by Ella James
I kneel slowly, rifling for a tag I can’t find, so then I read the label on the package.
Grow Your Own Christmas Tree!
Forevergreen
It's always a little sad, once the holidays are over, to say good-bye to the tree. Kick off a new tree tradition of yearly growth and reminiscence with our Christmas Tree Grow Kit. Sweet-scented Douglas Firs are one of the most popular holiday trees—they've graced the White House at Christmas —beautifully bedecked with soft, shiny, dark blue-green needles. They thrive in a wide range of environments, so give a kit to someone you love to sprout and grow indoors for the first year. Then throw a tree birthday party and transplant it to its permanent, outdoor spot. Celebrate together every year as it grows into a large Christmas tree. No worries about saying good-bye to this one: These western North America natives can live for 1,000 years. Detailed instructions, a recycled tea grow bag, and soil are all included with the seeds. Made in California.
I check the again, but there’s no tag. Gabe, I think, but then of course I think it’s him who left it for me. My brain is hardwired to want that man, and look where it got me this time.
I carry the tree kit inside and set it on the kitchen counter. Finally, in the silence of my apartment, I allow myself to really lose it, sobbing so loudly, I feel sure that all of Fate can hear me. Can he hear me? Is he home? I tell myself to shut up. I crawl into bed, where I fall quickly into a deep, tired sleep.
Hours later, when I wake up feeling tired and nauseated, I hear Gabe for the first time in days: flushing the toilet, running the sink—the father of my baby living his life right below me. Finally, I just admit it to myself: I said I wanted a break, but I don’t want to give him a pass for believing me. He should know better.
I tell myself I’ll be okay. I talk to the baby. In a few hours, I’m asleep again. The next day, I’m back at work. Not because I feel okay or ready, but because it’s flu season, and the clinic really needs me.
I get nice comments about Mom, but nothing about the pregnancy. And I realize with a laugh, it’s because no one knows. It’s obvious to me, but I don’t have a belly yet. And Kat, Lainey, and Gabe have kept my secret.
I try my best to have a good day, focusing on being positive and making all my sick kids feel better—and it works, just a little. When I get home, I’m surprised to find another package at the top of my stairs. It turns out to be a bag of M&Ms…except when I look closely, I see that they’re really M&Gs.
My stomach bottoms out. I think I might be sick as I hurry inside and sit down on the couch with my head in my hands. Gah, I hate feeling dizzy…
When I’ve got myself under control, I look again—and sure enough, they’re really M&Gs.
It has to be him…
I bite my cheek to keep from crying. God, the fucking crying. Who has time for this?
I pop an M&G into my mouth and lean back on the couch. A few tears dribble from the corners of my eyelids, just to spite me.
Fucking Gabe.
So he does care. I grin, and hate myself for it.
I take the bag to bed with me and doze off like some animal, with melting chocolate in my mouth. When I wake up the next morning, I’m sleeping on a half-melted G.
That evening, after a particularly long and tiring work day, I smile as I top the stairs and find a pie. God, what kind of pie is this? It looks delicious, topped with thick and fluffy whipped cream.
Smart boy…
I get inside, take off the top, and inhale a glorious whiff of key lime. Oh, dear God. One of my favorites.
I eat two pieces—one for baby—and then decide to do some dancing. I can hear him downstairs. I hope he can hear me.
Thank you, thank you, tap tap tap!
I forget to eat enough before bed, so in the middle of the night, I’m sick. I think I hear him downstairs at about that time, and afterward, I lie in bed and wonder: what is wrong with Gabe, that he won’t come to me? Is it really him leaving the gifts? Surely it must be—but why? Is it even possible he cares about me now? Would I forgive him if he came back?
Please, God…
As if in answer, pie piles up. A brand new pie is waiting for me each night after work, as if he knows he hit his stride and he is going to exploit that knowledge. Fudge pie, pumpkin, apple, pecan, chocolate, strawberry, rhubarb, lemon, peach… I go through a week of pies, then two. I dream about our pretty baby, and end up sobbing over Mama every time I take a shower.
