dawn of recognition hits, and guilt wraps around my stomach. “I forgot your brother died too.”
“It’s okay.”
“You probably think I'm so selfish that I didn’t remember, that I only think about myself.”
“You've been through a lot in the last month and a half. Youshouldbe thinking about yourself. And a lot of information is being thrown at you right now.”
“I know, but I'm sure this is hard for you too, and I’m not giving a lot in return.”
His green eyes soften. “My love for you isn’t a transactional thing. It’s constant. No matter what.”
I glance down, blinking the sting of tears away. It’s overwhelming to be loved that much and not feel the same. I don’t know how to reconcile that in my mind.
“But I will say,” Nash’s tone lightens, “you’re different.”
“How so?”
A playful smile smears across his lips. “For starters, the old you was obsessed with me, and this version…not so much.”
“Obsessed with you?”
“That’s right.” He leans back, resting his foot over his knee with all the confidence in the world.
In the hospital, Nash’s cockiness rubbed me the wrong way, but now I think it’s more about him being comfortable with who he is.
I envy that so much.
I’ve never felt moreuncomfortable with my own identity.
