Overdue - 35

It took longer than anticipated to find the time to move the rest of my belongings over to Macon’s house. After Thanksgiving came the dreaded Black Friday, and then my little store prepared for the following Small Business Saturday. Amelia Louisa had pulled off the miracle of arranging a signing with Susie Corners, a celebrated but reclusive children’s picture book author and illustrator who lived on a farm outside of town. She’d only ever done one event at the Tick-Tock, and it had been before my time. Susie was odd and prickly, but she arrived in her trademark overalls, and her readers (and Jo) were euphoric. For the first time ever, Bildungsroman was slammed from opening to closing, and we had lines at the registers all day.

And then—extraordinarily—we stayed busy.

November slipped into December, and Mika went all out with the holiday decor. Inspired by the piles of shipping boxes in our back room, she trimmed the cardboard into enormous three-dimensional trees and menorahs and wreaths and dreidels and moons and stars. She crafted stockings and a plate of cookies for our fireplace, and Santa’s leg to dangle above the flames. She snipped toilet paper rolls into rings and strung them into countless garlands. And everything was twisted and sparkling with white fairy lights. It was a breathtaking sight. Many new customers walked in the door just to admire her creations.

Macon applied for the reference job and was immediately called in for an interview. I was proud of him and not the least bit surprised that they viewed him as a strong candidate. He reported that it had gone well but declined to speculate on his chances. He seemed unusually stressed out about the whole thing, probably because it had been years since he’d tried for something new. I assured him that no matter what happened, the higher-ups knew he was interested now; he would have more opportunities. But I could tell he wanted this one.

We finally made it to the micro-studio early one Sunday morning. It only took two carloads to empty it out, and we dumped everything in Edmond’s room on top of the rest of my belongings. The chaotic heap looked so distressingly familiar that I had to remind myself this wasn’t another temporary move. We’d sort everything out when we had more time.

First, I needed to keep a promise to my friends.

Macon and I donned our matching Colburn County shirts, chucked out the milk crates, installed the bathroom door, and painted the walls a smoky green that Mika and Bex had picked out. After that, we scrubbed the entire studio from top to bottom and helped them carry in a new dresser. None of us could believe the transformation. The studio had gone from a depressing, bare-bones hovel to a soothing, meditative space perfect for a solo traveler.

“You might want to replace the lamp,” I said, handing over the key.

Mika and Bex laughed, but it felt symbolic to leave behind this final piece of my life with Cory as I entered into my new one with Macon.

And then Macon was issued a last-minute invitation to my sister’s wedding. I don’t know why this caught us both off guard, other than I’d had numerous conversations about the wedding that year, and he’d never been involved in any of the plans before.

“You’ve been invited,” I said, hanging up with Riley and entering the bedroom.

I’d been searching for a missing sweater that I wanted to wear to work the following day. He was already in bed, but he’d overheard enough to understand. He set down his library book with clear apprehension. His expression was strained, maybe even freaked out. “To the giant wedding? The one with the possible media coverage and your entire extended family?”

I understood his dread and reluctance, and my impulse was to help him. My skin flushed as I willingly—hurriedly—provided the excuse. “It’s okay. I’ll decline on your behalf. I’ll tell them you don’t have any more vacation time this year.”

If anything, his misery increased. “Won’t it make me look bad not to be there?”

“Everyone will understand. It’s Christmas. It’s so last second.”

But he looked like he needed to be convinced. Like he wanted to be convinced. I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, cupped his unhappy face in my hands, and kissed his lips.

“It’s okay,” I murmured.

“Are you sure?”

My fingers traced over and smoothed his worry lines. “Of course.”

“Rescuing me again.” He kissed me back with more intensity. “God, I love you.”

I laughed and let him tug me into the bed. As he traveled down lower to thank me with even greater enthusiasm, the book fell to the floor. I saw stars. God, I loved him, too.

But later, when the book was back in his hands and his attention had returned to the hidden social network of trees, I lay on my side of the bed with my lamp off and wondered if it really was just the size and scope of the event, the potential media presence, the prospect of meeting my entire family at once—all of which would be genuinely overwhelming—or if an additional factor was involved. Did the wedding itself freak him out? Did marriage?

