A Very Grumpy Lumberjack Christmas

27. Noel

27

NOEL

M om stands at the kitchen counter, a mug in hand—likely hot cocoa, given the giant marshmallows floating above the rim. “Are you all packed and ready?”

Thinking about my suitcase waiting near the front door and her question, I give her a tight smile. “I’m packed, but I don’t know that I’m ready to go.”

She nudges another mug sitting on the counter toward me. “I made you some cocoa.”

“Ooh!”

I reach over and pick it up, the rich chocolate scent invading every breath I take as I hold it up.

That familiar smell brings with it a flood of childhood memories. Sitting by the fire with Mom and Dad with him reading to us. Snowball fights that led to frozen fingers that needed a warm mug—and sometimes tears. Ice-skating and tumbling into Luke’s house, where his mom always had some waiting for us on the stove.

Shit.

The last one hurts more than the first, somehow.

Maybe because it’s fresher .

Because I’ve spent the last two days, since I left the clinic after the gut punch from Luke, feeling even worse than I did eight years ago.

Because even after his confession on the ice, nothing has changed.

I still can’t stay; he still won’t leave.

It’s a vicious cycle that has repeated itself.

Like some gut-wrenching déjà vu…

I sip at the hot liquid to try to clear the emotion from my throat, intentionally pulling one of the floating marshmallows into my mouth for that extra dash of sweetness.

It coats my tongue and warms my stomach. “Thanks, Mom. I needed this.”

She releases a tense little laugh. “I bet. This has been a pretty unusual Christmas.”

That’s a pretty big understatement.

I rest my hip against the counter, staring down at the bobbing marshmallows.

Even though two whole days have passed, I still haven’t been able to get that look on Luke’s face out of my head. His rejection of my concern at the clinic stung more than I care to admit, and the fact that he hasn’t called since suggests he still feels exactly the same as he did in that moment.

That this has all been pointless.

Just another way to hurt ourselves and each other.

“I spoke to his mom, you know.”

I glance up at her again.

She takes a sip of her cocoa, wrapping her hands around the mug like it’s a pot of gold. “A couple of hours ago.”

“I’m going to swing by there when I leave town, on my way back to Green Bay for my flight so I can say goodbye.”

Mom nods slowly. “Good idea. It sounds like they’re going to be released tomorrow. ”

“Oh”—some of that tension in my chest releases slightly—“that’s good news.”

Considering how sick they were, it was very touch and go for that first twenty-four hours, until they started seeing some improvement with the antivirals.

“It is.” Mom watches me over the mug rim as she drinks. “And hopefully, that virus they had doesn’t affect anyone else in town.”

I hope not.

No one knows how they were exposed, since the rest of Mistletoe seems to have escaped its wrath.

Probably something a tourist brought up with them that infected Mr. Crisp while interacting on the lot.

Which hopefully means it died when it stopped being contagious in them.

I drink my cocoa and scan the living room, my eyes drawn to the corner that still remains empty of a tree, then over to Nutsack on the mantle. “This certainly was a strange Christmas, but at least you had Nutsack to keep you company while I was gone.”

She laughs, the sound so light that it instantly lifts some of the tension that has threatened to suffocate me over the last couple of days—but not all. “Oh, he and I had a hell of a time, let me tell you…”

“I bet you did.” I clear my throat at the emotion starting to clog it. “I just feel so awful that I wasn’t here with you.”

“Noel, we’ve talked about this.” She slides her hand over mine on the counter and squeezes. “You did what you had to do. You needed that tree to cope with not having Dad here, and that’s fine. We all cope in our different ways.” A little sigh falls from her lips. “Maybe I should have physically tried to stop you.”

“I don’t know how you would have done that?”

Her laughter becomes almost hysterical. “Hey, I can body slam.”

I roll my eyes, chuckling at the absurdity of her suggesting it. “Yeah, right, Mom…”

She grins. “But honestly”—she peeks at me like she’s about to say something and she isn’t sure how I’m going to take it—“I was better than I thought I would be.”

“What do you mean?”

We’ve discussed what happened over Christmas—at least, some of it—over the last few days, but she never mentioned anything like this to me. And the saintly woman never asked what happened between Luke and me, almost like she could tell that if she did, I would break completely.

