Page 40 of Not In The Christmas Plan
Whenshe comes home, I correct myself, moving the final batch of shortbread cookies to a cooling rack.
A Christmas song Grant and I slow danced to starts playing from the speakers in the living room and my stomach twists. I rush to my phone and fast forward to the next song so I don’t have to think about how much I miss him. What’s done is done. I can’t let myself regret ending what we had because I did it to protect myself. Life must go on, and eventually, my heart will get the message.
As the next song starts up, I hear the crunch of tires as a car approaches the house. My pulse leaps, only to drop when I see Ms. Thomas pulling into her driveway.
I shake off the foolish disappointment that it’s not... well, it doesn’t matter. This is great timing anyway since I haven’t given Ms. Thomas her cookies yet.
Back in the kitchen, I reach for a lower cabinet to get a storage bin, but the child lock I installed sticks. Looks like I’m keeping everybody in this house safe. The babiesandIvy and Braxton. At the very least, Ivy and Braxton will get a mental workout opening these things.
I’m able to slip my fingers inside to push down, then pull out with the other hand. It takes some grunting and finagling, but I finally get it open, pulling with so much force that the corner smacks my knee.
“Ahh!”
Pain explodes down my leg, sharp enough to cause my eyes to water and I drop to the ground with my knee tucked to my chest.
How is it that I’ve managed to turn something meant to protect into something that hurts?
I rock back and forth, but while the pain recedes, the tears don’t. Even when I squeeze my eyes shut, they keep coming, hot and unrelenting.
All the planning, all the positive thinking has come down to this—an illusion of control shattered by a stupid piece of wood. Life’s way of letting me know none of this was ever going to work.
Suddenly, I’m seventeen again, celebrating the word “remission” and thinking Dad still had a long life ahead of him. Monitoring his diet to ensure he did. Constantly calling while away at college then working at the firm and between caseloads to ensure he was taking his daily walks and vitamins as seriously as I took my love for him. Only to lose him in a car accident.
This time I tried to perfect Christmas, hoping that if everything was just right, Ivy would come home.
Maybe the problem isn’t that I keep losing things. Maybe it’s that I keep hoping I won’t.
I don’t know how long I sit there. Eventually the tears dry even when the ache doesn’t, but I push myself up, wipe my face, and look at the cookies. It’s still Christmas Eve, and I made a promise to Ms. Thomas.
Ms. Thomas’s eyes go wide when she sees me standing on her porch. “Eve, what are you doing here?”
I thrust the container toward her. “I brought the cookies for you. Just like I promised!”
She blinks at them, caught off guard. “Oh, you remembered. Wonderful. I can’t wait to eat them.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You should have one right now,” I say. “They’re fresh out the oven, so it’s the best time.”
“Oh, I don’t know aboutright nowright now.” Ms. Thomas lets out a nervous laugh. “I just got back from the market where you know they have so many treats and…” She trails off, eyeing me.
I try to muster a smile, but that little breakdown in the kitchen has me feeling as fragile as a glass ornament. My lower lip quivers, breath shakes with each inhale that I can’t control. One wrong move, and I’m bound to shatter. I need one thing to go right. Just one. I need Ms. Thomas to eat a cookie and tell me it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
Ms. Thomas glances at the cookies again, then opens the lid. “You know what,” she says softly, “I could go for something a little sweet right now.”
She briefly hesitates then shoves it into her mouth with her eyes closed as if bracing for impact. I hold my breath.
Her eyes pop open and she stares at me in wonder. “Eve, these are… amazing.”
A wave of relief washes over me. “Do you really like them? You promise you’re not just saying that?”
“Oh no honey, I never joke about desserts.” Her smile is warm and authentic. “You did an amazing job. Really.”
I sniff as, once again, my emotions threaten to take over.
Ms. Thomas’s eyes are full of concern. “You look like you could use a big mug of hot chocolate. Why don’t you come on in, out of the cold.”
I sniff again. “That sounds great.”
