by Sarah Morgan
She knew she wasn’t the only one with issues.
Fliss had spent her life battling against their father’s negative opinion. She’d found it almost impossible to shake off the cloak he’d draped her with when she was young.
Harriet was the same.
It didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself that it was his choice, not hers, his choice to cut all contact from his family was upsetting.
It was something she hated admitting to people, afraid that in saying my father doesn’t want to be in touch with me, what she was really telling them was I’m not worth knowing.
She didn’t believe that, not really, so she didn’t understand why telling people felt so personal. It seemed like a failure.
She lay staring at the ceiling, unable to read or sleep.
When she heard Madi’s first whine she was out of bed in an instant, hoping to reach her before she woke Ethan.
Downstairs, she found Madi whining and miserable.
“What’s wrong?” She knelt by the crate and then saw one of Madi’s toys halfway across the kitchen floor. “Did you lose your toy? Why aren’t you sleeping?” She retrieved the toy and waited while Madi settled down. “Are you missing Debra? It’s difficult when family go away and leave you, I know. You and I have a lot in common. We’re both getting used to new circumstances. It isn’t easy.”
“Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” Ethan’s voice came from behind her and she scrambled to her feet, horribly conscious that she hadn’t bothered to grab a robe when she’d heard Madi whine. She was wearing her pajamas with the butterflies.
Fliss would have rolled her eyes and called it a missed opportunity.
“I’m sorry she woke you.”
“I wasn’t asleep. I was working on my research paper.”
“At midnight?”
“It’s the time I do my best thinking. Did she wake you?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep.”
“And that’s my fault.” He spoke softly, presumably so that they didn’t disturb Madi. “I’m the one who asked the tactless question. I’m sorry.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve apologized to you more in the last forty-eight hours than I ever have in my life before.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.” She wondered if the pajamas turned transparent with the light behind them. Hopefully not. After the dinner episode, he’d probably think she was trying to seduce him. “It’s not your fault that my father is a touchy subject. I need to deal with it better. That’s on me, not you. The truth is my father and I don’t have a great relationship.” It had to be the understatement of the century. “In fact we have no relationship. And that doesn’t quite fit with how I think families should be.”
He was silent for a moment. “Hot chocolate? My niece tells me I make the best hot chocolate on the planet.”
It wasn’t the response she’d expected. Maybe that meant he didn’t want to talk about it. Or maybe it meant he was being sensitive because he realized she didn’t want to talk about it.
She wished her brain would stop overthinking everything.
“And no doubt you correct her by telling her that she hasn’t tasted all the hot chocolate on the planet.”
He strolled to the kitchen. “Believe it or not, I’m remarkably mellow around my niece. If I try hard I even manage not to be pedantic. You should say yes. Not only is it ‘deliciously yummy,’ I get five stars. When it comes to hot chocolate, I’m a winner. It might help you sleep.”
He was wearing black jeans and a black sweater that molded to the hard swell of his biceps.
Looking at him made her more conscious that she was in her pajamas.
She wondered if she should sprint upstairs and grab a robe.
What would Fliss do?
She’d walk confidently into the kitchen and drink the hot chocolate, while happily holding a conversation about everything under the sun, that’s what she’d do.
Harriet might not be able to match the conversation, but she could walk into the kitchen and drink the hot chocolate.
“How is Karen? Have you spoken to Debra today?”
“Twice. Once in a two-minute break I had between patients this morning and then again about an hour ago. Karen is doing well. Discharging her tomorrow, although it will be another few days before she can fly.” He took milk from the fridge, as relaxed as she was tense. “We spoke on the phone. She was making jokes, so that was good.”
He’d had no time for lunch, but he’d found time to call his sister and his niece. Twice.
Harriet’s heart beat a little faster. “How long will it take her to recover?”
“She’ll be in a cast for a few weeks. I’ll arrange for her to see the orthopedic doctor here, so she doesn’t need to stay in California. She’d be better off at home until she’s more mobile. And we’re all going to Vermont the week before Christmas so she will join us there, although she won’t be skiing of course.”
She slid onto the chair, thinking that at least her lower half was protected behind the kitchen island. She wasn’t used to having anyone witness what she wore to bed. “What’s it like working on Christmas Day?”
“In the ER it’s pretty much like any other day. It’s probably different on wards where the staff know the patients. If you’re on the kids’ ward, they get a visit from Santa.” He laughed and she looked at him.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because apparently Santa has a conflict in his schedule this year so I’ve been asked to step in.”
“They want you to be Santa?”
“I know—” he shook his head “—it’s crazy.”
She imagined him dressed up in a Santa suit, those blue eyes warm with kindness as he handed out gifts to sick children.
“What’s crazy about it? I think that’s amazing. It must be miserable being in hospital at Christmas. I mean, think how they must feel. Every kid loves Christmas, right? There’s the whole tree, and the presents—but they don’t have that. Instead they’re frightened and missing home and their parents.” Her eyes welled up at the thought of it and she saw him looking at her.