I recalled the beginning of the year when Alyssa had learned of Riley’s engagement and had asked Macon about proposing to his ex. His flattened response. There were no circumstances under which I would have proposed. It was easy to interpret this as there being no circumstances under which he would have proposed to Danielle, but a second interpretation was possible, too. And when I’d asked about his high school and college girlfriends, he’d said, They’re both married with children, living lives I’ve never wanted. I knew he didn’t want children. But what about marriage? Maybe having a father who wanted nothing to do with his mother had made him resent the entire concept. Maybe because he didn’t grow up around it—when Bonnie got married, she’d left town—it was possible that he couldn’t see any value in it. And then there’d been his reaction after witnessing the awful courthouse wedding. Why bother at all?

Were these individualized cases or were they blanket statements on the subject? It was strange, after all these years, that I had no idea what he thought about marriage.

As I squirmed beside him, another wretched—and severely belated—thought occurred to me: I had no way of driving to Orlando for the wedding.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

Macon stiffened, and I heard him set down his book. “What is it?”

I rolled over and told him.

“You can borrow my car.” He smiled, relaxing with the easy solution. Grateful to be of service again. “I’ll use your bike.”

“I canceled my insurance, remember?”

The smile faded. Anything related to driving fell into the category of things that he didn’t like taking chances with. He thought for a moment. “What about Cory?”

It was jarring to hear that name come out of Macon’s mouth in Macon’s bed.

“What about him? He’s not going to the wedding.”

“But is he going home for Christmas? Do you think he’d give you a ride?”

It was a smart idea. And a generous one, an act of trust and love. I scooted against him—kissing up his arm, his shoulder, his face, shoving my arms around his back, crawling onto his lap, climbing up him, wanting to touch and hold every part of him, unable to get enough.

It turned out that Cory was going to Florida, and he was happy to give me a ride back to Ridgetop, but he wasn’t leaving early enough for me to participate in all the necessary wedding preparations. Macon was trying to convince me to let him pay for an expensive, one-way plane ticket to Orlando when my sister stepped in and saved the day. “We’ll drive you there,” Riley said. Her apartment in Atlanta was two and a half hours away. She and Jess offered to drive north to pick me up, and then we’d all make the long haul down to Orlando together.

“Surely you don’t have time for that,” I said. Jess would only have just arrived from Turkey. She’d been granted a very limited window of leave.

“We want to see your store,” Riley said, and then her tone darkened. “And I want to meet this new guy you’ve already shacked up with.”

“I told you, he’s not exactly new .”

Riley harrumphed. “Then why isn’t he coming to my wedding?”

When I’d told her I’d moved in with him, she’d been happier for me than my parents had but still with significant reservations. In her shoes, I would have felt suspicious and protective, too. I decided not to tell Macon because I didn’t want to give him any more reasons to be anxious about their visit. He already felt guilty for avoiding their wedding. Riley and Jess would arrive on a Sunday, stay with us through Monday, and then I’d leave with them early on Tuesday morning. Macon and I borrowed an air mattress from Alyssa and set it up in his study. Then we frowned at the inflated object with concern.

“Where have your previous guests stayed?” I asked.

“Same place you did that first time—on the couch.”

“What about Bonnie?” Remembering his couch, I was offended for Bonnie’s sake.

“She stayed with my mom. You’re the only one I ever offered the bed to.”

I swooned.

On Sunday, I hurried home from work to help him. Because Macon’s love language was food, he’d been preparing dinner for hours: butternut squash ravioli with a sage béchamel sauce, a Bibb lettuce and endive salad, smashed garlicky fingerling potatoes, and a sticky toffee pudding for dessert. We were still cooking when our guests arrived. Jess slung their bags on the floor and threw her arms around me. “Whaaaaaat this place is like a storybook!” She shouted over my shoulder toward Macon, who was lingering in the kitchen, “It smells amazing in here!”