Why can’t things be right? Like books or movies. Why can’t things just ever, once, be right?
That afternoon, I find the pinnacle of pies: a peanut butter Reese’s one.
I’m glad I’ve got a reason for this growing belly. Truthfully, I think it’s mostly pie.
Gabe
I lie downstairs in the lacy room and listen to her. Every morning after she leaves for work, I call Victor’s mom and tell her what pie I need made. That afternoon, I bring her $50 and pick it up.
“You so crazy, Gabe,” she says in stilted English.
I shrug. Why deny it?
I’ve fucked up with Marley, paved the space between us with regret. When I first got the idea to leave her little things, I didn’t put my name on the Christmas tree because I thought she might throw it away. Then I remembered what she said about the pies, and I figured if I couldn’t do anything else, I could provide her with her favorite vice.
It’s all I know to do. In the first few days after the hospital, I tried to give her space to digest what had happened with her mom, and time to get over her anger at me. I figured she’d call, or that she’d hug me at the funeral. Instead, when I got to the cemetery and found her crying in front of a long line of mourners, I couldn’t bring myself to approach her. What if she passed out again? No—hugging Marley would be more for me.
And now I’ve dug a hole for myself. I can feel it: the frustration coming from her up above my head. Just like with each passing day, I swear I think I feel her softening.
She’s got to know the pies are coming from me. And still—I haven’t heard from her. Not even a note in my door, or a text.
I’ve reached blackberry pie when I realize I can’t keep waiting.
When I take it to the top of Marley’s stairs at 5:00, I set it on her mat and sit beside it, feeling jittery and cloddish as I wait. It’s cold out here, and slightly wet from rain we got last night.
When I hear Marley’s car, I stop breathing. I sit up a little straighter, then decide to sit with my knees resting on the stair below. The first thing I notice as she comes around the corner is her dreamy smile. Then her gaze hits me, and her mouth rounds into a shocked “o.”
I see an army of emotions march across her face; I notice what looks like relief, but then it’s hidden beneath cautious politeness.
“Gabe,” she says, as she nears the top of the stairs.
I can’t help noticing how tired she looks.
I look up at her as Marley comes to stand over me. I meant to stand and hug her, but I’ve found I can’t move.
“Hey there,” I say in a ragged-sounding voice.
“Hello yourself.”
I stand up. Hand Marley the pie.
“I thought these might be you,” she murmurs. She sounds nervous.
“I hope you enjoyed them.”
“I did, actually.” Her voice is cool. I notice her eyes won’t touch mine. She looks at the pie instead. “What kind is this one?”
“Blackberry.”
“That’s a good, reliable fall pie.” She tucks her camel-colored jacket around her as she says the world “reliable,” and my chest aches.
“Mar…” I reach for her, and she moves slightly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“For what, Gabe?” She sounds tired.
“You want to go inside? You look like you might want to sit down.”
“Do I? I think I’m just fine right here.”
I nod, trying to read her face, but Marley is on lockdown. “I’m sorry I fucked up.”
> “What does that mean?” Her jaw is tight as she looks at her feet.
“I fucked up that night. I can’t fucking stand to think you had to do it by yourself.”
“Oh, I didn’t. You caught me and carried me into the ambulance. In front of most of Fate, it seems.” Her eyes flash as they briefly meet mine.
“Fuck. Well, that’s not even what I meant. I mean when you found out.”
She shrugs. “What sticks out most to me is how the whole damn town of Fate now thinks I’m dating you. And when they find out I’m pregnant, they’re going to guess that you’re the baby’s father.”
Relief pours through me, warm as water, when she says she’s pregnant.
“Fuck.” I let my breath out.
“That bad, huh?”
“No. God, no. Marley.” I take her hand, closing mine around it. “I don’t fucking care if anybody knows. I’m so damn glad you’re still pregnant.” I blow my breath out, bracing myself to open up to her. To share my thoughts. “I got scared that night, down by the lake. Just like you said. After you left, I did some soul searching and started out to find you, and that’s when I saw the cars.”
