Dad is out in the barn dressing his field mice for Christmas. This is one of his oddities that really defines him as the eccentric he is. The day after Thanksgiving, all twenty-eight of his taxidermied pets get rigged out in various holiday gear, from Robert the Bruce to Sir Walter Scott to Santa Claus. He’ll bring them in when he’s done and randomly decorate the house with them.

  I go upstairs to my room and pull out an old box from my closet. It’s the “Sam” box. The one where I’ve stored things from our childhood. I unearth it with the intention of looking at everything one last time before throwing it out and closing that chapter of my life forever.

  I open the photo album, and the first picture I see causes such a tidal wave of emotion that I can barely breathe. My chest constricts to the point of physical pain.

  There we are, two little kids covered in mud wearing the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen. The only parts not covered are the whites of our eyes and our teeth. You can’t even discern what color our hair is, white-blonde in my case, and medium brown in Sam’s.

  Our moms were busy playing cards with their friends, so we decided to go out back and entertain ourselves. We found a garden hose and the rest is history. It’s a memory so deeply ingrained in my brain, I remember everything about that day. I know we had ham sandwiches for lunch, with the potato chips from a can. I recall the air smelled like star jasmine and a warm breeze was blowing. That was the day Sam explained sex to me. A boy and girl, who like each other a lot, play a game called sex and they make a baby. It’s a card game, so we better stop playing cards together, just in case.

  Damn, I’m not throwing this box away today. It’s contains as much of my life as it does his, and even though I don’t currently like him, I’m a big fan of me. I don’t have the energy to keep looking through it though, so I stash it back in the closet.

  I pick up the phone and call Sarah. “You wanna do something?”

  She squeals, “Really? Can you get away for a couple of hours?”

  “Everyone’s busy doing their own thing,” I answer. “I’ll just tell them I’m running out to the store. They’ll never know I’m gone.” I could really use a sounding board right now and Sarah is the only person I can think of that’s far enough removed from the drama to offer unbiased insights.

  We a make to plan to meet at the diner in town and I hurry to get changed into some warm clothes. Even though we get winter in New York City, it’s nothing compared to the brutal cold of farm country in the Midwest. There are no buildings to block the wind and no subway heating the ground from below. It’s one hundred percent frigid.

  When I get into town and park, I spot my friend standing in front of the diner. She’s covered head to toe in a snowsuit, with an earflap hat that looks like it once belonged to Elmer Fudd. I giggle, “You look like Nanook of the North.”

  “I brought the snowmobile. With my parents in Florida, I didn’t want to face clearing the driveway alone,” she replies.

  “Your parents are in Florida? Why didn’t you tell me? You could have had Thanksgiving dinner with us!”

  She stamps the snow off her boots and scoffs, “There is no part of your Scottish ritual that doesn’t contain animal sacrifice. Even your dessert is full of suet.” I can see where a confirmed vegetarian might find it a difficult meal to enjoy.

  “You’ve got me there, but if I recall correctly, before you gave up meat, you used to love it.”

  Sarah opens her wallet, “I will give you cold, hard cash if you promise to forget that and never speak of it again.” We laugh and walk inside to grab a table. It’s blissfully empty as most of the town is probably still stuffed from yesterday’s holiday meal.

  After we order two slices of apple pie, I confess, “I need you to tell me the truth about something.”

  She looks up alarmed. “I know how you feel about the truth, Cat. No good can come from it.” It’s true. I’ve felt this way for ages, but sometimes you just need someone to give it to you straight.

  “Please,” I beg. “I swear I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, and if I don’t like the answer we’ll agree right here and now to never to speak of it again. Okay?”

  She shakes her head. “Our friendship means too much to me to play Russian roulette with it like that.”

  “Sar, I’ve got you and I’ve got Jazz. I’m in business with Jazz, as well as being her friend, so I just can’t go there. Please. It’s important.”

