by Sarah Morgan
Part of her felt that somehow, they should have been able to make this work.
“Your mother tried to stop us getting married. She was very disapproving. She thought I was too serious.”
“She’d never seen you after a bottle of sloe gin, and I’ve told you before that she never approved of any of the women I dated. She was afraid they’d take her little boy away.” He stretched out his legs. “Yours wasn’t much better.”
“They wanted me to marry someone with a regular job. They were suspicious of your trips to Egypt, and the fact that your hair fell over your collar. It all seems so long ago, I can barely remember it although it was stressful at the time.”
“We did what felt right for us. We didn’t listen to our parents and Rosie and Dan won’t listen to us either, so there’s no point in wondering whether we should say something. We made our own decision, and now we should leave our daughter to make hers.”
“That’s very mature and rational.” She topped up their mugs and sat down next to him. “Talking of mature and rational, I spoke to someone about selling the cottage last week. I was thinking we should put it on the market after Christmas, but their advice was to wait until spring. That would give us time to do some of the repairs, and make sure it’s looking its best. The garden is always gorgeous in May.” It should be. She’d spent hours on it. It was something that was all hers. Somewhere she felt calm. Whenever she was stressed, she went outdoors and tended the garden. The upside of her anxiety was that her garden looked fantastic.
Nick spooned sugar into his coffee and gave her a long look. “You’re sure you want to sell the place?”
No, she didn’t want to sell it. Selling it would break her heart. “It’s too big for one person. I’m rattling around here. And not only me. The windows rattle. There’s so much maintenance needed in an old place like this.”
“Remember the first time we saw it? You said this is it. This is the one. We hadn’t even taken a look inside.”
“I knew. I knew right away.” She glanced around the kitchen that had been the set for so many family dramas. “You thought a new build would be less work.”
“It would have been less work, but also would have lacked character.”
“I’m starting to think ‘character’ is a euphemism for ‘old and in need of repair.’ So you’re happy for me to put it on the market whenever they feel the time is right?”
His gaze was veiled. “Whatever works for you.”
They were so polite. Civilized. There was no awkwardness or animosity. They were simply two friends who had lost the chemistry. She stared hard at his jaw, at the curve between his neck and shoulder where she’d so often rested her head. When he’d come back from a long trip it had been like those early days of their relationship, the passion between them intense and all-consuming.
Where had those feelings gone?
She stood up suddenly, her chair scraping on the stone floor. “That’s what I’ll do, then. It’s been a lovely home for us, but it’s time to move on.” Time for her to move on, too. This place was so full of memories they almost suffocated her.
“On to practical matters—” he finished his coffee “—I’ll book a cab to the airport. All you need to do is pack a suitcase. This could be fun, Mags.”
“The flight?”
“Christmas in Colorado.”
Maybe she wasn’t very adventurous, because all she really wanted was Christmas at home. She’d wanted one more year of lighting a fire in the hearth and decorating a large tree.
Next year she’d be living in a small apartment, or maybe a small Victorian terrace. Would Nick even join them, or would he have the girls on a different day? Whichever way it turned out, she knew that no Christmas gathering would ever be the same again.
“You should look at the website. Aspen looks beautiful. It’s surrounded by forest and snowy mountains. When did we last have a proper white Christmas?”
Maggie thought about the Christmas cards half-written in her bedroom. “Snow might be nice.”
“And for the first time ever you might be able to relax and enjoy yourself. You won’t have to do the cooking.”
Maggie loved cooking. She loved slicing and dicing, stirring and tasting. She loved the craziness and the chaos of the kitchen at Christmas. The sound of the fridge door opening and closing. The smell of toast as someone made a late-night snack.
It was the empty silence she hated most.
The knowledge that no one in the world really needed her anymore.
The girls loved her, she knew that, but they didn’t need her. They were adults now, with their own lives.
Did she even have a purpose?
She still worked for the same publisher and she knew she was valued, so why didn’t she get more satisfaction from her job?
Gloom descended on her and suddenly she wished Nick would leave. His life hadn’t changed much. His days were still filled with work, lectures, students, research. The only thing that had altered for him was where he slept at night.
She became brisk and practical, as she always did when she was stressed. “We’re agreed we’ll delay telling them until after Christmas?”
“Yes, but I’m not much of an actor. What if they guess?”
“Then it’s up to us to make sure they don’t. We were married for more than three decades. I think we can manage to get through ten days.”
She hoped she wasn’t wrong about that. They could make it work, surely?
How hard was it to pretend to be in love?
They were both about to find out.
Rosie
Was she making an awful, dreadful, hideous mistake?
What if Katie was right?
Rosie stood in the fitting room of the expensive bridal boutique in downtown Aspen, clutching a dress she no longer wanted to try on.
It was true that none of her previous relationships had exactly been long lasting, but wasn’t that part of being young and growing up? How were you supposed to know a relationship was right if you hadn’t stumbled through a few wrong ones first?