“Are you crying?”
“No!” She blinked rapidly. “But I hate to think of kids on their own in hospital at Christmas.”
He gave a smile. A funny, crooked smile that somehow made him a thousand times more attractive than he was already. “I’m beginning to understand why you chose not to be a vet. You’re a marshmallow, Harriet Knight.”
“I am.” She cleared her throat. “Not good for much.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
She wished she were better at reading glances because she was sure there was something she was missing in the way he was looking at her.
Or maybe he was just wondering how a marshmallow like her had made it this far in life without being squished under someone’s boot.
“I get why you have to switch off emotionally when you’re working, but how can you not feel for those kids?”
“Now you’re trying to make me cry too?”
“No. I’m trying to show you why you should be Santa. A visit from Santa must be the one bright spot in their day. How cool is that? To be the one bright spot in someone’s day?” She looked at him. “Why are you shaking your head?”
“I’m trying to remember if I ever looked at life the way you do. I’m wondering if I should be the one to break the news to you or not.” He poured milk into the pan and she watched, distracted by the way he moved. It had been the same in the emergency room, she remembered. She’d noticed his eyes first, and then his hands. He had clever hands. He wasn’t a man who would fumble or hesitate. She suspected those hands could handle just about anything.
The thought of what “anything” might entail distracted her and suddenly her head was full of images that made heat rush across her skin and brought the color pouring into her cheeks. It was like accidentally clicking on a link on the computer and finding the screen covered in naked bodies. It took her
a moment to realize he was looking at her.
“Are you all right? You’re flushed. I hope you’re not about to succumb to the flu. There’s a lot of it around.”
She had a suspicion that the only thing she was about to succumb to was him.
“I’m good. It’s warm in here, that’s all.” Although most of the heat was generated from her thoughts. She tried to delete the unnerving images from her brain. “You said you had news to break to me?”
He lifted two mugs from the cabinet. “Here’s the thing—Santa doesn’t exist, Harriet.” His expression was sober. His warm, sympathetic tone made her think that if she ever had to hear bad news, she’d want it to be from him.
“I don’t believe in Santa. I do believe human beings have a huge capacity to improve life for each other in a million small ways. Just as one person can make your life miserable, so can a person make your day happy. Small things matter. Going that extra mile. Like you did that night in the emergency room.” Oh God, she shouldn’t have said that. Now he’d realize that she’d been watching him. After the whole romantic dinner episode, he’d think she was a stalker.
He paused. “What night?”
“The night I came in with my injured ankle. There was a woman sobbing in the waiting room and you stopped and talked to her. You probably don’t even remember, but I’m sure she does. She was at a really low point, and when you’re low there is nothing that helps more than a kind word from a stranger.” She flushed. “Ignore me. I’m talking too much.”
“You’re not talking too much. I’d rather people talked. It’s easier to figure them out that way.” He whisked chocolate into hot milk while she wondered why he would want to figure her out and whether she wanted that to happen.
“This looks elaborate. Your niece taught you to do that?”
“The first time I made it for her, she fired me.”
“What was wrong with it? Too cold? Too lumpy? Too watery?”
“All those things and more. Not enough chocolate, I used the wrong milk—the list was endless. Cardiac surgery was less daunting.” He put the mug down in front of her. “Of course this is made to my niece’s specifications. You might not like it.”
She took a cautious sip and closed her eyes. “How could anyone not like it? This is a hug in a mug. Comfort in a cup.”
“A hug in a mug? Maybe you should stop walking dogs and start writing slogans.” He slid into the seat opposite her. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed back, exposing forearms dusted with dark hairs. He had strong arms. The kind of arms you wanted wrapped around you in a crisis, although no doubt that wasn’t generally the way he handled all the different crises that came his way during an average working day. His hair was ruffled, his eyes were tired and he was just about the sexiest guy she’d ever laid eyes on.
The apartment was quiet. The only noise was the almost silent hum of the refrigerator and the soft sound of Madi’s rhythmic breathing.
Beyond the windows the snow was falling, drawing a veil over the buildings beyond.
“So when is your next date?”
The question skidded uncomfortably close to her thoughts and she took another sip of chocolate. “No more dates. I’m done.”
“You’re done after just three dates? Is three supposed to be a lucky number?”
“Three was the number I picked. I promised myself I’d go on three before I allowed myself to give up.”
“What if the guy who is perfect for you is guy number four?”
She lowered the mug. “Honestly? I didn’t expect to meet a guy who was perfect for me. It was more about trying to get better at going on a date. I’m not dating because I’m desperate for a man, Ethan. I’m dating because I find it hard and right now I’m trying to do things I find hard.”
“I didn’t realize dating required a certain skill level.”
His comment confirmed what she already knew. That for most people, this sort of thing was easy, whereas she had to work at every step. “I find talking to strangers hard. And the hardest thing of all is dinner. People say ‘hey, let’s grab something to eat’ as if it’s nothing, but to me it’s not nothing.”
