CHAPTER SEVEN

The Blueberry of His Eye

His eyes were a really deep blue. It was almost like an electric shock, and I couldn't stop looking.

Three years had passed since the summer I had last seen Christian, and I had started a whole new life. Now I was starting my third year at the University of Alberta, and I knew I hadn't seen Mr. Blue Eyes during my first two years. The more I looked at him, the more I wanted to look at him. His name was Rogan Cormack, and I had never spoken to him. The first time I saw him, he probably passed under my radar. I didn't notice him until I heard him laugh. The sound made my heart take a dive and I took immediate, intense notice. He sounded exactly like Christian.

Then, I couldn’t stop staring.

His hair was black and cut very short in the back. It grew longer on top. His hairline was completely hidden since his hair was always brushed forward, so I couldn’t see if he had Christian’s widow’s peak. His eyebrows were extremely bushy and looked in need of Christian’s usual trimming, but no university student was as stylish as Christian had been. Rogan wore hoodies and toques. He also wore thick rimmed glasses; their frames an intense indigo, which made his eyes look even bluer. His goatee was trimmed close to his face and the rest of his jawline was always so cleanly shaven it was as if he shaved right before class.

The thing was, I couldn’t forget Christian’s laugh. When I went on vacation with him, all those years ago, I took pictures. I took movies. I recorded his voice and his laugh. My memory of him couldn’t fade, because I was reliving the time we had spent together by reviewing those photographs, watching those movies and listening to those sound bites.

When I started looking for hints that Rogan was Christian, I found them everywhere. His face looked different, everything about the way he styled his face was different. His eyelashes threw me at first. They were unbelievably black, like his hair. It changed the whole mood of his face. He looked ten years younger dressed like a student. He was obviously hiding who he was, not from everyone, but from me. Christian had a distinct Adam’s apple as an identifier. Rogan wore turtlenecks or scarves to ensure I never saw his neck. It was cold that fall, and he wore tight leather gloves, that he hoped hid the right angles of his hands. The gloves hugged his hands so tightly, they were practically liquid, so even though I couldn’t see color, I could see shape and that hadn’t changed.

After staring at Rogan for two months, I could swear an affidavit that it was Christian in disguise. I didn’t question why he had chosen to appear in front of me as a different person. He had his reasons, both for being someone else and for not making contact with me. I hoped he had found an identity he could use that would allow us to be together, and was waiting for me to notice him, but I wasn’t quite ready to introduce myself.

I had changed. The girl I had been three years ago was gone. When I ran into people I had once known at boarding school, they didn’t recognize me. I had grown three and a half inches, and though I hadn’t lost more than twenty pounds, the added height had changed the whole shape of my body. I still had my freckles, though I hid them under liquid foundation. I had also learned to work with my curls so that they became ringlets instead of a frizzy poof. My hair was still more brown than blond, but apparently, I was unrecognizable because I had learned how to contour around my nose to make it look more elfin. Occasionally, I got asked out on dates by men I had known as boys who could not believe the transformation. Their surprise was almost insulting.

I knew Christian wouldn’t be fooled by makeup or weight loss. No matter how much I changed, he would know me.

***

The summer I spent with Trinity in Muskoka turned out to be life-changing. We had both been abandoned by our adults and together, with lit firecrackers under the starry sky, we decided to give up Paris.

Paris, we decided, was an idea. By that point in the summer, I had called Christian a hundred times, left him a hundred messages, texted him a hundred times, emailed him a hundred emails, and made myself annoying in every way I could imagine. At the hundredth one on each medium, I stopped. He knew where to find me just as easily as Trinity’s parents knew where to find her. We were being hung out to dry by people who worshiped Paris.

