But he isn’t the man I fell in love with— if he ever really was. He isn’t the man I think I’m looking at now.
Instead of believing this face was the real one beneath the masks, as she’d long believed, she’d come to believe that this face was simply another mask, one Eric knew could melt a woman’s heart and trap her in a relationship until she no longer knew which way was up.
What was real? Who was Eric? Who did he used to be? Who was he today? And was she the same person who’d married him so long ago?
Definitely not. I’ve changed, become stronger. He can’t stay, or I’ll cave to his whims all over again. I won’t be a doormat for another day.
She tried to answer his question but couldn’t remember what he’d asked. To buy herself a moment, she swallowed, smoothed her apron, and stepped toward the door.
“You don’t need to unpack if you’d rather not,” she said. “Just be sure to shut the closet door, so neither of the girls wanders in and sees the suitcase.” That puke-yellow atrocity would be noticed otherwise.
“Will do,” Eric said, and disappeared into the closet again.
As Meredith headed out of the room, she caught sight of headlights flashing through the living room window as a car pulled into the driveway, followed by another. At any moment, the girls would tumble into the house with cheerful laughs and excitement. Eric had arrived without a moment to spare. She was halfway down the stairs when his voice floated out of their room.
“It’ll be nice to have a decent mattress again after the motel one I’ve been on.”
She froze mid-step. She’d hidden a twin-size blow-up mattress and pump under the bed to avoid the issue of sleeping side by side. But before she could answer— or figure out what to say— voices came from the other side of the door. Meredith adjusted her ring, put on a smile, and turned the doorknob.
Chapter Two
Meredith opened the door wide just as Becca and Maggie picked their way up the frozen walk with their bags and boyfriends in tow.
No need to pretend for this part. Meredith felt genuinely thrilled to have her chicks back in the nest even for a few days and had wanted to meet their boyfriends for a long time now. The couples might start working on wedding plans over the holiday— if either had such news to announce. Of course, by the time any wedding could take place, the truth would be out.
Will Eric have a new wife by the time the girls get married? Will I sit alone at their weddings?
“Mom!” Becca hurried over, dropped a duffel bag at Meredith’s feet, and gave her a big hug, her cheeks cool from the winter air.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Meredith said, squeezing her firstborn. She gave her cheek a peck before pulling away, cupping Becca’s face with both hands. “You’re getting prettier all the time, and I’m not saying that just because I’m your mother.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” a handsome, athletic-looking man behind Becca said. He smiled at Meredith, though his feet seemed unable to decide where to stand, constantly shifting. Meredith opted for easing his nerves.
“You must be Brandon,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a dip of his head. He held out one hand, but Meredith ignored it and stepped around Becca to give him a hug.
“It’s so good to meet you, Brandon,” she said. “I’ve heard so many good things about you.” She pulled back then added, “Please, call me Meredith.”
Maggie came up the walk next. “Mama!”
A similar reunion occurred, with Meredith hugging both Maggie and her boyfriend, Spencer. Then she invited them all in.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said as they stomped off snow and took off coats. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll finish up a few things in the kitchen. Your father should be down soon.” She’d scarcely made it to the kitchen before Eric’s voice boomed from the staircase.
“There’s my girls!”
In the kitchen, Meredith finally poured cream into a mixing bowl. She jammed the beaters into it and flipped the switch. The sound drowned out the reunion in the living room. For the moment, everything was fine. The girls had no reason to suspect a thing. The first real challenge would be getting through dinner.
All too soon, the cream had turned into fluffy goodness. Meredith reluctantly turned off the beaters; she couldn’t justify mixing until she had her emotions in check. That would mean turning the cream into butter, and for Christmas Eve dinner, that was tantamount to disaster. She added a little vanilla extract and a tablespoon of confectioner’s sugar, mixed them into the cream on low, then covered the whipped cream with plastic wrap.
After she slipped it into the fridge, she looked at the six handmade pies in the corner. She’d gone back and forth about whether to make a pecan one— Eric was the only member of the family who liked it. By the time New Year’s came around, she always threw away more than half of his uneaten pie. Not making his favorite would have saved her time, but the girls would have noted the absence and would have pestered her with questions about why she didn’t make Dad’s favorite.
Because I didn’t want to, she thought. Because I’m tired of doing what everybody else wants.
In spite of such thoughts, she’d made the pie. Now, sitting in the upper right corner of the two rows, the pie seemed almost like a reminder of the years she’d ignored her own desires. Then again, to the left of the pecan pie sat a chocolate mousse one, her favorite flavor. This was the first year she’d made one for Christmas since their first together, when Eric insisted that chocolate wasn’t a holiday flavor. This year, he got his pecan, and she finally got her chocolate.
She brought the ham and various side dishes to the dining room then looked over the spread: Flickering votive candles floated in shallow glass bowls. The maroon linen was perfectly pressed, and the dark green napkins were folded just so. China and silver and crystal goblets were in place. Her renowned mashed potatoes, the girls’ favorite salad, her grandmother’s rolls, and more were all ready. It looked perfect. She untied her apron and went back to the kitchen to hang it on the hook in the pantry.