“Dinner is hard? Is it the atmosphere? The whole pressure of romance?”
“I’m not good when I don’t know someone. It takes me a while to relax, and I never reach that point during one date.” She paused, wondering how much to say. “Growing up, mealtimes were stressful. I think some of that has carried over into adulthood for me. So although a first date will always be a nightmare, a first date over dinner is a double nightmare.” It was something she’d never confided to anyone before, not even Fliss, but something about Ethan made it easy to say things that were usually hard. Maybe it was the way he listened, giving her his full attention as if what she was saying was interesting and important.
Like now. His gaze hadn’t once shifted from her face.
“Why mealtimes specifically?”
“Because that was the only time during the day when we were together as a family. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it? Whole family round the table. I can tell you it wasn’t. It was excruciating.”
“Because of your family?”
“Not my whole family. My father. I stayed out of his way as much as I could, but during mealtimes there was no avoiding anything. I think sitting around the table once a day was my mom’s way of trying to pretend we were a normal family even though we all knew we were anything but.”
“You said your parents were divorced. So that only happened after you left home?”
“Sadly. It would have been better for everyone if it had happened sooner.”
“He was abusive?” There was a slight edge to his tone that hadn’t been there before.
“Verbally. He was smart with words. In his hands, words were the perfect weapon. He didn’t need to raise a hand or unbuckle his belt. He could cause bruises and scars just by opening his mouth.” She wrapped her hands round the mug, feeling the heat seep through and warm her palms. “Because he was good with words, it drove him insane that I wasn’t. The madder he became, the more I stammered. It aggravated him to have to wait for me to get a word out, so he finished my sentences and it mostly ended up with him having a conversation with himself. So then I was silent, and that drove him mad too. Fliss and Daniel fought with him, partly to attract attention away from me. So you can imagine how peaceful mealtimes were. The rest of the time he could pretend he didn’t have me as a daughter, but at mealtimes he was forced to confront the fact that I existed.” She stopped, embarrassed. “I’m talking too much, which is ironic in the circumstances.” Normally her problem was not talking enough, but being with Ethan seemed to have fixed that problem.
Maybe he’d spiked her hot chocolate.
“You’re not talking too much.” His voice was soft. “Did he get angry with your mom too? Was it all about the marriage? He didn’t love her?”
“He loved her very much. That was the problem.” It was a relief to talk to someone who wasn’t emotionally involved. Someone who would listen, without judging. “Fliss and I only discovered that recently. My mom spent her life trying to smooth things over and please him. We always assumed she was crazy about him and that he didn’t feel the same way. Turns out it was the other way round. He was crazy about her, and she didn’t love him back.”
“But I’m sure he loved you, deep down.”
“Now who is believing in fairy tales?” But she understood why he would say that and believe it, because she’d felt that way herself for years before finally acknowledging the painful truth. “I hate to destroy your illusions of happy families, but he didn’t love me. Not at all.” She saw the shock and disbelief in his eyes. “You’re thinking I’m wrong, but I’m not. I didn’t want to believe it, either. For years I told myself it was my fault he got so mad with me. I could hardly get the words out so of course he was going to be exasperated. My stammer must have been infuriating for someone as confident as my dad. Wherever we went he owned the room. He had a
personality larger than the Empire State Building. I thought that if I worked harder at it, if I tried to please him, he’d love me. He didn’t. The more he yelled, the more I stammered. I blamed myself. Thought I must be difficult to love. I twisted myself into a pretzel trying to win his approval, but it never happened.” She didn’t mention the one, defining incident that had happened when she was eleven years old.
“Is he alive?”
“He had his first heart attack a few years ago, but yes, he’s alive.” And even when he’d been in hospital, rigged up to machines, he hadn’t wanted to see her. There had been no signs of regret or change in his feelings. That was the moment Harriet had learned that wanting someone to love you wasn’t enough. You couldn’t will it to happen, or change in order to make it happen. If they didn’t love you, the way you were, they were never going to love you.
“Do you see him?”
“The last time was in the summer. I won’t be going again.” And that would be a different kind of challenge. The challenge of choosing reality over hope. Of allowing illusions to be replaced by disillusions. “I kept trying. It felt like the right thing to do, but it makes me feel terrible and he doesn’t want to see me, so I’m done with it. And I’ve learned to handle that.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she’d already told him more than she’d ever told anyone, so she decided enough was enough. “Now tell me about your parents. Judging from the photos around your apartment, you seem to have a regular family.”
“I’m not sure there’s any such thing as a regular family, but yes, I’m lucky with mine. My father is a doctor and so is my mother. My grandfather is a doctor. The conversation around the table can be pretty ‘gross’ according to my niece, and it’s often lively, but it’s a friendly type of arguing.”
“And you wanted to be a doctor from when you were a little boy?”
“No, I wanted to be a champion downhill ski racer like my friend Tyler.”
She laughed. “So why didn’t you?”