The idea of Paris is the pursuit of glamor over substance. Trinity chose Paris as her symbol because her trip had been canceled before Christian called her aunt. She just hadn’t had the nerve to tell me what had happened over the phone. Her step-sister (a woman who was the child of a union that had nothing to do with either of Trinity’s parents) had seen a picture of Trinity on Instagram with her pierced tongue. She vowed she couldn’t take a girl like that into her peaceful Parisian apartment and outright refused to take her. It was the first time Trinity had been refused entrance because of her antics and appearance.

Trinity was on the verge of an epiphany. That summer she decided that she needed to start looking out for herself and when she graduated from high school she was going to make herself an apartment. Not a Parisian apartment, but a place where anyone could come, no matter what they looked like. No more glamor.

That was Trinity’s warcry and though I knew I had been dumped by Christian for other reasons, it didn’t stop the pain. Since I had no banner to parade that explained my hurt, I allowed her to think that my problems were the same as hers. It was easy to fall in line. One thing that was clear to me was that Christian had been worried about what someone thought about us together. If public opinion meant that I couldn’t couple with an incredibly handsome, charming man who happened to take responsibility for me when my parents passed away, then I didn’t want anything to do with worldly wisdom.

What Trinity was saying aligned perfectly with what I wanted. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight. I wanted to avoid my family in Toronto and Ottawa. I wanted to go somewhere quiet where no one had any expectations for me.

When the summer ended, we returned to boarding school and Trinity cracked the books like she was possessed. Her green hair grew out and when it finally had long enough roots, she went to the salon and had all the green cut out. She looked normal in her graduation pictures and normal again on convocation day. Her parents might have been pleasantly surprised if they had bothered to come.

Christian didn’t come either. I kept my eye out for him, but that important day, like many others, passed without his presence.

The summer after high school was spent without parental consent. We moved to Edmonton. Trinity had wanted Calgary, but I wanted Edmonton. I won because the university in Edmonton was rumored to be better. It was the city where I had first known Christian. The university campus was spitting distance from the hospital where I had been treated. Trinity was taking a degree in biology in the fall, which basically amounted to premed. I was taking business because I had no ambition and I hoped I could do nothing but fall on my feet if I took a degree in business.

Trinity and I had both received our trust funds. Mine was the money my parents had left me when they passed. It was enough to pay for my degree if I was careful.

Trinity and I rented a beautiful studio apartment at the top of a building close to the university. We lived there for two months before school started. We went shopping and decorated. My contribution was the beds. I had two beds custom ordered for us to be like two private rooms. They were like cabinets with ceilings and cupboard doors that enclosed our mattresses. We made paper turn dials to show whether or not we were inside. At the end of August, when they were delivered, they ended up being the last things I paid for with Christian’s credit card. I would have gone on using his money, as often as I could for as long as I could, but the next time I swiped his card, the waitress told me it had been canceled. It was a blow, not because I couldn’t spend his money anymore, but because it suggested he wasn’t doing well if there wasn’t money for me to use.

Of course, the life Trinity and I lived in Edmonton had nothing in common with the life I had lived in Edmonton before. I went to the florist Christian had brought me flowers from, like he was going to be there, choosing roses. I went to the hospital and wandered the halls, but none of the doctors or nurses who had treated me all those years ago were around. I didn't bump into anyone I knew.

Trinity was a completely different person. She no longer did anything to impress or shock those around her. She did exactly what she thought was comfortable, so she took out her earrings and eventually her tongue ring. She wore sweaters and padded around the apartment in slippers with a cup of tea nestled in her cold hands. Suddenly, she had a lot of ideas on interior decorating and made our space one of the ‘cool places to hang out’. That had been her ambition, to make her home a place that would take anybody. Except, it wasn’t just anybody. Trinity ended up having a bunch of relatives that started taking note of her as soon as we arrived. She didn’t even know she had snooty academic family members on her mother’s side. That meant that the people who hung out at our apartment were not homeless people but fellow university students who had enough spare time to ‘hang out’.

