Page 86 of The Other Side
It felt nice to think about who we could be…what we could be, together, without the shadow of Montgomery’s outdated policy waging a silent war against us. I didn’t know what we were doing ‘exactly, but I think we both agreed we just wanted to do what felt natural. We didn’t need labels or timelines or pressure. I just wanted to be close to Chance, whatever that looked like.
I meant what I’d said to him—that I was fighting the urge to run and hide, but not because he’d done anything wrong. Quite the opposite, it was because he was doing everything right. I’d had such awful luck with relationships, I was half convinced I’d mess it up…hell, I’d already complicated matters so thoroughly by playing hot and cold with Chance for as long as I did.
But I kept reminding myself to give Chance the benefit of the doubt. He wasn’t Jake or Harry. He was Chance. He was kind, thoughtful, and careful with me. I had to trust him, and trust that he was going to do right by me, because if I couldn’t do that, I’d drive a wedge so large between us that nobody would have any hope to bring the two sides back together.
When we were just twenty minutes out from Montgomery, perhaps sensing the discord roiling in me, Chance began to excitedly run through the list of traditions we had to accomplish by the end of the day, as if I wasn’t the one who had shared them with him in the first place.
I thought it was so considerate of him to care so much about traditions he hadn’t known existed until a month prior. Since he had disrupted my normal plans, it felt like he was on a mission to make sure I was thoroughly satisfied with this year’s schedule of events.
I had only started the traditions to make myself feel less lonely and homesick on Christmas. The idea that, in a way, they could become his traditions too…ours really, made my chest and throat feel tight. I liked the thought that they could belong to both of us. And whether he cared about the activities themselves,or if he just cared by default because they were important to me, didn’t matter.
What mattered was that we were going to find a way to make this work. I was bound and determined, whatever it took.
It felt odd returning to my room. It had been a little over twenty-four hours, but it felt like my entire world had shifted. Chance came over and set up his laptop in my room, helping me putter around to make the mac and cheese and whatever else I needed.
He later declared it was the best mac and cheese he’d ever had, and even though I doubted that, I believed that he meant it, which made me swell with pride.
The sparkling cider tasted even better than I remembered, and we set out more pastries to proof overnight to have something for the next morning, since the first batch I had set out for the previous morning had sat out for too long while we were away.
After dinner, we reconvened in the lounge. Chance brought up two mugs of hot chocolate (with milk, thank you very much), and settled on the window seat near the fire. Only the fire, Christmas tree, and string lights illuminated the room in a soft and ethereal glow.
Chance extended his hand with the second mug toward me. I took it, but set it on the study table. His brow furrowed in confusion.
I grabbed the stocking from the chair, where I had stashed it when I came up just before he arrived. “I got you something for Christmas. I thought I’d give it to you yesterday—”
“Don’t worry, you gave me plenty yesterday.” Chance chuckled, diffusing my self-doubt, as usual.
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about going down on him again, although I wouldn’t have been opposed.
Stay focused, Violet.
I pulled the stocking out from behind my back and handed it to him. It was made from a red knit sweater material with a white felt letter “C” with red stitching attaching it to the red fabric beneath. It wasn’t anything special, and didn’t cost much, but it matched the one I had, already tacked to the mantle, with a white felt “V.”
“Violet...” Chance simpered, smiling sweetly at the gift. “Thank you.” He looked up at me. “Come over here, or I’ll get up and drag you,” he teased menacingly.
I stood my ground. “There’s something else inside.” I felt my stomach beginning to flip. I knew he’d be glad, but I wasn’t sure if I had the nerve to remember everything I’d planned to say. I didn’t want to leave anything out.
Chance pulled the negatives from inside the stocking. His lips parted, and he sighed in contentment. “You didn’t have to do this.” He knew exactly what they were.
I crossed the space to him, just wanting—maybe needing—to be closer to him. “You were right,” I began. “The photos are beautiful. Even if their subject hadn’t yet agreed to having them taken.”
Chance laughed quietly, reaching out and taking my hand in his. His eyes flicked to mine, encouraging me to continue.
“I hated the thought of taking your art away from you. They belong to you. I would just ask that you refrain from distributing them amongst the students and faculty.”
Chance laughed again. “You are so silly sometimes. You know I wouldn’t do that.”
I nodded. I knew it was an odd thing to worry about, but at least I had said it out loud, even if it was just to feel better myself. And then I said what I’d really been hesitant to offer. “But I’d beokay if you wanted to do a show. In fact, you should do a show. I want other people to see your art. You deserve that.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Chance mulled over my words. “You really think they’re good enough for an exhibition?”
I laughed through a sigh of relief. “Yes. They’re more than good enough.”
“If I had a show, would you come?” His eyes were lit up, knowing exactly what he was asking.
“Yes. Of course. I want to support you.”
Chance opened his arms to me, wanting me to join him on the window seat. I darted back over to the table, grabbed my mug, and settled between his legs, my back to his front.