“You know I miss your dad more than I can put into words. Every day is”—she draws in a long, slow breath—“a struggle, and I really thought Christmas was going to be the worst, for obvious reasons. But being here, in the house by myself, with the fire roaring, the wind outside howling, and the blanket of snow coming down, it felt like, I don’t know, the world was washing away all the pain and the anguish and giving me a clean start.” A tear drips from her eye. “Your dad is always here. He always will be. It isn’t without him; it’s just with him in a different form.”

A half-sob, half-laugh slips from me. “Christ, how can you be so wise and calm about this?”

She laughs, swiping away her tears. “I don’t think I’m being very wise or calm. Believe me, I’ve cried plenty and raged and fell apart hundreds of times over the last six months. But the last few days with him gone and you not here have shown me that I can do it.” Pride fills her words. “I can be by myself, if I need to, if you have to work and can’t make it home for Christmas.”

Even if she says she’s okay with it, the thought of her being alone again makes my lips twist. “Or, you know, you could always go to Luke’s. The Crisps would love to have you.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart.” She pats my hand. “They invited me this year, if you weren’t coming home.”

“They did?”

She nods.

That reminds me of another thing Luke revealed that surprised me, though maybe it shouldn’t have.

“Did you know that Luke doesn’t eat with them anymore? Won’t even set foot in their house at Christmas.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I did know that.”

“Do you know why?”

Her shoulders rise and fall slightly. “I can speculate.”

The anguish on his face when he told me the truth ripples back through my entire body, like being punched in the gut.

“He said it was because I love Christmas, and he could never separate me from it. That every time he heard or saw anything Christmas related, it made him think of me and that was too painful.”

She nods slowly and takes another drink of her cocoa, swirling it around in the mug. “I kind of suspected as much. You don’t go from having that kind of holiday cheer your entire life to randomly becoming the town grinch practically overnight. And it did coincide with you leaving.”

It’s going to get worse because of what happened while you were in that cabin…

“Shit.” I squeeze my eyes closed, tightening my grip on the mug to attempt to ground myself in some way. “I let something happen that I shouldn’t have.”

A momentary silence hangs between us before Mom finally speaks. “What makes you think it shouldn’t have happened?”

I will myself to open my eyes and meet hers. A humorless laugh falls from my lips. “Because now I feel even shittier than I did when I left eight years ago. Luke is furious with me, and he probably has every right to be. It wouldn’t surprise me if no one ever sees him again after this.”

“I don’t think his parents will let that happen. I’m sure they’ll try to convince him to come back to the land of the living.”

“I doubt it’s possible.”

Her brows rise. “Could you do that?”

“What? Get him to come back to the land of the living?”

She nods with a little half-smile playing at her lips. “Or is his heart just three sizes too small?”

I have to grin at that reference.

How much do I tell her?

There are things that went down—literally—that I definitely don’t want to be discussing with my mother.

But she’s the only person who might actually understand.

It spills out before I can stop it.

“I broke his heart. I didn’t realize how badly. I thought he made his choice and moved on. I thought he was living how he wanted to, but the truth is, he was just waiting for me to come back and to stay .” A little hiccupped sob fills the kitchen before I realize it’s come from me. “His heart…I saw it over the last few days, and it is definitely not three sizes too small. It’s far too big, and I don’t deserve it.”

“Why would you say that, Noel?”

“Because I was selfish, and I took the job.” I meet her gaze, and she’s blurry now, distorted by my tears. “I left.”

“Oh, no.” Mom sets her mug on the counter, walks around it, and pulls me into her arms. “This isn’t your fault. People break up, Noel. People die. Relationships end for a hundred different reasons. And everyone has to figure out their own way to go on after that.” She pulls back, taking my face between her palms like she used to when I was a child and she was really trying to get through to me. “You have a beautiful life in Toronto. A job you love . Friends you love . He chose how he reacted to it, not you. You didn’t force him to become that grumpy, reclusive, angry man. He let that fester. He let himself become the Grinch, not you.” She brushes away my tears. “And if he gets worse, then that’s on him, too, not on you. No matter what happened down there… You are consenting adults, and I know whatever it was meant something to both of you, and that can be enough .”