“Dinner’s ready,” she called.
A murmur erupted from the living room as the five of them made their way to the dining room. Meredith gave a commanding performance as the unfazed happy hostess. Becca and Brandon sat on one side of the table, with Maggie and Spencer on the other. That left the ends of the table for Eric and Meredith, which was fine with her; she wouldn’t have to worry about holding hands or giving him a peck on the lips or having to act natural if Eric slipped his arm around her shoulders.
Eric said grace, and then everyone served themselves, passing dishes around the table. As they ate, Brandon gushed over the sweet potato casserole, and Spencer declared her rolls to be even better than his mother’s. High praise indeed, she thought, assuming he meant the sentiment and wasn’t just buttering up his girlfriend’s mother.
Conversation flowed easily; the girls had so much to say about what their lives were like in big cities states away from home, about the things they loved out there and the things they missed. Any time the talk seemed to inch toward an uncomfortable pause, Meredith asked the young men something about themselves. At one point, she asked them to tell the stories of how they met Becca and Maggie— she’d heard about it from her girls, of course, but a man’s perspective was always different.
“It was about a week into the new semester,” Brandon began, “when I noticed this utterly gorgeous woman walking into my nuclear thermal hydraulics class.” Brandon squeezed Becca’s hand on the table and smiled at her. She smiled back, practically radiating joy.
Meredith had no idea what nuclear thermal hydraulics meant, but she wasn’t about to interrupt to ask— the important part of the story was coming up.
“More and more women are going into STEM programs than ever, of course,” Brandon said. “But men still make up the vast majority of the graduate program. So the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew that if I didn’t act soon, someone else woul
d steal her from me.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders. Becca leaned in and looked up at him as he went on, with a love and light in her eyes that Meredith had never seen in her daughter.
I remember wearing that very expression, she thought, a long, long time ago. She met Eric in a similar way, too. He’d slipped into their undergraduate stats class a few minutes late, sitting right by her. After that, they’d both gone out of their way to sit near each other, and by the end of the semester, they were inseparable. She’d hated the class, but she would have taken it again every semester if it had meant spending an hour with the handsome boy in the next seat.
“From that day on,” Brandon continued, “I made a point of getting to class early, staking out a spot close to the door, and saving Becca a seat with my backpack.”
Brandon’s words returned Meredith to the present. She’d probably missed part of the story. No matter; I’ll ask Maggie to tell it again later.
Becca gazed lovingly at Brandon. “He was pretty slick about it too— he took one seat in from the aisle and put his backpack on the aisle seat. I always had to hurry across campus because I taught an undergrad class right before, so I was always two minutes late. By that point, the room was full, but by some stroke of luck— or so I thought— one seat by the door was always available.” She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Somehow he slipped his backpack to the floor without my noticing, so I kept thinking how I’d lucked out by getting such a good seat.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder— a sweet action, yet one that twisted Meredith’s insides. She remembered the fluttery sensation of early love, the bubble of romantic fantasy that protected young loves from the cares of the world, making them believe that they’d live in blissful happiness forever.
Of course, all bubbles eventually burst. Most couples adjust, finding a new, deeper love and connection after the twitterpated type fade. Instead, Meredith and Eric had lapsed into an unhealthy give-and-take: she gave, he took.
“I pulled that seat-saving trick over and over again,” Brandon said with a grin. He leaned in to kiss Becca’s temple then looked up. “Took me a few weeks to ask her out— I wanted to be sure she got to know me as something other than a creepy stalker guy.”
“And I had no clue,” Becca said. “Three months after our first date, he finally told me how he’d orchestrated it all.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Not that I objected to the truth in the least.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair and sighed. “That is so sweet,” she said with an almost dreamy tone. “Not a lot of guys will put in that kind of effort these days.” She gave Brandon an approving nod. “I knew I’d like you.”
Now it was Brandon’s turn to blush slightly, but he looked pleased.
“Mom, Dad,” Maggie said. “Isn’t their story just like yours?” She motioned between her parents.
“A little, but not really,” Meredith started, even though she’d had the same thought. She found herself pushing creamed peas around her plate with a fork. “I wouldn’t say it’s exactly like—”
“Close enough,” Eric chimed in. Everyone looked at him, including Meredith, who instinctively held her breath.
What would he say next?
“I used to be quite the romantic,” Eric said. “Sat with your mom every day in stats, although sometimes she saved a seat for me. I always walked her to her next class. At the end of the day, I walked her to her apartment. Sometimes, I even brought along a rose...”
“Daddy, I had no idea,” Maggie said, clearly impressed. She gestured to her mother with her left hand. “No wonder he swept you off your feet.”
Something caught Meredith’s eye. Instead of answering, she reached for Maggie’s left hand and drew it nearer. Her ring finger bore a gorgeous solitaire.
Meredith looked at her daughter’s face then over to Spencer’s and back to Maggie’s. “This— are you— you’re—”
A huge grin broke out across Maggie face. She looked at Spencer, who was also grinning. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her closer.
“Wh— when?” Meredith managed. She wasn’t sure whether she meant when did they get engaged or when did they plan to be married.
