fix it, I promise.”
Eventually he calmed down, but I was a shaky mess and James kept scribbling. I didn’t like to think about what he might be writing, and it was nothing but a relief when the hour finally ended, tempered by the awful acknowledgement that I’ll have do it again next week, and then the week after that.
Now I try not to fidget as Nick opens the door and welcomes me in. He’s dressed like an ad for Eastern Mountain Sports, with matching waterproof parka, hat, and gloves, and a pair of hiking boots that probably cost at least two hundred bucks. I feel inadequate in my winter jacket straight from Walmart, my beat-up sneakers. How can I possibly compete with these people?
“Hey, Beth,” Nick greets me easily as he opens the door wide and steps aside to let me in. His smiling gaze takes in my pathetic winter gear before he adds, “Great to see you. I think it’s probably snowing up at the farm, so do you want to borrow a pair of Ally’s boots? What size are you?”
“Um, six and a half.”
“Ally’s a seven, but I think with an extra pair of socks it should be fine.” He gives me a paternal smile that manages to feel both genuine and patronizing. I mutter my thanks.
Everyone is milling around downstairs, getting coats and hats, scarves and mittens, and I find Dylan in the family room, dressed in all his new winter gear, looking like a magazine ad as well, with his hair brushed back and his matching hat and mittens in navy blue.
“Hey, Dylan.” I decide to ruffle his hair instead of going in for a hug, but he ducks his head away and I withdraw my hand, telling myself not to feel stung. He’s seven; he’s growing up. That’s all it has to be.
Ally comes downstairs, looking as magazine-perfect as everybody else but me, if a little tired.
“Hey, Beth. We should all be ready in a minute.”
I wait with Dylan while they rush around, trying not to feel surplus to requirements, and then it’s time to head into their car, a big six-seater SUV that’s built like a tank. Ally orders Emma and Josh into the backseat, and Dylan and I take the middle. I smile at him, and he looks away. Why do I feel like he hates me? I don’t know if I’m being paranoid, analyzing every microsecond of our interaction, or if I’m not being fearful enough. What if he always resents me? What if these three months away change everything?
It’s an hour’s drive to the Christmas tree farm, and at first Nick chivvies everyone along with quizzes and games, but after half an hour, Josh takes out his phone and Emma looks out the window like she’s lost in her own world, and Nick lapses into silence.
I’m grateful; I wasn’t any good at the games and Dylan, of course, didn’t say a word, although now that Ally has said he is speaking part of me is determined to hear him talk, even though I know pushing him is hardly going to help matters between us.
About fifteen minutes from the farm, we start to see snow, a soft, fleecy blanket draped over the fields and frosting the trees like a birthday cake. It’s so beautiful, compared to the cold, barren grayness of West Hartford, and I lean closer to Dylan to point out the sights—branches bowed down with the soft weight of the snow, drifts all the way up the fence posts.
“There must be eight inches here,” Nick says, sounding both impressed and benevolent, almost as if he had something to do with it.
Ally murmurs something in reply, but I can’t hear what it is. She’s been pretty quiet for the whole journey, her expression preoccupied, her fingers tapping against her thigh, and I wonder what’s going on. Is she worried about Emma and her Harvard plans? Or is there something else?
At the farm, we troop into a barn that has been festooned with Christmas decorations right up to its beams, and are given a saw and a map.
“We always get a blue spruce,” Nick tells me, and I nod and smile even though Christmas trees look all the same to me.
Soon we are setting off in the snow, which sinks up past the edge of my boots and soaks my socks. I look for Dylan, but I see he has run ahead and is now walking hand in hand with Emma. I