Page 110 of Every November

I remember the way he looked over his shoulder at me, eyes dark and wanting. The way he completely melted for me, turning into a pile of mush. The way the whole apartment smelled like pine and sex.

Later that night, we were lying on the couch under a blanket, the tree lights blinking over us, when he shifted to look up at me.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We don’t have to talk about it, but I just wanted to see how you’re feeling since today’s the one year mark.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I’d been trying not to think about it all day, but it had been in the back of my mind. A year since that kitchen. Since the door closed behind me and nobody followed.

“Weird,” I said. “Sad, I guess. Part of me keeps waiting to feel how I felt last year. Like the floor’s about to drop out, but it hasn’t.”

He didn’t try to fix it. He just laced his fingers through mine and held on. “I’m really glad you told me and I love you.”

“Me too.” I looked over at our ridiculous tree, and for the first time, understood why people love the holidays so much. “Last Christmas Eve, I was driving back to Chicago, completely falling apart. This year, I’m here. With you. Drinking cheap wine next to the ugliest tree in Seattle.”

“Hey,” Evan said, mock offended. “You picked out and decorated that tree too.”

“And it’s absolutely perfect.”

I laughed, and just like that, the heaviness loosened. It didn’t swallow me, it just passed through, sad but survivable.

Christmas Day was slower. We stayed in bed until eleven, trading lazy kisses with wandering hands before we made breakfast together. His mom FaceTimed him and I ended up meeting his family through the screen. It was nerve-wracking, but they were all kind and supportive of our relationship, which felt incredible and foreign. After, we watched some terrible holiday movie on the couch, my head in his lap, his fingers running through my hair, then we were back in bed, taking our time as we took each other apart.

“What are you thinking about?” Evan asks, pulling me back to the present.

“How different everything feels,” I admit.

“Different how?”

I take a sip of coffee while we’re watching the fishmongers, trying to find the words. “I don’t know, lighter, I guess. I really do love it here and it’s hard to believe that just a few months ago I was in such a dark place, and now, I feel like I’m so close to my new life here with you.”

“So close. Whichever company hires you is going to be so lucky.”

I lean in to kiss him again because I can’t help myself. When we pull apart, he’s grinning. “Come on. I want to show you the cheese shop.”

We wander through the market, stopping at stalls that catch our eye. Evan buys a wedge of some fancy cheese I can’t properly pronounce, and I pick up a loaf of sourdough bread. We stop at a fruit stand, and Evan picks up a few apples. He’s wearing his dark green beanie and his brown hair is damp from the rain, curling slightly at the ends, and all I can think about is just how much I love this man. He looks so happy, so free even as we’re just… grocery shopping, I suppose. We’re buying food, planning meals we’ll cook together, building the mundane, beautiful foundation of a shared life.

That’s what love is—not just wanting someone, but wanting them to be happy.

“What do you think?” Evan asks, holding up two different apples. “Honeycrisp or Fuji?”

“Both,” I reply, because why not? “We’ll make a pie or something.”

“You bake?”

“No, but I’ll learn.” I shrug, and Evan grins, tossing both apples into the bag as I let out a chuckle.

When we finish, we head back outside and the rain picks up slightly. Evan pulls me under an awning, laughing as we shake the water from our hair.

The week is perfect. Absolutely perfect.

We spend our last few days the way we’ve spent most of them with no big itinerary, just wandering wherever the day takes us. We hike a trail he’s been wanting to show me, one with a view of the water that actually stops me in my tracks, and I finally understand what he meant about needing mountains and open air to feel like himself. I get it now. Standing there next to him, I think I might need it too, or at least I need whatever version of it involves him being the one showing it to me.

We attempt to make the pie, but apparently Fuji apples aren’t the best for baking. Who knew? But we eat it anyway.

“I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” I admit on our last night.

“And I don’t want you to go.” He laces his fingers through mine. “But hopefully you’ll get a job soon and we’ll figure out the in-between until there doesn’t have to be one anymore.”

“Yeah.” I press a kiss to the top of his head. “Yeah, we will.”