I release a shaky breath, trying to control my heart seizing in my chest so violently. “You really are a wise woman.”

She smiles. “I always was. You were just a stubborn kid and didn’t want to believe that I knew what I was talking about.”

“You think I believe you now?”

Her features soften, the concern melting into something else. “I hope you do…”

I sigh as I glance at the clock, the darkness now outside the windows and sliding glass kitchen doors a sign that I need to hit the road. “I need to get going if I’m going to stop at the hospital on my way.”

Mom nods slowly. “You do. Just know that he’s not there.”

Her words make my spine bristle. “I’m surprised. I figured he would have stayed with them until they got discharged.”

She returns to her cocoa. “Nancy said he tried, and that was his plan. But…” Offering a slight shrug, she takes a sip and then sets the mug down. “Apparently, his plans changed.”

“Apparently…”

Or he went back to hide in his cabin.

I guess it shouldn’t surprise me if that’s precisely what he did.

If he returned to lock himself inside now that his parents are out of the woods.

Being around all the people and the hustle and bustle of the hospital after living the way he has for so long had to be a lot for him.

He undoubtedly needed the serenity of the mountain.

Where he can go back to being the Grinch.

I skirt the edge of the counter to hug Mom one more time. “I’ll see you in a few months.”

She nods against my shoulder, squeezing me tightly. “I love you, kiddo. Remember, you have to do what’s right for you, not what’s right for someone else.”

Such a wise woman.

Just like Dad, she always encouraged me to reach for my dreams, to try to grasp them and cling to them tightly. And she doesn’t want me to wallow in guilt even though that’s probably precisely what I’ll end up doing, in spite of anything she says.

She follows me down the front hallway, and I pull on my jacket while she tugs open the door.

“Drive safely. We don’t need you sliding off the road. Again.”

I scowl at her. “Not funny, Mom.”

“It was kind of funny.”

Maybe I could laugh about it.

What that damn rabbit caused.

But knowing what it ultimately led to, I can’t bring myself to.

Not ever.

I lift my suitcase, give her a final hug, then head down the stairs and make my way over to the rental car.

This piece of shit is the entire reason I ended up in that ditch in the first place.

I could have gone another Christmas without seeing Luke, without confronting the Grinch of Mistletoe and all the love and pain that comes with him, but instead, I ended up in his arms, in his bed, and let him work his way back into my heart.

Stupid.

It was so stupid .

All of it.

Letting him rattle me when I slid into the ditch.

Allowing him to get under my skin even more when we stood under the town square tree.

Giving in to my need by practically begging him to touch me the way he did.

Permitting my desire to override my common sense and self-preservation instinct.

Because I knew this would happen.

That we’d be back here again.

To a place where both our hearts are broken in a way that can’t be fixed.

I toss my bag into the back seat, climb in, fire up the engine, and turn in the driveway to head back to the road.

“He’s not there.”

Mom’s warning echoes in my head, almost as if she knew what I had been thinking, that stopping to say goodbye to the Crisps would also give me an opportunity to say goodbye to Luke, even if he didn’t want me to.

Even when it wouldn’t change anything.

It’s probably better that I don’t.

He made it abundantly clear how he feels. Even though his words said he didn’t know, his actions spoke incredibly loudly.

Luke didn’t want me there for the same reason I won’t stop at the farm and make my way up to the cabin to see him. Because sometimes it’s easier not to say goodbye when you don’t want to leave. When there’s a part of you that wants to stay so badly when you can’t, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t.

But my life is in Toronto now.

My future is there.

No matter how much I may love Mistletoe or the people in it.

Sometimes, a bird has to fly the nest.

That’s what Dad always used to say.

And it’s time for me to fly home.

I turn onto the road and flip on my Christmas playlist to random, immediately cringing, as “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” floats through the speakers.

The damn song that played as Luke fucked me in front of the fire, wearing that damn ugly sweater…

I quickly reach over and turn it off.

Silence is better than the memories.

Definitely.

And silence is better than saying goodbye and breaking his heart all over again.

It’s better than having the same argument with the same outcome.

It’s better to just slip out of town and pretend the last few days didn’t even happen.