Page 22 of Her Christmas Fix
I mean, of course I could handle it. I’ve been managing my fame and lack of privacy for over a decade, but I also don’t want anything to pierce the protective bubble he’s built around me. Not when it’s going to end sooner than I think either of us wants.
We’re careful not to talk about that ending too much. But neither do we make promises we can’t keep. Which is why I’m walking into the house by myself while he’s on his way to Portland to pick up the replacement flooring. He didn’t ask or seem to expect me to wait for him for the big reveal.
This is my house, and he’s not going to be a part of it once this job is finished. I’m not even sure he’ll be the contractor I hire to finish the upstairs. It will take less time than the mainfloor, and although I want Griffin involved, how can I expect to balance my feelings for him and the boundaries that will need to be in place?
It’s not like I won’t be returning to Wild Rose Point, but I can’t imagine he would want to deal with the complications of my life. I don’t want to deal with them anymore. It’s gotten old. Not acting, but the life of a nomad is rough. My time here has made me realize how badly I crave normal.
I crave Griffin, most of all. But I don’t know how we could make this work, and I’m not strong enough to stay friends or colleagues or whatever you call it, then watch him move on with a life that I’m not a part of.
I come around the corner from the entry into the open-plan kitchen and living room. Tears blur my vision before I can stop them. It’s perfect. Not exactly what the designer I first hired had planned, but this space isme, and I love it even more because I put the work in to create it. To fix what Daniel took from me.
The cabinets and appliances have been stored in the garage since Griffin and his crew walked off the job site. I’m lucky he didn’t sell everything, because I don’t know if I could have replaced it so quickly.
I chose painted cabinets in a muted robin’s-egg blue, my grandmother’s favorite. The knobs are antique brass, and, as I knew they would, the marbled granite countertops are the perfect complement, giving the space a modern look without being too sleek or fussy.
We painted all the walls a soft white because I didn’t want anything to pull attention away from the windows overlooking the ocean. The sun is shining more brightly this afternoon than usual with no clouds dimming its light. The waves sparkle like the ocean’s offering its approval.
Some of the things I ordered to make the house a home are already stacked in the garage: boxes of plates and glasses—enough to get by, anyway. The rest I want to choose with Riva’s help. But it’s a start, and for the next couple of days, I have someone to share my excitement with. And after that, when I come here without my daughter, well—I’m okay being alone. Truly I am.
My grandmother’s presence fills this space more than I thought it would. Everything I’ve held back for so long—all the feelings I’ve pushed down—they’re here too, rising to the surface.
The flooring is the last of the big projects, and because of the delay in getting it, Griffin has recruited a couple of friends from the Salty Dog Diner to come by tomorrow morning and help him install it. I’m going to, too, and not worry about who might recognize me or how they’re going to react. It’s not easy for me to trust strangers, but the people of Wild Rose Point feel like a community, even the ones I haven’t met yet.
I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand when my emotions spill over a bit. I don’t want to be alone right now, standing here thinking about what happens when Griffin finishes this job, and I have to figure out how to say goodbye.
Instead, I get in my car and drive into town. Mary Lou told me I was one of them. And I want to feel like it.
I also want to buy Griffin a Christmas present. We haven’t talked about exchanging gifts, and I don’t expect anything in return. He’s given me too much already—put his life on hold for these two weeks. Not to mention sacrificing his own goals and most of his savings instead of publicly calling me out when Daniel screwed him over.
There’s nothing I can buy that will adequately tell him how I feel or what he means to me or how grateful I am. But I used to like shopping for gifts—picking things out for people, mostly Riva and staff members—before I got so well known that taking bodyguards or shutting down a store was the only way for me tomanage my anxiety enough for a simple shopping trip. That kind of effort takes the fun out of it.
I grab the baseball hat from the passenger seat after parking at the far end of downtown. A few people notice me and say hi. Maybe I’m imagining it, but the greetings feel friendly, without any weirdness or hidden agenda thrown into the mix.
A painting in the window of the local gallery stops me mid-stride. It’s not large, an acrylic piece depicting a view of the Oregon coast. But I recognize the rocks beneath the house featured in the painting. The artist captured them at dawn, when the light fills the world with the possibility of a new day. It’s the view I see out the bank of windows in the family room. The same one Grammy would have loved if she’d been able to afford the house back then.
It’s the perfect gift for Griffin, a tangible memory of our time together and what he means to me. My throat goes tight, and I’m through the door before I can second-guess myself. The bell chimes, and a woman with silver-streaked hair and kind brown eyes looks up from behind the counter.
“Is the small painting in the window still available?” I point to the frame then curl my fingers into a fist when I realize they’re trembling.
She follows my gaze and smiles. “It is. The artist is a local, and that’s one of her favorite views.”
“It’s perfect.” The words come out rougher than I intend. “I’m fixing up the house on the bluff. That’s what I see out the window each morning. I want to give it to a friend who…well, I think he’d like it.”
“That house is a gem.” She nods. “This will make a lovely gift for your friend.”
While she wraps it, layering brown paper around the canvas with the kind of care that tells me she understands what that painting means to me, I wander the small gallery. It’s filled withmoody landscapes and whimsical abstract pieces, a selection of pottery I know Riva would love, and a series of photographs that capture Wild Rose Point in every season.
None of these artists is known to me, but I feel an affinity for what they’ve created. I can feel the love they have for their craft in each display. I used to feel that way about acting.
“I’m glad that house is getting the love it deserves,” the woman says as she ties twine around the package.
“Thank you.” I take the painting, cradling it carefully. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
My next stop is The Water Witch, a cheery metaphysical store down the street. Wind chimes announce my arrival, and I’m hit with the scent of lavender and sage, which reminds me of Grammy’s garden.
“Be right with you,” a woman calls from somewhere in the back.