“What cars?” She looks confused.
“The ones that gathered for your mother,” I say softly.
Her pretty, red mouth tightens into an angry line. Pushing past me, she unlocks her door and pushes it open, walks into her living room and plops down on the couch. She sets the pie in her lap, draping one hand over it. Then and only then does she look at me.
“What do you want, Gabe? You’ve stayed away for all this time, and that’s okay. I’m fine, and I’ve enjoyed the pies. I’ve got our baby in me, and I have a feeling he or she is going to be strong and healthy, possibly with berry eyes and whipped cream hair. What more can I do for you?”
My throat stings as I look down at her. “I miss you, Marley. I miss your face…your voice. I’ve been wondering about the baby, too, but Marley—I was missing you.”
Her eyes glimmer with tears as she looks down at her lap. “Could have fooled me.”
Because I didn’t come. She doesn’t have to say it. I take two short steps to her and kneel in front of her. “You remember that night of your birthday? Right here?”
“Not that much,” she whispers, still clutching the pie.
I lean over, take one of her hands—and Marley lets me.
“I was so damn happy that night.”
“Why?” she whispers.
“Because you were talking to me. I found out I wasn’t no one to you.”
“No. Of course not, Gabe. You never have been. I never gave you that impression. If anything,” her eyes on mine are lasers, “it’s always kind of been the other way around. I care too much about you.”
“No…Marley. That’s not true. I just go chicken shit around you.”
“Why?” she wipes her eyes under her glasses.
I grit my teeth. “You know why.”
“I’m not in guessing mode, Gabe. Spit it out or get on going.”
I inhale, feeling my stomach bottom out. “Because I love you, Marley.”
Marley starts to cry, and I’m not sure what that means, but I get up on the couch beside her, wrap my arms around her. “Marley—I wasn’t wanting a damn baby.” Her body stiffens at my words, and I rush to explain. “I don’t not want one. But I wasn’t looking for one.” I laugh at how crazy it all sounds—and, in fact, is. I rub her arm. “I wanted you. I wanted to give you a baby. That’s the only reason all this happened, you know. Because I wanted you.”
2
Marley
I look down at my legs so I don’t have to see his face—so stark and honest-seeming, so hope-giving. I swallow and then whisper, “I don’t think that can be true.”
“Why not?” His eyes are warm and earnest as they find mine.
“Well, I mean…it could be true. You wanted sex.”
“Is that right?” I look at him, finding his face carefully neutral.
“Your beard is longer,” I whisper.
“No one to shave it for.” His mouth twitches in something like a sad smile, and my heart misses a beat.
“Well, unless you want me.” He smiles then, and it’s different than I’ve ever seen it. So…open.
I just can’t trust it. Even if I want to. “I feel like that would be really stupid of me. And a risk.” Since I got pregnant with this newest little bean, I’ve been feeling really risk-averse. Like I can barely hold my tattered heart inside my chest. Like I need to hibernate for winter and lick my wounds.
“That’s the point of it, though, right?” he says. “I think the risk is the part that matters most.”
I glare at him, even as my mouth is trying to betray me with a smile. “Who says that kind of shit? Did you start writing for the Hallmark Channel?”
“The Marley Channel. Used to be kind of porny. Now it’s pretty much all pies. But I like pies. In fact…would you like me to get you some of this pie? Maybe with a little ice cream?”
I blow my breath out. “I don’t have ice cream.”
“I bought some for you. It’s downstairs.”
“Why did you buy ice cream?” I whisper. I’m aware I’m being petulant and needy, but I can’t seem to help myself.
“I read it would be good for heartburn.”
“Did you have heartburn?”
Gabe laughs, then pulls me up against his chest. “C’mon now, woman. I’ve never seen Marley like this.” His finger traces my lower lip as he smiles right at me, as if to demonstrate the way it’s done. “No, I don’t have fucking heartburn. I got it for you.”
