Page 24 of Check the Halls
I chop the carrots with more vigor than necessary, the knife thunking against the cutting board with each slice.Across the kitchen island, Kathleen is perched on a barstool, water bottle in hand. I assured her our water was fine, but she insisted on drinking her own.
“So work is busy?”
“Very,” I sigh. Every time I put out one fire, I find three more that need extinguishing. But, I made all new spreadsheets, and updated all our vendor lists. The best part of my entire week was my meeting with Ben. It was also the most shocking part of my week. Maybe even my year.
“I’m still in love with you.”He’d said it so plainly. So matter-of-fact. And seemingly without hope or agenda. He just wanted to be honest with me and I haven’t given myself time to process how I feel about that yet.
The one thing I am certain of is it was good to see him. I felt less homesick when he was there. More like my old self again. I can’t believe how after all this time and everything that’s happened, he’s still able to make me laugh so much.
“It must be hard to find time for things,” Kathleen interrupts my reminiscing, “like…cooking a proper meal.”
The knife slips a little and I take a deep breath to calm down. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you bleed, Maddy. I force a smile. “I manage.”
She hums, taking a sip of wine. “It’s just that Derek grew up with home-cooked meals every night. I always made sure he had something nutritious, you know. Boys need that.”
Well, Derek isn’t a boy anymore, and I’m certainly not his mother.
I set the knife down carefully and wipe my hands on a towel, but say nothing. Most nights, Derek works late atthe office. I have no idea what he eats, but since he’s not wasting away, I’m sure he’s fine.
Kathleen must be getting tired of fishing so she changes her bait. “You know, dear, when I was your age, I had three kids and still managed to keep the house spotless and have dinner on the table by six. I don’t know how women today do it, working so much and trying to keep everything together.”
I turn then, gripping the counter as I face her, but I manage a little laugh. “Well, times have changed. Derek and I share responsibilities. It works for us.” Sort of. I’ve been taking care of the cleaning and laundry, mostly, and we’ve both been largely feeding ourselves. This is the first real meal I’ve cooked in weeks.
“Of course it does,” she says smoothly. “It’s just…I hope you have your priorities in the right order. Derek has a political future ahead of him. Political leaders are, at their core, public servants. And when you dedicate your life to serving the public, you need someone who will dedicate themselves to serving you. I understand that. Derek understands that. Do you?”
My vision goes hazy around the edges as my rage threatens to blind me. I take a deep centering breath. “Kathleen, with all due respect–”
“Smells good in here!” Derek’s voice sounds from the front entrance. By the time he enters the kitchen a moment later, his mother has transformed herself from brutal interrogator to doting mommy dearest. She clasps her hands in front of her face, looking at him like she can’t believe he’s really here. He wraps her up in a warm hug, telling her how good it is to see her.
When she finally steps out of his embrace she fans her face with her hands like she’s fighting tears.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen my baby boy!”
Five weeks. We were at their house five weeks ago and the woman is acting like he’s just come home from war.
Derek crosses the kitchen and gives me a peck on the cheek. “How are my two favourite girls?”
Peachy. Just peachy.
CHAPTER 9
BEN
THEN
“This one’s from 1932,” she says, flipping a page with the gentlest touch, like the book might shatter if she moved too quickly. Her baby blues light up the way they always do when she talks about things that matter most to her. “It’s got these woodcut illustrations, but they’re different from the usual ones. See how the lines are heavier here?” She leans toward me, pointing to a sketch of a young girl holding a flamingo during a croquet game.
The hardcover ofAlice's Adventures in Wonderlandpropped open on her lap looks like it’s seen better days. We’re sitting side by side on her bed, with the door open all the way in accordance with her parents’ wishes. The Halifax Hailstorm sweatshirt I bought for her keeps slipping off one shoulder and every time it does, I press my lips to the exposed skin because I can’t help myself.
I nod, even though I didn’t totally get what makes this edition special, besides the fact thatshethinks it is. But Ilove how her voice gets all soft and excited when she talks about these things, like she’s letting me in on some secret only she knows.
“You’ve got, what, like ten copies of this book now?” I tease, leaning back against her headboard.
“Eleven,” she corrects, raising her eyebrows like the number mattered. “My grandmother, Alice, started the collection. My middle name is Alice, after her. When she died, she left the books to me. But they’re all different. The covers, the illustrations, even the way the stories are translated sometimes. Like, did you know there’s a Japanese edition where the Cheshire Cat is a tanuki?”
“A what?”
“A tanuki. It’s like this little raccoon dog thing in Japan. I want one.”