Since I was no longer being waited on hand and foot, I lost weight. I had to do my own laundry, pay for my own groceries and carry them. I got a job at the copy place on campus. I worked there because it gave me money and saved me from Trinity’s constant flux of inane guests. It was a shame my university education didn't interest me much.

I didn’t realize I was living like a zombie, merely going through the motions of life without really living. I let Trinity have whoever she wanted at the apartment for as long as she wanted. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to her talking quietly with a small knot of idealistic students discussing the dreams they’d had the night before. I didn’t know what I had been thinking when I bought the beds that looked like cupboards, but it was a good thing I did. When inside, it muffled the ruckus. I wish I could have joined them, but I felt burned out.

I felt that way until I heard Rogan Cormack laugh. That probably wasn’t Christian’s real name either, but I had finally been brought back to life. My heart hammered at the sound of his voice. At the sight of him, the blood pounded into my ears and spread heat everywhere.

Finally, he had returned.

Except, I was failing myself. I didn’t know how to approach him. I didn’t know how to plan a strategy to get him into my life. The first time our eyes met, he stepped in the print center to get a copy of his driver’s license.

Gibson, my boss, had been about to serve him when I interrupted. “The copier in the back is doing that thing again,” I lied with a smack of my gum.

“Oh,” Gibson said, looking at Rogan who was waiting.

“I’ll take it from here,” I said, finishing the copy. “You know,” I said with a saucy wrinkle of my nose. “There’s a copier on the second floor that’s really good for quick jobs like this.” No matter what, I couldn’t let him know I recognized him.

Rogan leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Someone’s using it. I think they missed the memo about it being for quick jobs.”

Gibson came back and said noisily, “Beth, there’s nothing wrong with that copier.” He saw me leaning forward on the counter and said, “Oh!” He turned around and on his way back said, “I’d better check again.”

Rogan looked at me like he had seen that trick before, and was only vaguely amused by it. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” I said. “It’s the least I can do since you had to walk all the way down here.”

He cocked his head and gave a mock salute. “I’ll be sure to come back.”

He left and Gibson joined me at the counter. “What was that about?” he asked grouchily. “I’ve never seen you flirt with a customer before.”

“I have a crush on him,” I explained, enjoying the act of finally telling someone the truth about my feelings.

Gibson looked at me like I’d grown horns. “You don’t have to ask me for permission.”

***

Speaking to Rogan gave me the encouragement I needed. However, it was weeks before I saw an opportunity to talk to him. I was ready when I slid into the seat opposite Rogan in the food court. He was typing something on his laptop and didn’t look up. I handed him a smoothie in a foam cup and asked pertly, “Do you like blueberry?”

He eyed me skeptically. “Who are you and why do you think I’m homeless?”

“Sorry, I must have made a mistake. I thought you were a university student.” I looked at him meaningfully, like all university students must be poor. “So you’re not homeless?”

He took the smoothie from me and popped open the lid. “There’s not some weird drug in here, is there?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I knew there was a reason I picked you. Look, I know you’re in my economics class and I wanted to ask you to be my partner on the next assignment. This is just my way of introducing myself. We were supposed to have our partners by the end of the day. I’m not slipping you the date rape drug or anything. I promise.”

“That’s good, because I have my whistle,” he said.

I laughed. None of the men carried rape whistles. It was a girl thing. “I just couldn’t remember anyone else in the class except you and when I saw you sitting here, I thought it was good luck,” I lied.

“Sorry,” he said before he took a strong drag on the straw. “I already have a partner. I got one before leaving class. You should have done that too.”

I smiled at him. He was trying to make it as hard as possible. I didn’t let it bother me. “Forget about the assignment,” I said coolly. “How about a dinner date?”

“And your name is?”

“Beth.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, Beth, you’re not really my type.”

“Really? What’s your type?”

“Her,” he said, pointing at a girl on the couches with his smoothie straw.