  “Grrrrrrrrr,” she growls. “Fine, what’s so important you need to hear the truth about it?”

  “Ethan,” I answer. “What do you think of him?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope, not doing it. Look, my first impression at the airport wasn’t great, so my whole opinion is tarnished. I’m not answering.” Except she just did.

  “What do you think about us as a couple? We’re a good fit, right?” It’s clear where my family stands on this issue and am hoping my friend feels differently.

  “Catriona Fiona Masterton, you don’t play fair! How can I say if you guys are a fit? I’ve seen you together for a grand total of three hours, and not even in your own habitat. There is no way for me to answer that question.” Except she just did, again.

  I explain, “When we left your house the other day, my parents surprised me with Sam. He was in our kitchen drinking coffee, acting very happy to see me.”

  My friend releases a low whistle. “Wow. That must have knocked you off your game.”

  “You could say that. But that wasn’t the real surprise. Turns out, Mags and Dougal invited his whole family to join us for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Sarah’s eyes pop open even wider. “How did that go?”

  Rolling my head from side-to-side, in a vain attempt to release some of the accumulated tension, I answer, “Horribly. My dad didn’t tell them I was engaged, so Ethan and his parents came as quite a shock. The Hawkings were positively rude to them.” I continue, “After dinner we danced.”

  “You and Ethan?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Me and Sam.”

  She leans across the table totally fixated on me. I confide, “The chemistry was intense.”

  “Wowza! What are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do,” I reply. “Never see him again.”

  “That’s not your only option, Cat.”

  “Sarah, I purposefully found a man like Ethan because I don’t want to lose my heart to someone like Sam again. It took me years to recover from our breakup. What kind of idiot would I be to want to be with him after that?”

  “Love doesn’t play by any rules,” she answers.

  “I love Ethan,” I retaliate.

  My childhood friend reaches across the table and takes my hands. “Kitty Cat, life is about feeling. It’s about the ride. Do you want to be on a merry-go-round your whole life, just traveling in the same circle over and over again? Or do you want to risk it all and hit the roller coaster, where you’re going to feel all the highs and lows that come with the journey?”

  Tears fill my eyes of their own accord. “I know what you think I should want. I’m just not sure I have the strength to want it for myself.”

  When Everything Changes

  I think about what Sarah said the whole drive home, and I keep coming back to the same thing. I have two years of adult life invested in Ethan. We live together, for heaven’s sakes! We’re completely entwined in each other’s lives, we get along beautifully, and last but not least, we’re engaged to be married.

  Before this weekend, I hadn’t even seen Sam in fourteen years. I thought we had our lives planned out to the nth degree. But then he broke up with me and went a completely different direction. I thought I knew him, but it turns out I didn’t.

  If you consider all of that, what kind of idiot would I be to even think being with Sam is a viable option? After all, it’s his fault I am who I am today. If you follow that line of reasoning to its logical conclusion, he’s responsible for me being with Ethan.

  I pull into the driveway more resolved than ever to stop thinking about Sam Hawking and what might have been. I can’t wait to leave Gelson, go back to New York with Ethan, and forget this weekend ever happened.

  I pull into the driveway to discover an ambulance with the back doors wide open. Fear courses through me like food poisoning. My stomach is rolling over and I definitely have the urge to throw up. I run inside as fast as I can and find the house in turmoil. My parents are in the living room, and Nan is being strapped onto a gurney at their feet. “What happened?” I demand.

  My mom flutters around like a moth on a string. She finally stops moving when she sees me and answers, “Oh, my god, honey, we don’t know. She was out back with Travis when she complained about a pain in her head. She came in to get an aspirin and then just started weaving all around. I put her on the couch before going to call the doctor, and when I came back she was lying on the floor.”

  I look at the EMT who’s taking her blood pressure and ask, “Is she going to be okay?”