I start to cry. “My mom is dead, Gabe. You weren’t anywhere around. I’m pregnant and my mom is dead, and I’ve been sad,” I weep into my hands. I want to slap myself for being so emotional, but I just can’t seem to control my emotions.
“I was at your mom’s house, Marley. That’s what prompted you to faint.”
“I know that. But you weren’t there at the funeral.” I wipe my tears, furious at him and me, both.
“Actually, I was,” he says quietly. “You wore that dark blue dress with the flower pattern cut up here…” He gestures to his collar, looking sorry. “I had this idea that I’d stay until the end and take you home, but I saw you crying, and all I could think was I already made you pass out once.”
“So you left? Gabe…that’s stupid.” I laugh as I say it—but it is. “You just left?”
“I thought you needed space. That’s why I left the tree instead.” I can’t tell if he sounds regretful or defensive. He shakes his head, and I decide regretful, or maybe both. “When you never called or texted, I realized I fucked up.”
“So you tried to apologize with pies.” I say it accusingly, and Gabe looks down. “Yeah.”
I can’t hold in a tiny laugh. “That wasn’t that bad of a save.”
“It wasn’t?” His lips curve up at the corners.
“I guess not.” I sigh, dramatically, before giving him a full-on smile. “Pie makes everything better.”
And I guess Gabe takes that as his cue, because he wraps himself around me, pulling me against his chest and kissing my head. “Marley…I’m so fucking sorry…I fucked up. I wanted to tell you that night that I want to try this out. I want you, and I want to be with you.”
“Then it’s a good thing you sent those pies.” I wipe my eyes and nose, and then peer up at him.
“Victor’s mother made them.”
Hearing the word “mother” makes me flinch, and I can see the sorrow on Gabe’s face.
“It’s okay. I’m just…really sad still.”
“Fuck, Marley. Of course you fucking are.”
“It was unexpected, you know?” I say, wiping my eyes. “I mean, sort of.”
“I’m sorry about the pork chop.”
I laugh. “Oh, she didn’t care. I think we had take-out that night. That half-decent Italian place. Probably her last time eating food from there. Poor mama.”
“Mar, I’ve been a dick. In lots of ways.”
I don’t want to nod and kick Gabe when he’s already on his knees apologizing, so I let my gaze drift down his abs. I laugh, surprising myself with the sound. “Then maybe now it’s time to be a dick in the most important way.”
“Can we do that now? Like…now?” His eyes widen.
I laugh. “Of course.”
“Are you sure? It won’t…”
“It won’t do any of the weird things you’re thinking. I promise.”
Gabe hugs me again. I feel his lips rub over my hair as his hand traces along my spine. “You forgive me?”
“Maybe if you bring a few more pies.” I run my hand down his hip. “But something else could go a little ways toward winning me back, too.”
“Are you serious, Marley? You still—you’re not…done with this?” His voice is hoarse, which makes me love him.
“Hell no. Not yet, anyway. I want to see how this plays out, this crazy plan we have.”
He laughs. “I bet your friends think we’re both crazy.”
“I’m not sure if crazy is the word. If Kat wasn’t a fan of your books, I think there’s some chance you’d be down there in the cemetery.”
“Fuck.” He sighs. “I didn’t mean to fuck things up like that.”
“I know that now.”
Gabe digs for something in his pocket, pulling out his phone. “It’s almost Thanksgiving. You want to go away with me?”
My throat tightens as he holds his phone out, showing me… “Is that your plane?”
He smiles. “Would it help if it was?”
“Where can it fly?”
“Anywhere you want it to.”
“Really?” I laugh, giddy as a kid, and Gabe kisses my forehead. “Is it the plane or the pies? What’s got you grinning?”
“Can we bring a pie on the plane?”
He strokes my hip. “I know of one I’d like to taste…” And then his hand is slipping into my pants…behind my silky panties, and—“ahhh!”
I yelp because his finger on me is so intense, it’s almost electric.