I turned my head to get a better look. Oddly enough, I knew who she was. Socialite extraordinaire, she was a relative of Trinity’s. Her name was Felicity-Ann, but she always got called Felix, or Feline, or something like that. Her hair was blonde and long. Pricing her outfit at a thousand dollars, excluding her coat, would have been low-balling it. She hadn’t ditched her parents, so she didn’t count her pennies.

Felicity-Ann noticed our interest and shook off her friends to come over.

I rolled my eyes and sipped on my beverage. I really loathed her type, if only because Christian had always liked it.

“Rogan!” she exclaimed pleasantly as she placed a hand possessively on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Did you get your cell phone replaced?”

“Yeah, yesterday. I haven’t had time to renew all my contacts.”

“What took so long, anyway?” she pouted. “I’ve had so many things I’ve wanted to invite you to.”

He adjusted the glasses on his face. “You know me. It’s hard to find the time.”

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “But there’s a party tonight I want you to come to.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” he interrupted. “You really should try to schedule me in advance like this girl here. She was just trying to squeeze her way onto my schedule.”

I loved that man! Just sitting there listening to his ridiculous, condescending voice filled my heart with glee. That was just like Christian. The way he made it sound like both of us were a burden, and he was merely tolerating us because it amused him, was irresistible.

“Oh, Bethie, I didn’t see you there,” Felicity-Ann said snobbishly. Of course, she had seen me. We’d known each other since Trinity and I moved to Edmonton. She was just trying to lower my stock in front of Rogan.

I smiled at her like we were best friends. Never badmouth another girl in front of a man. It only makes you look bad and makes the other girl look more desirable. Christian taught me that.

“It’s no problem. I didn't see you either,” I said breezily with a flick of my hand.

That shut her up. Her shoulders slumped and she lowered herself into the chair beside Rogan. “When’s your next free day?” she asked him with a flirtatious smack of her lips.

“I don’t have free days. I’m actually driving down to Calgary tonight. Too bad you’re busy with your party.”

“I could ditch it and tag along,” she offered immediately.

“And too bad I’m busy,” he continued. “I’m on my way out now, so I’m going to have to shoo you along.” He closed his laptop and started packing it up.

Felicity-Ann got up to give him room. “Okay, but I’d better get a text from you or something.”

“Of course, you will,” he said, giving her a little push back toward her spot on the couch.

Another girl would have been discouraged by the constant blow-off, but not me. To me, it only provided further evidence that he was Christian in disguise. What I was witnessing was a perfect example of how he treated women. Granted, he was less cordial than gentleman Christian, but the message was the same.

He slid a toque over his hair and seemed like he was going to leave without saying anything more to me, but he picked up his smoothie and drank some more of it.

I stood up and met his eyes. “What about our date?”

He took another long sip from the straw. Then he put the cup on the table with a slight echo. “I’m not likely to whore myself off for a smoothie.” Then he winked at me and disappeared around a corner.

I shook his cup. It was empty. Did he drink that monster-sized smoothie in five minutes? And he left the cup for me to throw away, which was the reason for the wink.

Well, I was completely mesmerized.

***

Except that evening, I was hit with another blow. I knew something was off as soon as I entered the apartment and Trinity was home without a guest. For two years, we had had an odd rotation of visitors. Now the apartment was blank, and Trinity sat alone in the middle of the shag carpet, playing on her phone.

“Oh, you’re home,” she said when she saw me.

I looked around wearily. “Is Brighton in the bathroom?” I asked.

“No.”

“Did you two break up?” I asked, looking around again like I’d see him behind a sofa. He practically lived at our place.

“No,” she giggled, and that was when I saw it. She had a diamond ring on her finger. Since her personal makeover, she didn’t wear rings unless she was going dancing. It was very noticeable.

For a second, I didn’t know how to react. If Brighton had asked Trinity to marry him, then that was tremendous… for her. I didn’t have any complaints against him, other than his considerable lack of flair. She’d been dating him for a year and a half. He was a law student who found time to work at the Campus Food Bank, where she worked. Their attraction had been instant. Though it was clear what his charms were, none of them were physical, but he was extraordinarily attentive to Trinity after the fashion of a guard dog. Trinity, who had never been cared for by a man in her life, was one hundred percent charmed and they started dating.