“He popped the question two days ago,” Maggie said, but she apparently had eyes only for Spencer. “We wanted it to be a surprise.”
Eric cheerfully slapped the table with an open palm. “And what a delightful surprise it is.” He stood and held out a hand to Spencer, who rose as well and shook hands.
“I— uh, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you for your blessing first,” Spencer said.
“No worries,” Eric said. “I didn’t ask Meredith’s father either.” He pulled Spencer into a man hug, thumping his back twice before releasing him.
“Mom and Dad,” Maggie said, her eyes brimming with tears. “If Spencer and I can be half as happy as you two have been, it’ll be more than I could have dreamed of.”
With that, a floodgate of excitement opened between sisters. They talked and laughed and swapped dating stories, with Spencer and Brandon getting few words in edgewise. Eric had taken his seat again and now gazed across the table at Meredith. He seemed to be trying to say something across the seemingly vast expanse. But what?
Did his look mean that after the girls had inferred that their parents were still living happily ever after, that it was time to tell the truth? She gave him a tiny shake of her head. Not yet. Not on Christmas Eve. Not until after Christmas Day had come and gone. Preferably not until after the New Year.
Preferably not ever, she couldn’t help adding, as if that were possible.
Conversation continued to buzz across the table between the two young couples, but Eric never took his eyes off her. Finally, unable to take it any longer, Meredith scooted her chair out and stood. “Anyone up for some pie?” she asked. “I made apple, pumpkin, chocolate mousse, and pecan.”
“I’ll help,” Eric said, scooting out and rising too.
Meredith had turned to head back into the kitchen but stopped her in her tracks, eyebrows up. She widened her eyes forcefully as if to say, What are you doing? Sit down.
She wouldn’t mind having help, if that’s what he intended. But he didn’t do that kind of thing. Did he want to talk privately in the kitchen— only feet away from the dining room? That would have to wait.
Eric turned to those at the table. “I’ll have the pecan, of course. What about the rest of you?”
“Pumpkin,” Brandon said.
As Eric took pie requests, Meredith ducked into the kitchen, feeling heat climbing up her neck and dreading the fact that Eric would soon be walking in behind her. He really did seem to be planning to help.
She tried to feel incensed that he was intruding on her territory in some twisted way, but instead, a mixture of emotions came over her— sadness that this was the first time in memory he’d ever offered to help in the kitchen with anything, and gratitude, maybe, though she didn’t want to admit it.
I don’t want to appreciate him.
He appeared, carrying a stack of dirty plates, and she couldn’t help but mutter a thank you. He hadn’t scraped the food onto the top plate or gathered the silverware like she would have, so the pile tilted skiwampus, like a Dr. Seuss drawing. First efforts weren’t always perfect, though. He’d never helped clear the table. Too bad he didn’t think of doing little things like that years ago.
She grabbed a knife, slid the pecan pie over, and practically stabbed the life out of it. If he thinks that carrying a few plates will change anything, he’s lost his mind.
Chapter Three
Later, Meredith lay at the far edge of the king-size bed, the comforter pulled high, her arms crossed on top. Normally she fell asleep on her left side. Tonight, she didn’t dare move from lying on her back, staring straight up at the ceiling. The last thing either of them needed was accidental spooning or their feet intertwining like they used to, when he sought out her ice-cold toes to warm them up against his always-wa
rm calves.
Staring into the darkness, she had to admit that she’d missed sleeping near someone who willingly warmed her toes. It was one of a few things she missed, and that one thing felt large and important now, with Eric only inches away. She had to remind herself of the many things she didn’t miss the slightest bit and remind herself of the many things she’d finally been able to experience and enjoy since reclaiming her life.
If the price for independence was cold toes, she’d pay it.
“I don’t bite, you know,” Eric said.
Her gaze slid his direction, but she didn’t move her head a fraction of an inch. By the light of the porch lamp, spilling through the window, he looked positively relaxed, spread out on his half of the bed, with his hands interlocked behind his head.
Of course he’s relaxed, she thought, looking at the ceiling again. He’d always remained maddeningly calm, no matter what— no matter how hurt she was or how frazzled or how much in need of his help. No, Eric had never let anything worry him. Not even his family. And that bothered Meredith.
“Did I say that you bite?” Meredith countered.
“You might as well have. You look ready to grab a baseball bat and go to town on me.” He rolled to his side, facing her. Though she didn’t look his way again, she could tell from the corner of her eye that he was propped on one arm, as if expecting a conversation. Of course he wanted to talk— now that it was nearly midnight and she needed rest.
“For the record,” Eric said, “I’m not an intruder.”
She crooked an eyebrow at that and turned her face ever so slightly in his direction. The dim light reflected off his toothy grin. She looked away. “That’s debatable.”
“My name is on the house.”
“Not for much longer.”
She certainly felt intruded upon. Before going to bed, she’d pulled the blow-up mattress out. He’d laughed at it and toed it back under the bed skirt, saying that Maggie and Becca would notice if he didn’t sleep in the same bed. Like a fool, she’d acquiesced.
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