But Katie was right that those relationships had all seemed right at the time.
You, she told her reflection in the mirror, are impetuous, impulsive and a walking disaster.
As a child she’d flitted from one passion to another like a bee searching for nectar. When she was eight, she’d wanted to be a ballerina. At nine, an astronaut. By the age of ten she’d turned to teaching and lined up her dolls in classroom style. And so it went on. She couldn’t help it. She became wildly enthusiastic about something, and then moved on.
Her track record with boyfriends looked much the same.
And now there was Dan who she loved totally and absolutely. But it was true they hadn’t known each other that long.
Did that matter?
She was beginning to wish she hadn’t called her sister. But how could she not have called her?
“How does it look?” Catherine’s excitement penetrated the door. “I think it might be the one. The moment I laid eyes on it, I knew it was perfect. I can’t wait to see it on you, and I can’t wait to see Dan’s face when he sees you wearing it! Oh, I think this might be the best day of my life.”
It was turning into the worst day of hers.
Rosie wanted to claw her way out of the room. “I’m still changing, Catherine.”
“Do you need help, honey? I can—”
“I’m fine, but thank you.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. What was she going to do? She needed to get her head back into the place it had been before that phone call. Either that or press pause on the whole thing. But how could she step off this runaway train without seriously injuring all those involved? This wasn’t a night class (she’d switched from French to Italian after a term) where she could rethink her options.
Why did Katie’s comments have so much influence on her?
She was old enough to make her own decisions, independent of her sister.
Catherine tapped on the door. “If you’re worried about the price, don’t be. This is my special gift to a special woman. It’s not every day your precious only son gets married. I can’t wait to welcome you officially to the Reynolds family. My Dan is a lucky, lucky young man.”
Rosie pressed her hands to her ears to try to block out the sound of Katie’s voice. She adored her older sister, but part of her was angry that she’d injected doubts. Why couldn’t she have been happy and supportive?
She needed space to think, and she couldn’t think while she was trying on a wedding dress.
She glanced around the fitting room for an escape hatch. Surely she couldn’t be the first bride-to-be to wonder if she was making a mistake? Why didn’t they cater for that type of thing? She slid her fingers down the edge of a mirror, hoping it was secretly a door, but all she saw was her own panicked reflection staring back at her.
When Dan had said all those things during Thanksgiving dinner, and then proposed in front of his whole family she’d been deliriously happy. She’d never felt about anyone the way she felt about Dan. The last few months had been the happiest of her life. She adored her family, but they still treated her as someone who needed protecting. Was she using her inhaler? Had she had an attack? Their anxiety had fueled her anxiety. Moving far away had been the best thing she’d ever done. Terrifying, of course, and to begin with she’d been homesick, but the freedom had more than compensated. She’d felt stronger. More capable and independent. She made decisions without everyone questioning her. And then she’d met Dan, who had made her feel stronger still. She’d been so sure of her feelings for him, it hadn’t occurred to her to question whether saying yes to his proposal was a good idea. And then there was the love in his eyes and the fact that the fourteen people seated around the table had already made up their minds that this was a great idea.
Of course she’ll say yes, his paternal grandmother had whispered to her sister, who had been in full agreement.
Who wouldn’t want to marry our Dan?
It had seemed a reasonable question to Rosie.
Who wouldn’t?
Their delight at the proposal simply endorsed her conviction that this was the right thing. And why wouldn’t it be? Everyone thought Dan was wonderful. She thought Dan was wonderful. He was the best listener, and there were times when she felt closer to him than she did to her own family. She’d said things to him that she’d never said to them, including how hard it was to push herself to take risks when people were constantly telling her to be careful. And he’d talked to her about the loss of his father, and how deeply it had affected him. True, they didn’t know the small details about each other’s lives, but the small details were less important than the big things. She’d assumed they’d have plenty of time to learn more about each other, but then his mother had suggested a Christmas wedding and excitement levels had escalated.
Rosie felt as if she’d been picked up by an avalanche and swept down the mountain.
She’d wondered herself if Christmas might be a little soon, but only because the logistics of arranging something at such short notice blew her brain. Organization wasn’t her strong point. She had nine thousand, four hundred and twenty emails sitting in her inbox because she never liked deleting anything and filing didn’t come naturally to her. Her essays were often finished at the last minute, and doctor, dentist and hair appointments always ended up being an emergency.
She’d opened her mouth to tactfully confess that there was no way she could organize a wedding in such a short time frame, but Dan’s family was already in deep planning mode. She’d half expected Catherine to leave the room and start whipping together a bouquet.
Rosie was already in love with Dan’s family, particularly his great-aunt Eunice whose hearing was now challenged but who filled in gaps in sentences with her own active imagination.
Did she say she’s feeling horny?
No, Great-Aunt Eunice, she said the table decoration was thorny.
