Page 37 of Check the Halls
“Dad said he didn’t want me to get one.”
“He didn’t want you dating a hockey player either,” he says, completely unfazed at my shock. “How’s that working out for him?”
I laugh, even as my chest aches with love for him. Ben has this way of wearing people down with that easy smile and confidence. My parents didn’t stand a chance.
“You seem to have broken them,” I admit, cuddling Cheshire closer.
“He loves me.”
It’s true. Though my parents both still seem anxious about what Ben’s NHL prospects could mean for my future. So do I, if I’m being honest. What if the team he’s drafted to is really far away? I’m starting at Dalhousie University in the Fall. After I finish my Bachelor’s degree, I intend to get my MBA. I don’t know what those plans will mean for our relationship or how to talk to Ben about my concerns.
The kitten squirms in my arms and I set him down on my bed where he immediately starts to paw at the comforter, making biscuits. As we watch the kitten arch his back and yawn, my mind continues to come up with worst-case scenarios. What if Ben gets called up right after the NHL draft? It’s only six months away and the uncertainty is already driving me insane.
“I can see the wheels spinning, Madness,” Ben sighs, slipping his hand into mine and interlocking our fingers. “Everything will work out. I promise.”
He always makes everything feel so simple, so solid. But even with his confidence that things will be fine, he can’t always silence the fears that live in the back of my mind.
The kitten has moved into Ben’s lap, curling himself into a tiny little ball, his face hidden.
“Hi, Cheshire,” I whisper. The tiny orange head popsup, acknowledging that it is in fact his name before dropping back down.
The shock of the gift has worn off and my eyes fill with tears and I wipe them away. I hate crying in front of people. It makes me feel too vulnerable. Too exposed.
“Hey,” Ben says soothingly as he cups my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a single thing,” I say, leaning into his touch. “He’s perfect.”
He smiles as he strokes my cheek. “Then you match.”
NOW
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
If there is a more infuriating question than the one my fiancé just asked me, I’m unaware of its existence.
“Gee. I don’t know, Derek. Am I?” I just finished reading him the text his mother sent. In it, she informed me she’s booked an appointment for me with her hairstylist two days before the wedding to ‘tone down’ my hair. When I asked her what ‘tone down’ meant, she explained that the treatment will make my hair less red.
I told her that I didn’t want to change my hair colour for my wedding.
She responded that she didn’t want me to look like a ‘flaming roll of toilet paper’ in the pictures.
“It was a joke,” he insists as he takes another sip of coffee before setting down the mug and picking up his phone.
I scoff. Kathleen has never shown any hint of having a sense of humour; it’s highly unlikely she’s developed one at this stage in her life.
“We both know that it wasn’t. Even if it were, can you at least admit it wasn’t funny?” I stare at him while he stares at his screen. I don’t think I’m asking for too much, I just want him to take my side for once.
When he finally raises his gaze to mine, my face must match my mood because he softens his tone.
“She was only trying to help.”
“Well, which one is it, Derek? Was she joking or trying to help?” I walk away from him, grab my yoga bag and throw it over my shoulder. “And help what, exactly? Save our wedding guests from my natural hair colour?”
I know my hair is a lot. Forget main character energy, it has always been the star of its own one-woman show. I didn’t always love the colour. In fact, I spent most of my childhood wishing to be blonde or brunette. But over the years it has grown on me. Literally. Plus, it’s the same vibrant shade my dad’s was and I treasure that connection to his memory.
“What do you want me to do, Madelyn?”
I fight the sting in my eyes by blinking rapidly. I won’t give Kathleen the satisfaction of making me cry, even if she’s not here to witness it.