Stupidly, I hadn’t seen marriage in their future. I had always taken it for granted that Trinity and I would live together for at least four years. But as I saw her seated on the rug with her legs crossed and her eyes shining, I saw at once that our time together was coming to an end. The question was: how soon?

“Nice ring,” I said with a carefully chosen smile as I set down my bag.

“We’re getting married,” she said, sporting her engagement ring.

“Wow,” I said, hiding my unease.

“I know the ring isn’t worth that much,” she justified. “It only cost about seven hundred dollars. Can you imagine the look on my father’s face if he saw it? He would die of embarrassment at his daughter marrying a man who only spent seven hundred on an engagement ring. He would demand that I break it off until Brighton could afford to get me a ring that cost over eighty thousand. You don’t think it matters how much it costs, do you?”

I clicked my tongue sharply. “No. We’re not in Paris anymore.”

She understood what the reference meant immediately, and looked at me as if to beg my forgiveness for backing out of our deal.

Without words to excuse her, I dropped on the rug next to her and put my arm around her. I had been her friend too long to dismiss what she was getting when she married Brighton. I was still in the league of people who remembered Trinity from her wild, attention-getting, days. Everything was perfect as long as she wasn't dumped on the sidewalk in front of an emergency room by friends who didn’t want to get arrested. She was a long way from that and marrying Brighton would take her even further away.

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed. “Have you set a date?”

“We were thinking this summer,” she said dreamily. “That way, he’ll be done law school and I can move with him wherever he goes to do his articling. I might not have to give up on my degree if we move within a certain radius of a decent university.”

I nodded. “I’m happy for you.”

“The only thing I’m sad about is leaving you alone here after the wedding,” she said mournfully.

“It’s all right,” I said, picking up her left hand and making a show of looking at her ring. “I’ll put some effort into finding another roommate… or maybe I’ll just live here by myself.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she protested. “I’ll help you find somebody if you have trouble.” She winced.

Then I winced.

She wasn’t finished giving me the bad news. “And there’s something else. Brighton wants to take me home for Christmas.”

I nearly choked. As it turned out, I had already taken all the bad news I could stand for one evening, and this final bit was going to make me cry.

“He doesn’t want to take me for the whole holiday,” she adjusted quickly. “Just for Christmas Eve, and then we’ll be back by the twenty-seventh. I’ll be able to spend New Year's Eve with you.”

I nodded slowly. I had never spent Christmas one hundred percent alone.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s just...”

I blew her off. “There’s no need to apologize,” I began. “We’re friends, not life partners. Go. Have fun. I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something to do. I’m not helpless.”

Trinity dropped her head apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I’ll see if I can help.”

I sighed. “Really, don’t worry about me. I’ll think of something.”

I didn’t have a bedroom to stomp off to, so I went to the bathroom and started the shower. Even though all I did was lean against the counter with my knuckles against my mouth while the water ran. I didn’t cry. I breathed and got a grip. There was nothing to be afraid of. Christian was back, and this time, he wasn’t my guardian. He was Rogan, my contemporary. All I had to do was let him know what was happening with Trinity. Everything would be fine. Even if Trinity moved to the moon, everything would be fine. I just needed to find a way to tell him how scared I was to be alone, and how I had never got over the hurt I felt when he left me.

***

I was having trouble making my battle plan. I couldn’t tell if my first attempt with the smoothie had been a success or not. I decided he was probably at the university to get a sense of what my life was like and once he was satisfied I was living well without him, he might be on his way. Maybe. Maybe not.

I only knew one person who was a mutual acquaintance, and I really did not want to talk to Felicity-Ann. I saw her that afternoon in one of the student lounges drinking a bottle of water that was too expensive for the pop machines.