I always forgot how loud Jess was, but I loved her warm energy. Her body was strong, and her presence was huge. Her hair was loose tonight but on game days, she wore it in a high, tight bun that meant serious business. Her expression was stoic and legendarily intimidating, confident in her status as an elite on the court. But off court, she was an energetic goofball.

Riley looked like what she was: a younger, tougher, nurse version of me. Her blond hair was bluntly but stylishly cropped, and since she’d started dating Jess, her body had grown more athletic, which suited her. We hugged and held on tightly. Eighteen months had passed since we’d last seen each other, when Cory and I had driven down to Atlanta for a game. It had been too long, and a lot had changed.

Macon stepped into the room, looking nervous, though less than I’d anticipated. His professional work face was on, which was masking most of it. But now that I recognized his shyness, it was easier for me to spot it. Jess introduced herself enthusiastically and shook his hand. He glanced down in surprise, and I hid a smile. The roughness of her hands had startled me the first time, too. I’d been worried that she might overwhelm him, but since her friendliness was authentic, he responded to it in kind, easing another notch. My sister was the challenge.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” he said. “I’ve been hearing stories about you for years.”

Riley was polite but reserved as she thanked him for hosting them.

I showed Riley and Jess around the house, pointing out everything we’d done and still planned to do, so Macon could finish up in the kitchen without anybody underfoot and have a moment to collect himself again. They were impressed, which was gratifying, and Jess sighed with wistful envy. “We won’t be able to settle down like this for years,” she said, shooting an apologetic look toward my sister. She was referring to playing overseas in the offseason, plus the potential of being traded to another team in another city.

But Riley just said, “We have the rest of our lives,” and I could tell it was a common reassurance. As she reached for her fiancée’s hand, Riley’s engagement ring sparkled.

Settle down , Jess had said. I did feel settled, or at least I figured I would once I had time to settle. But I still didn’t think of this house as ours, because it wasn’t. It belonged to Macon. That unsettled feeling cracked through my exterior again and slithered inside. I grabbed hold of its tail and flung it back out.

He called out that dinner was ready, and we helped him carry the dishes to the table and pour the sparkling wine. Our small feast looked and smelled as festive as the season. We raised our glasses, toasted the brides-to-be, and dug in.

“Dear lord,” Jess said. “Is this ravioli handmade?”

“Macon makes everything from scratch,” I gushed. “And the vegetables and herbs are all from his garden.”

“Not to bring up your ex, Iggy,” my sister said, beginning to relax into her usual self, “but this is way better than eating with you and Cory.”

“ Riley ,” Jess and I said together.

But Macon laughed, not minding that particular comparison.

“There was a lot of frozen pizza,” Riley said.

“Who do you think has been feeding your sister vegetables all these years?” Macon said, and they clinked glasses.

“Nothing wrong with a frozen pizza,” Jess said.

“Thank you,” I said. And then, “Actually, I don’t know why we’re defending DiGiorno all of a sudden.”

Everyone laughed, and I maneuvered the conversation to their wedding because it was what they always wanted to talk about. The dinner was enjoyable. After her austere greeting, I was relieved that Riley seemed to be putting her hesitations aside to give Macon a fair chance. I hadn’t known what to expect because I’d never introduced my family to anybody but Cory.

That night in bed, Macon said, “Your sister calls you Iggy.”

I knew where this was going. The ghost materialized back into our bedroom.

“I thought Cory was the only one who did that,” he said.

“He learned it from her.”

Half a minute later, he said, “Am I supposed to be calling you Iggy?”

I lowered my novel and looked at him in surprise.

“Is that what … your loved ones call you?”

It was sweet how unsure he sounded, and I considered my reply. “It was, once. But I’ve been Ingrid for even longer, and you are my most loved one.”

His eyebrows rose a little. After all, it had only been weeks. “Most?”

It had also been years. “Most.”

He sat with that for several seconds and then confessed, “You’re my most, too.”

The air mattress was a disaster, and Riley and Jess emerged from Macon’s study in a foul mood. They’d been bumping into each other all night and had woken up to find the mattress completely deflated. We apologized, unfairly blaming Alyssa.