  He looks young, but remarkably competent. While reading the dial, he answers, “We don’t know, yet. All we can do is stabilize her and get her to the hospital.” Everything feels surreal, like it does in a dream—disconnected, yet oddly hyper-focused.

  My mom says, “I’m riding in the ambulance with Nan.” Then she turns at me and adds, “Bring your dad, but don’t bring Travis.” She leans in and confides, “He’s toasted and I don’t want his drug use coming up.”

  “My grandmother has been smoking pot today to help with her neurological symptoms,” I explain to the paramedic.

  My mom’s eyes bug out and she whisper/yells, “Why did you just tell him that?”

  “Because, Mom, I want them to know everything going on, so they know how to help her.”

  She nods her head vigorously. “Okay, right, good thinking.” She adds, “Nan had a toaster strudel for breakfast and a cup of coffee with one sugar.” How that’s going to help, I have no idea, but my mom is clearly not coping well at the moment.

  After Mom and Nan are loaded into the ambulance, I go inside and hurry my dad along. He’s putting on a flannel shirt over his t-shirt. It’s mis-buttoned but I don’t comment on it. Instead, I say, “Let me just go find Ethan and tell him what’s going on, and I’ll be right down to drive us over to the hospital.” All of sudden my dad looks really old. He’s only sixty, but the fear and uncertainty on his face make him look about a hundred.

  I run upstairs and find Ethan lying in bed with headphones on. No wonder he wasn’t downstairs with everyone else. He’s probably listening to an audio book. He’s recently gotten hooked on some historical series he keeps trying to get me to listen to.

  I shake his arm, and say, “Ethan, can you hear me?”

  His eyes pop open and he sees my concern, “Catriona. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

  “Nan just left for the hospital in an ambulance. My mom is with her. We don’t know what’s wrong yet, but I’m taking my dad over right now.”

  He sits up quickly and throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Just let me get my sweater on and I’ll go with you.”

  I love him so much for that. Ethan is in his element in a crisis. He will immediately jump in and do whatever needs to be done. I sit down next to him and give him a big hug. “Thank you for being you. But, I think it’s best if you stay here with your parents. We’re probably not going to know what’s wrong with Nan until they run a bunch of tests. Just keep your phone on and I’ll update you when we know something.”

  “Are you sure? I’m happy to come along.”

  I nod my head. “I’m sure, but I better get going. My mom’s a little freaked out right now.”

  He stands up and walks me downstairs and repeats, “Make sure to call if you need anything.”

  My dad and I walk out the door together. Nothing feels like it did the last time I did this only a few short hours ago. I was trying to escape my family then. Now I wish I’d never left.

  In the car I ask my dad, “How’s Nan been feeling lately? Any problems?”

  His hands fidget like a nervous bride as his eyes stare out the window. “No, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the same old feisty Nan.”

  There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say. We drive the three miles in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I drop my dad off at the emergency room entrance to meet my mom and promise to join him as soon as I park the car.

  After I find a space, I turn off the ignition and just sit there. I should be rushing out the door to be with my parents, but I’m not. All I can think is how I’m not ready to lose my grandmother. She’s eighty. She’s lived a long life. She’s struggled with health issues and has been a widow for nine years. I should be willing to let her go if it’s her time, but I don’t want to.

  I want my grandmother to be at my wedding, even though she’s made it clear she doesn’t think the groom is the man for me. I want her to meet her great-grandchildren. I don’t want my last words to her to have been angry ones.

  Dear God, give us more time. I know I’m not the only one to ask for a reprieve, but I promise if you come through for me, I’ll be a better person. I’ll try to appreciate my family more and I’ll do my best to come home more often. Just please, please don’t let this be it.

  So, What Do you Do?

  When you see a friend you haven’t seen in a long time, you normally ask them a number of questions. I have a list. “What do you do? Are you married?” If yes, “Do you have kids? Where do you live?” Then I wrap it up with something like, “You look great! Let’s stay in touch.” I’m sure these are pretty typical things most people say.