I stood in the doorway and thought about approaching her.

Nah. It wasn’t worth it. I went out the other way and tried to think of something else.

In the end, the weeks leading up to exams ticked by and I didn’t manage to do anything more than say hi to Rogan in economics. He said, “Hi,” back, but the way he said it made me think he was really saying, “Don’t expect anything from me… ever.” It discouraged me.

I was on the verge of becoming a zombie again, but an opportunity presented itself two days before my final exams. I was walking through one of the lounge areas when I saw his shoulder blades protruding from one of the couches. Many of the campus buildings were open all night around exam time and many students slept on the couches, but I had never expected to see him, of all people, take advantage of that. It seemed out of character, especially for the Christian I had known.

I had taken a nap there a time or two myself, but usually in the afternoon, and not at night. It was better than sleeping on the floor, but the experience would have been greatly improved by a blanket and a pillow. He was lying on his stomach, using his backpack as a pillow to prop him up. There was probably a laptop in there, a far cry from comfort. So, I went about conjuring a pillow and blanket for him. It was easy. The University Bookstore sold so much UofA swag that finding a pillow and a fleece blanket was easy. I was lucky I popped in two minutes before they closed for the night.

I sat in one of the chairs, pulled the tags off the blanket, and spread it across him. It barely covered him, he was so long. I was less sure how to maneuver the pillow in. I put my hand under his head and he immediately stirred.

“What are you doing?” he asked groggily.

“Quiet. I’m just lending you a pillow, and then I’ll go, okay?”

“What?” he repeated like he was too disoriented to understand what I was saying.

“I know,” I breathed cynically. “You aren’t the kind of guy who would whore himself off for a blanket and a pillow, even in December. It’s okay. Don’t feel like I’m trying to get anything from you,” I lied. “I just felt a little sorry for you, so don’t feel obligated.” I didn’t bother moving his backpack and shoved the pillow under his head.

He shifted onto his back, put the pillow on his backpack and rested on it. “Actually, that’s much better,” he sighed, and he sounded exactly like Christian. “Thank you. I was getting a crick in my neck.”

“My pleasure.” I threw the plastic bookstore bag in the garbage and got up to leave.

“Wait a second,” he said.

I turned around. “What?”

“Well, maybe I will whore myself off for a minute. Let’s talk. I wanted to ask you. Do you normally ask men out on dates in that abrupt, crazy, way?”

I sat down in the armchair next to him. For him to open a conversation like that was an extremely good sign, even if it meant he was checking up on me like he was still my guardian. “No.”

“Then why did you do that?”

I decided to start slowly and move the conversation with purpose. I had to convince him I was not living well. That way, he might try to involve himself in my life so he could save me. I started talking. “I used to know this man who always did things like that. He hardly ever showed up without a present of some kind. Often he would send presents before he arrived. Sometimes they were really overwhelming because of how much they cost or how much trouble they represented. I thought a smoothie was small enough that it wouldn’t make anyone feel burdened. I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m not sure if I even know how to meet someone without at least offering them a stick of gum.”

“Who was this guy? Your daddy? Your boyfriend?” He looked more like Christian without his heavy rimmed glasses.

I shook my head. “He was neither of those things… and both those things. Long story short—my parents are dead and he was assigned to look after me. When he realized I was falling for him, he gave me the boot and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Have you had a boyfriend since then?”

“No,” I said with a snap of my tongue. “One guy is nice to me and my vision is so small that I can’t see anyone but him. Pathetic, right?”

Rogan nodded like he did think it was very pathetic. “Are you doing anything fun for Christmas?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Nope. My roommate, Trinity, is going to visit her new in-laws, and I don’t have any family, so I’m home… in my apartment… alone for the holidays.”

Saying that truly shocked him. “Don’t you have any other friends besides your roommate?”