“We’ll figure out something better for tonight,” I promised, as Macon shoved conciliatory piles of blueberry waffles and fluffy scrambled eggs at them.

“You’d better,” Jess said, giving us a flash of her intimidating game face, “or you’ll be the one driving our sore asses all the way to Orlando.”

“I just realized you don’t have any decorations,” Riley said, glancing around with irritation.

Understanding how much they loved Christmas, I felt bad that I hadn’t been able to deck our halls before their arrival. “We talked about it, but with the store and the move and the unfinished living room and me going away for the holiday, the effort didn’t seem worth it.”

“You always decorated your place,” she said.

It sounded like she was suggesting this wasn’t my home. “Yeah, and I have no idea where my decorations are.” I tried not to get defensive. “Somewhere between the litter box and all of my books.”

“Don’t you usually have a tree?” Jess asked Macon.

“Uh, not in the last few years. But I’m looking forward to getting one next year,” he added, with a fretful but sincere glance at me.

It was easy to imagine hanging ornaments and listening to Christmas records together, and my heart panged with longing. The exhaustion of the year was settling into my bones. Working this hard had paradoxically given me more energy—all of that forward momentum—but now that I was being forced to take nine days off for the wedding, I wondered how I would get through it. And how would the store survive without me? Until now, I’d only taken off the day after Macon and I became a couple and Thanksgiving. It nauseated me to think about being absent during such a crucial sales week. Macon was even volunteering there next weekend, and Bex was taking a few volunteer shifts, too. We were close to the required sales number, but not out of the danger zone yet. It felt like I was abandoning the store when it needed me the most. Like somehow me not being there might cause fewer customers to come in. It made no sense but plagued me all the same. I’d already made Mika promise to text me daily updates.

Thankfully, the scrumptious breakfast lifted Riley’s and Jess’s moods, and after taking turns in the bathroom, we bundled up and I walked them to Bildungsroman. The branches were bare, and the air was frosty. Macon had planted ornamental cabbages and flowering kale in our outside containers, and the storefront twinkled with its festive window decor. They posed excitedly for a ton of pictures. Jess posted the best to social media, where she had over a million followers, many of them in our region. I wasn’t sure how sizable the crossover was between basketball and books, but it was our highest-profile mention so far, and I was grateful for it.

Riley was awed by what I had accomplished inside. Since her opinion ranked second only to Macon’s, I basked in her approval. And my coworkers were thrilled to meet Jess and admire her Olympic rings tattoo and hear her stories, which made Riley feel even prouder.

Afterward, she and Jess explored the rest of downtown and grabbed lunch at a cidery while I returned home to pack. Macon and Edmond kept me company.

“A week is so long,” I said, feeling needy and clingy.

“At least the wedding will keep you busy,” he said. “Hopefully the time will pass quickly.” It was a valiant attempt at optimism, especially considering the source, but Macon was lying supine on the bed, equally morose. I wondered if I should have tried to convince him to come with me, but it still seemed cruel to force him into a situation that I knew would make him miserable.

I held up my red dress for him before packing it away in my suitcase.

Macon groaned at the ceiling. “Nobody there will appreciate that dress the way I do.”

His anguish lifted my spirits a smidge. “I should hope not.”

He suddenly sat up. “I forgot to thank your sister.”

“For what?” I was taken aback.

“That dress.”

It made me laugh, but his mood slipped back into melancholy, and his body slumped back into repose. “I’ll never forget you walking toward me through that crowd. This crimson beacon.”

I lay down beside him on the bed. Edmond hopped off. We snuggled into each other, locking fingers, and stayed there quietly for several minutes.

“I’ll be back soon,” I whispered.

“You just got here, and you’re already leaving.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was the same unbearable sadness that was pressing down upon me. “I haven’t even unpacked, and I’m already packing.”

He poked me in a way that said yes and also that was a good one .

We were tired. We fell asleep together, jolting awake to Jess’s voice. “Aw,” she said, grinning at us from the doorway.

I bolted upright with a racing heart, in the disoriented panic that sometimes occurs after an unplanned nap. “I have to pack!”