And then Dan had kissed her and said how much he adored her and how this wedding was going to be magical and perfect and suddenly it was agreed that they were getting married in a month.
It had all seemed delightful, and then she’d called home and felt the waves of anxiety traveling across the Atlantic with the speed of light. Their doubt had penetrated the champagne cloud cushioning Rosie’s brain.
And it wasn’t only Katie. Her mother was worried, and Rosie hated worrying her mother.
She’d caused her family more than enough anxiety over the years, and she was uncomfortable with the idea that they all thought she was making a mistake. It made her question her own judgment. Gone was the confident woman she’d become over the past few months.
She was sure she loved Dan, but how did you actually know? It wasn’t as if there was a blood test you could take. No one was going to sit across from her in a white coat and say yes, you have high levels of love, so I can assure you you’re going to be fine.
Love was a feeling, and if Rosie had learned one thing during her time on the planet it was that feelings were unreliable. Hers certainly were. The fact that her life was filled with clothes she never wore, shoes too uncomfortable to walk in, and old boyfriends that she never called was proof of that.
What if her love for Dan turned out to be as transient as her love for Rollerblading?
Trying to pull herself together, she wriggled her way into the dress Catherine had chosen.
Ivory silk and beautifully cut, it fell in a simple sheath and pooled on the floor.
Rosie turned sideways and smoothed the fabric over her hips.
The woman had taste, there was no doubt about that. The dress looked incredible. So incredible that her doubts retreated. It was a good omen.
Nerves were natural, weren’t they?
She tried to imagine her and Dan growing old together and Katie apologizing as she turned up to celebrate their golden wedding.
Look at the two of you! I was so wrong.
“Rosie?” There was another tap on the door. “Can we see you in it, honey?”
Rosie took a last look at her reflection and opened the door.
Catherine gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my—”
The seamstress who had been standing ready to suggest alterations, gaped. “Oh my—”
Rosie did the obligatory twirl, the aftereffects of the previous night’s champagne making her head spin. Note to self—hangover pirouettes are not a good idea.
“You’re beautiful, honey.” Catherine’s eyes filled. “You can try on as many as you like, of course, but I honestly think this one is perfect. How about you? Are you having doubts?”
Rosie looked at herself. The dress was gorgeous. Classic. Flattering.
Definitely an omen.
“I love it.” She wasn’t having doubts about the dress. She was having doubts about the wedding, and those doubts were multiplying in her head like a virus.
Only last week he’d mentioned that he adored dogs and she’d thought I’m allergic to dogs. She hadn’t said anything. There were plenty of small things they hadn’t shared and it hadn’t bothered her at all, until now. Now it was just one example of something he didn’t know about her.
Tense, Rosie stood as the seamstress fussed around her, checking the fit. “The waist needs to be taken in a little. You’re so slender. And December in Aspen is cold, so you might like to take a look at our range of faux fur wraps. Maybe a muff?” She stepped back and pressed her hand to her chest. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride. I do love a Christmas wedding. It always feels like a double celebration.”
Christmas.
When someone said that word, Rosie thought of Honeysuckle Cottage, th
e scent of cinnamon and pine, and her mother rustling up homemade treats from the kitchen. She thought about fleecy pajamas, mugs of steaming hot chocolate and long chats with her sister that went on until the early hours. There was always an enormous tree that smelled of the forest, decked with the usual decorations, all of which came with a story attached, and the annual gathering with the neighbors, when Mrs. Albert from next door always drank too much sherry and told stories of her time at Oxford during the war.
The reality of it sank in.
She’d planned on going home for Christmas, as she and Katie did every year. She’d already wrapped her gifts. Christmas was always spent at home with her family, and even though she’d lived away from home for four years, she’d been close enough to see her parents frequently. Honeysuckle Cottage still felt like home to Rosie. Student accommodation, however fun, couldn’t compare with her cozy bed in the attic room that had been hers since childhood. When she snuggled under the covers and stared up at the stars through the skylight, she felt more relaxed than she did anywhere else.
Christmas Eve was her favorite time because her parents still insisted on making her a Christmas stocking and thanks to creaky floorboards she always heard them fiddling outside her bedroom in full Santa mode.
She’d been looking forward to it, but now it wasn’t going to happen.
There would be no devouring her dad’s scrambled eggs and smoked salmon for breakfast. No frosty walk on the village green, or lavish slices of her mother’s unbeatable fruitcake. No staggering home from the village pub singing carols, substituting the usual lyrics with something definitely not PG.
She’d be spending Christmas in Aspen, with Dan’s family. In fact they’d be her family, because she’d be married by Christmas Day.
Panic closed in on her. She and Dan hadn’t thought through the detail.
Where were they going to live?
Dan was an only child. Would he expect them to have Christmas in Colorado every year? It was yet another subject they hadn’t explored together. And what would Dan make of her home? He was tall. How would he handle Honeysuckle Cottage with its low ceilings and lethal beams? And then there was the blending of two families.