“Sure, I do. But I’m not close enough to any of them to butt in on their Christmas morning plans. Besides, you shouldn’t be confused about how that man I mentioned treated me. Even if I loved him with all my little-girl heart and he was the only person in the world I could see, he still left me alone in boarding schools and hotel rooms an awful lot. I’m used to being alone. You know, he could hardly spare four weeks a year to spend with me. You know, before I made things awkward.”

Rogan’s reaction during this speech was strange. He tightened his jaw and felt beside him for his glasses. A second later, they were on his face.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do on Christmas morning,” I said briskly. “I’m going to get up, make myself breakfast with everything I like in it. I’m going to play music. I’m going to bake cookies, and anything else I feel like. You know why? Because it’s very obvious I’ll be alone for the rest of my life, so I may as well get used to it.” I felt very close to crying as I said those words, but I gritted my teeth visibly and almost growled rather than cry. I managed to say, “When he left me, it was worse than when my parents died. He was the one person I trusted. I was rejected, cast away, and I still don’t know exactly why. For months, my hope was dashed in pieces every night before I went to sleep. He didn’t call me today. Even though three and a half years have passed and hope is dead, it still feels like it happened recently. The blood is still fresh. I’m still bawling, and honestly… I don’t think I’ll ever heal.”

“Don’t you live in a party flat?” he asked. “Are you feeling this way while you live in a party flat with Trinity Powell?”

“And if I am?” I growled.

“Have you seen a counselor?”

“She moved her office and didn’t tell me,” I admitted. “I haven’t had the stamina to try therapy again.”

That got him. I’d cracked him. That was the pathetic cherry on the pathetic cherry cake. The regret and sorrow on his face were perfect. It wasn’t Christian’s face, but the expression was perfect. That was the expression Christian would wear if I ever truly got the chance to tell him what he had done to me when he broke contact. He thought I would get help from somewhere. He thought someone would be there for me. I had shown him I was alone.

“Trinity has been lovely to me,” I said. “Our apartment may look like a party apartment on the outside. On the inside, Trinity cradles lost souls and tries to point them in productive directions. She’s not throwing keggers. She has healing crystals hanging from fairy lights. She has textbooks on psychology. And yes, she wants to heal me. I’m the one she wants to heal the most, but the person she’s actually healed is herself. When she brings these people into our home, she tells them positive things. She tells people they’re strong, that they can do what needs to be done. She encourages them to be responsible and to take pride in that accomplishment. She tells them all the things she wishes her mother told her.”

“And that’s not what’s wrong with you?” Rogan interjected quietly.

“No. I’m responsible and respectable. Regardless, my mother would be very proud of me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m finally pretty after the type of beauty she admired most.”

Rogan moved to open his mouth and then closed it again without saying what he thought.

“Did I tell you I almost died when I was fourteen?”

“No,” he whispered like he was very sorry he had started this conversation with me.

“Yeah. I wanted to live because of him, and he disappeared from my life without a word. I must be the worst person.”

I was ready to leave that as my final thought, so I let the silence stretch.

“Well,” he said casually, patting the pillow. “You’re definitely not the worst person. I’ll remember that you were my Santa this year. Amazingly, you can still think about other people, especially when I was so rude to you when you invited me to dinner.”

I shrugged. “Don’t mention it. You already said I’m not your type. I can’t argue with that.” I stood up.

“What? I’m your type?” he asked.

I bent over him and looked him straight in the eye. “You are exactly my type. Everything about you turns me on. Listen, don’t worry about returning the blanket or the pillow. I’d like to be remembered as your Santa and Santa doesn’t lend out presents.” I straightened my back. “I feel like a fool for having told you all that. I don’t think I even told my therapist all that before she decamped. Let’s meet up again sometime and you can tell me your story.”

“I don’t have a story,” he said slowly.

I laughed bitterly. “Of course you don’t. My type never has a story. I like faceless men whose strongest desire is always to dump me. Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” he called after me, but I was already gone.