Macon swept me back down onto the bed and into his arms. “You aren’t leaving yet. I’ll help you finish tonight.” He sealed the promise with a kiss to my forehead. It felt so comforting to be coddled that I almost forgot about Jess. Then I realized my sister was standing behind her, scrutinizing us.

I was surprised that Macon’s shyness hadn’t kicked in; I didn’t know all of his limits yet. It gladdened me that he was comfortable showing affection in front of other people. I leaned into his hug and didn’t want him to ever let go.

After dinner, a chickpea potpie with fresh thyme and a golden lattice crust, we filled two thermoses with peppermint hot chocolate to share (because we didn’t own four), tuned in to the Christmas radio station, and drove to Thistle Lake. On one of the streets behind the lake was a stretch of garish and spectacularly overdecorated houses. The road was slow and crowded, and Riley and Jess rolled down the windows and demanded that Macon turn up the volume. We cruised the lighted thoroughfare three times, my sister and her fiancée singing at the top of their lungs and delighting in the lawn crammed with hundreds of kitsch vintage blow molds, the Ferris wheel stuffed with teddy bears wearing Santa hats, and the McMansion frosted in an elaborate gingerbread overlay with rainbow sugary icicles. I joined in for some of the songs, and Macon laughed the whole time, embarrassed but happy.

“Man,” Jess said as we were heading back. “I miss shit like this when I’m in Istanbul.”

“American tackiness?” Macon said.

“ Yes . I love it.”

“You’re going to Disney World after the season ends for your honeymoon, right?” he asked.

Jess laughed. “I hear the judgment in your voice.”

“I swear that was my normal voice.”

“Have you ever been to Disney World?” Riley asked him.

Macon smiled because he knew this was a test. My family didn’t travel much outside of Florida when I was a kid, but we’d spent a fair amount of time at the theme parks near our house. I wasn’t fanatical like Riley and Jess, but I did have a fondness for them, and Macon knew it. “Once,” he said. “My aunt took me when I was seven, maybe eight.”

“I’m imagining a tiny, grouchy you in Mickey ears, and it’s adorable,” I said.

“I had a good time,” he insisted.

“We’ve gotta get you back there,” Jess said. “Next time you visit, we’ll all go.”

It had never occurred to me to ask Macon if he would ever go to a theme park with my family. It was almost impossible to imagine him riding a flying elephant. “ Would you consider going?” I asked.

His head cocked as he pondered the question for several seconds. “I would be amenable to joining you.”

Amenable! He actually said that. As Riley and Jess cracked up, my heart swelled, and I wanted to eat him up, I loved him so much.

He frowned. “No ears.”

“I would never,” I promised.

Macon and I gave our bed to Riley and Jess because we’d forgotten to figure out the air mattress situation, and I believed my sister might murder me if she wasn’t properly rested before our road trip. Also, I felt guilty for giving an air mattress to a professional athlete whose livelihood depended on taking care of her body. As we slowly sank to the study floor in the pitch dark, we agreed that we should turn Edmond’s room into a guest bedroom before my parents’ visit.

“We’ll have to buy a bed,” I said miserably. “Mattresses are so expensive.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, I’ll figure it out. I’ll find a way to pay for half.”

“Ingrid.”

“I will, I’ll figure it out.”

“Would you please let me do this for you? For us?”

The air mattress reached a new deflation point, and our bodies rolled into each other. As we struggled away, he accidentally grazed my face and felt my tears. “Oh my God.” He sounded worried. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to. You can pay for half. We haven’t talked about finances yet—”

“It’s not that,” I said.

“It’s not?”

“It’s not only that.”

“What’s the matter?”

I sniffled. “I hate crying in front of you now.”

“ Why? ”

“Because I’ve done it so much this year. And because of your mom. You don’t need any more—”

“Please leave her out of this. I promise it’s not the same thing. I want you to be able to cry in front of me. What’s going on?”

“It’s just … I’m going to miss you so much. I don’t want to go.”

