Page 17 of Home to Christmas Island
If you want to get anywhere tonight, for the love of god officer, drive a little faster.
And with a wink, I slam the door shut before he can reply.
Chapter 7
THE NEXT THREE DAYS GO by in a blur. Rose and I make centrepieces for the wedding tables. I sneak out on my own to do some Christmas shopping. Alba and I tick things off our Christmas Countdown: bake Christmas cookies—check. (Much to Uncle Albie’s delight.) Make paper snowflakes for the windows—check. (Rose’s are by far the prettiest.) Build a snowman—check. (It was a little haggard given the dirty, grey leftover snow Alba and I used, but it still counted. And no one was pummelled into a snowbank in the process, so I’m counting that as a win!)
Unfortunately for me, Alistair seems to pop up everywhere.
He always has a smirk and a jab to throw my way, and as much as I try to shrug it off, it still gets a rise out of me. The conversation in his car seemed almost intimate—and it only made me want to avoid him even more. I managed to keep entirely away from him at the pub last night, distracted by conversations with people I’ve known my entire life. But I noticed him glance over at me a few times. I still don’t know what to make of that.
Alba, meanwhile, is getting more and more delusional that there’s something going on between us. She noticed him looking my way at the bar too, and this morning she’s finding all kinds of creative ways to drop him into the conversation.
I mean, I’ve known since I was thirteen that I much prefer women, she says, whisking milk in a pot over the stove in her kitchen. She’s wearing a red ugly Christmas sweater that I plan to steal: it has a smiling gingerbread man on the front with the words, Let’s get baked, in green letters.
But even I can admit he’s not hard to look at. Alba goes on about Alistair, cackling to herself and winking at me. What’s the harm in a little fun, Cousin?
I groan. What’s his deal anyway? Why did he come here?
She straightens at this, her face going serious. I’m not totally sure. I think he wanted a change. I get the feeling he wanted to get away from something, or someone. He seems to like stability, routine. And he likes to keep busy, that’s for sure. You two definitely have that in common. I don’t acknowledge this, so she goes on. He’s very handy, always fixing up things here and there, she says before throwing in a bit too casually, Including at the lake house. You really should see what he’s done with it.
I say nothing and she doesn’t push. But I mull this over, staring out the window towards the sun rising through the trees. Out of nowhere I ask her, Did he ever date anyone after moving here? I expect her to give me a knowing look at the question, but she only nods. I feel both relieved that she isn’t teasing me and dread at whatever she’s about to say next.
You remember Catherine Murphy from high school? She was in the grade above us. They dated for a bit, but then she got a job in Charlottetown and that was the end of that.
I think I hate this. Catherine is beautiful and smart, but she’s also kind of meek. Timid. And definitely a rule-follower like him. I feel annoyed that this isn’t the sort of person I imagined him wanting to date. I pick at my cuticles in irritation, not wanting to make eye contact with Alba, who I fear is already reading way too much into this.
How are things with Justin? Alba asks suddenly, her voice dripping with disdain and her eyes firmly locked on the pot of milk in front of her.
I can’t quite bring myself to meet her eyes either, so I pretend I’m still examining my nails. But away from the ship, hundreds of kilometres away from him, I finally admit to her, He’s kind of an asshole.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a look of something like relief pass over Alba’s face. This makes me feel strangely guilty.
He is an asshole Flora. And I think he’s jealous of how talented you are. I can’t stand that guy. She’s made her feelings about him known a number of times, but I didn’t let it bother me. I didn’t even let it sink in. I think I’ve gotten into the habit of dissociating from my life, and because I was happy to have someone else decide for me, it was easy to sweep her comments under the rug.
Alba places a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of me. It’s covered in whipped cream, marshmallows, and tiny snowflake sprinkles. I normally start my day with coffee, but this is another item on our Christmas Countdown: make a wish over a cup of hot chocolate.
Tell me it’s done this time, Alba says. I nod, feeling rotten as the weight of her obvious dislike settles into me. It’s not that I’m bothered that she never liked Justin. I guess I’m irritated with myself for letting it go on so long. My cousin shakes her head when I don’t say anything more and adds, It’s like he always managed to snuff the light out of you.
Alba takes my face in her hands. He never deserved you, she says, lifting my cheeks higher so my eyes finally meet hers. Again, that feeling resembling shame winds its way through me. Now, block his number and be done with it.
I have to look away before I can answer, slinking backwards and out of her grasp.
Well, I’ll have to see him when we’re back on the boat—
You’re going back? I raise my eyes to hers automatically at the shift in her tone. The look she gives me is so full of hurt I can’t breathe.
I mean, yeah, eventually. My job is there. What else am I going to do?
She stares at me hard. I feel embarrassed but I refuse to look away again. I can feel my face heating. She says, like she’s been rehearsing this, Why don’t you try, just once, leaning into and learning to live with the hurt, instead of running away from it?
Her words sting, but I can feel her holding herself back from whatever it is she really wants to say. I’m not sure what I think will come out of her mouth when she speaks again, but it isn’t this: When are you going to the cemetery?
All the air leaves my lungs. It feels like a tidal wave slamming into my chest.
I don’t know, I say, knowing full well that it’s something I have to do eventually. Terrified that when I see her headstone, I will unravel completely. I try to shove the feelings aside.
You should go and see her, Alba says gently, her arms squeezing around me. I’ll come with you; we can go together.
