Chapter 4

On the morning Aaron left for the cabin, he couldn't find his mother's present. He searched beneath the tree twice, then came into the kitchen holding the empty gift bag. "You really returned it?" I was pouring coffee. "I told you I did." "I thought you were trying to make a point." He had decided that so completely that he had never mentioned the coat again. His mother's name was still written on his packing list, with a checkmark beside it. "What am I supposed to give her now?" "Whatever you choose to buy her." "We agreed on that coat." "Before you told me I wasn't welcome at Christmas." Aaron dropped the bag onto the table. "She'll know why you did it. You realize that, right?" I turned toward him. "You were comfortable telling your wife to stay home. Why is returning a present the part you're ashamed of?" "Because I have to face her." The words came out quickly. Then he looked down, as though he wished he could take back how honest they sounded. I had been standing in front of him for ten days, hurt enough to struggle through meals and lie awake at night. He had never spoken as though facing me would cost him anything. "You'll manage," I said. He pulled out a chair, but he didn't sit. "Mom thinks you keep score. The money, the work, who said thank you. Then you do something like this, and what am I supposed to tell her?" "Tell her I won't buy expensive presents for people who don't want me in the room." "It's not about the presents." "Then stop asking me where they are." His phone rang before he could answer. His sister wanted to know when he was picking her up. Aaron walked into the hallway to speak to her. Through the open door, I heard him promise they would stop at a department store on the way. He could find a replacement for the coat. He could make a stop, spend his own money, and choose something his mother would like. I wondered how many things had become my responsibility simply because I had done them before he needed to ask. When he returned, he lifted the grocery list from the counter. "Where are the sheets and towels?" "In the linen cupboard. The tablecloth is there too." "You haven't packed them?" "No." He stared at me, waiting. I drank my coffee while he went to find the linen bags. He packed the thin guest towels instead of the thicker ones his mother liked. The fitted sheets were still folded together with the wrong sizes. I watched him struggle with the cupboard door, and the correction rose automatically in my throat. I swallowed it. Then his phone rang again, and he left a bag open on the floor to answer. My chest hurt with how familiar it was. He had always been able to stop halfway through a task because he trusted me to finish it. Before carrying his suitcase outside, Aaron paused beside the kitchen door. "You've made yourself clear. Can we please have a few quiet days now?" "You can." He frowned at my answer. "I'll be back on the twenty-sixth. We'll talk properly then. Don't spend Christmas convincing yourself this is worse than it is." He leaned toward me as though he meant to kiss my cheek. I stepped back. For a moment, he looked hurt. I nearly apologized. The urge was so immediate that I hated how well I still knew my part in this marriage. Aaron picked up the linen bag and left. I stood at the window while he loaded the car. The same red gift sack we used every year was on the back seat. For our first Christmas together, he had taken me shopping for an ornament. I chose a little wooden house with two names written beneath its roof. He had hung it beside the fireplace at the cabin for years. This year, it was still in the box on our living room floor. Aaron drove away without it. I waited until his car disappeared, then took my suitcase from the bedroom closet. Mara's message arrived at eight thirty. Are you ready for me? I looked at the wooden house before answering. Yes. He's gone.