Although we were already pressed against each other, he gathered me even closer. He buried his face in my hair, inhaled, and sighed. “Mango citrus.” And then he swore, readjusting his back against the floor. “I’ll miss you, too, but I’ll be right here when you return.”

“Not right here, I hope.”

He laughed and kissed the side of my neck. “Even when you’re sad, you’re funny.”

“I’m very sad.”

He kissed my throat. My lips.

“Very sad,” I said again. Less sadly.

I kissed him back and felt him smile against me. Our hands roamed. Our mouths. We crawled off the rustling air mattress. The hardwood was cold underneath us, so our shirts and socks stayed on. In the darkness, his hands found my hips, guiding us both. He pushed into me and stifled a groan. I bit his lip to further silence him. He pushed in deeper, and I bit my own. I rocked slowly, taking my time. We gripped on to each other, searching for more comfortable positions, pushing and rocking, promising ourselves there was no reason to hurry.

I grew tearful again in the morning, and our kiss goodbye was wet. I couldn’t make sense of why I was so upset over one week apart. I tried to stay upbeat in the car for Riley and Jess, pretending I was only worried about leaving the store. I didn’t want to put a damper on their celebration. Also, I was highly aware that immediately after they married, Jess would fly back out of the country while I would be returning to Macon. Sulking would have been unkind.

We’d not been on the road for long when Riley swiveled around in the passenger seat to interrogate me. “So, when are you gonna get another car?”

“I don’t know that I am,” I said, surprising myself. “Maybe we’ll get a second e-bike and share his car.” We hadn’t discussed it, but Macon loved my bike, and it made sense, financially and environmentally. His house was within easy distance of my store. “He could put me on his car insurance, right?”

Jess glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You and Cory were never on each other’s insurance?”

“No, we had our own cars. We didn’t need to be.”

“We’re on each other’s insurance,” Riley said pointing between her and Jess.

“Yeah, but you’re getting married,” I said.

Riley shrugged. “We did it a couple of years ago.”

It felt as if I’d fallen into a trap, but I didn’t quite understand what it was. Riley clarified it with her next question. “Do you think you’ll marry Macon?”

I gaped at her boldness, then shook my head with a sputtering laugh.

“Is that a no?” Riley asked.

I turned my gaze away from her. “No.”

“So is that a yes?”

“We’ve been together for six weeks. We haven’t exactly talked about it.”

“But you moved in together.”

“Yeah, because we’ve known each other for years.” How many times did I have to repeat it?

“Does Macon want to get married someday?”

“Like I said”—my voice tightened—“we haven’t discussed it.”

“But do you know how he feels about marriage in general? Does he ever want to get married?”

There were no circumstances under which I would have proposed.

They’re both married with children, living lives I’ve never wanted.

Why bother at all?

The back seat was hot. “I don’t know.”

“Do you ever want to get married?”

Boiling. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” Jess said, finally interrupting.

“No, this is important.” Riley removed her sunglasses to prove her point. “You moved in with a guy without talking about the future. He’s had a number of long-term girlfriends, none of whom he married. And if neither of you ever wants to get married, that’s fine! But if one of you does and the other doesn’t … Iggy. It’s not your house.”

“I know!” I snapped.

My sister’s voice cracked and softened. “It’s just that I don’t want another eleven years to pass before you figure this out, because you’d be the one who would have to leave. You’d be the one starting over with nothing.”

I was stunned. I felt ambushed. I didn’t know what to say.

“Listen, I like the guy,” she said, still gently. “He’s kind and respectful, he’s helped you so much with the bookstore and everything else this year, he let you paint his house your favorite colors, and he goggles at you like…”

“You’re the only person in any room,” Jess said.

“Exactly,” Riley said. “Your friendship reminds me of what you had with Cory, but your interests seem a lot more compatible. Macon seems like a guy who’d rather stay at home.”

“ I’d rather stay at home.”

“I know. That’s what I mean.” When I didn’t say anything else, her shoulders drooped, and she put her sunglasses back on. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I’m sure everything is fine. Just … think about having a conversation with him about this before you unpack all those boxes.”