  So why in the world, when I saw Sam after fourteen years, didn’t it occur to me to ask any of my go-to questions? I presumed he wasn’t married with children, due to the lack of wedding ring and his clear interest in me. I assumed he was visiting his family for Thanksgiving because, well, that’s what I was doing. As far as where he lived and what he did for a living—never crossed my mind.

  That’s why I’m completely, and I mean totally, shocked to walk into the emergency room and see Sam talking to my parents. That would be Dr. Samuel Hawking, according to his name tag. You might be wondering why Mags and Dougal never mentioned this to me, because I sure am. I’m also wondering why Sarah never said anything. I mean, yes, I’ve forbidden them to ever speak my ex-boyfriend’s name, but I don’t know, this seems like something they might have found a way to mention.

  I reach my parents in time to hear Sam say, “We’ve already drawn blood and are sending it to the lab. I’ve ordered a CT scan and depending on what we find, we’ll know if it was another stroke and whether or not we need more tests to determine our next course of action.”

  When he sees me, he acknowledges me by only saying, “Cat.” That’s it, nothing more. Of course, I don’t want him to stand around and chit chat while my grandmother needs him, but I require something else here. I turn to my parents, “Why didn’t either of you tell me that Sam was a doctor and worked here in town?”

  My mom looks confused. “Because you told us we were never allowed to say his name to you.”

  I fling my hands up in the air in a very Italian gesture. “Yet, you somehow think setting us up to have dinner together with my fiancé and his parents is within in the bounds of acceptable behavior?”

  “You never said we couldn’t do that,” my dad answers.

  Oh. My. God. “Did I ever tell you that you should never mess with me or I’ll go crazy on you? Did I ever do that?”

  My mom shakes her head. “Not that I recall.”

  I scream, literally scream at them, regardless of any audience we might have. “Well, I’m telling you now! Stop messing with me!!!”

  They both look totally taken aback, like I should have stated this dictate long before now. I just shake my head, turn around, and go sit down. Who are these people? They aren’t right in the head. Nothing about them makes sense. In a world full of relatively normal human beings, the fact that they found each other and fell in love should be in some kind of record book. The fact that they’re able to function in society is simply amazing to me.

  My dad offers to get us a cup of coffee. I pass, but my mom says, “I’d love a great big one with lots of sugar and any kind of fancy creamer they have. Hazelnut, if that’s an option.”

  I want to stay mad at her, but she looks so fragile at the moment, I just can’t. I reach out and take her hand. “How are you doing?”

  With tears trickling down her face, she answers, “I’m only fifty-nine. I’m too young to be an orphan.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I pull her into my arms. This crazy, frustrating, lunatic of a woman, who has spent my entire life vexing me, looks so vulnerable and lost right now. I’m supposed to go home with Ethan tomorrow, but I know in this moment I’m going to stay here as long as my family needs me.

  I pick up my phone and text Jazz.

  Nan is in the hospital. Don’t know what’s wrong yet. Not coming home tomorrow as planned.

  She texts back immediately.

  OMG, sending BIG love! Don’t worry—the girls and I can cover everything on the books. Let me know what I can do. XOXOXOX

  Then I call Ethan, because right now I really want to hear his voice. “Hey.”

  “How’s your grandmother?” he asks.

  “We don’t know anything yet. They’re still doing tests.”

  “How are you?”

  I think of the possibility of losing Nan and recall the shock of seeing Sam. I’m not good, but I don’t say that. Instead, I go with, “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want you here. I just think you’re more help holding down the fort at home.” The truth is, I can’t imagine how my fiancé would react to seeing Sam again. Ethan never let on that he knew Sam was my ex at Thanksgiving. Even though he knew my heart had been broken in high school, I never mentioned names. Instead, I referred to my first boyfriend as “the one who must not be named.” But after watching us dance, he’d have to be a total idiot not to have gathered the relationship was deeper than what I’d copped to.