Page 17 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

I back away from the family room, finding the light switch that corresponds to the tree, and I turn it off, vowing not to touch it again.

Jess.The name slides around in my mind, trying to make sense of it all.Alexander and Jess, I try the thought on for size and immediately dislike it.

I wonder what she’s like, what she looks like, what she would have looked like here…opening the gift addressed to her from him. And I feel it for the first time, the pang of jealousy.

Shaking off the unwelcome feeling, I continue my self-guided house tour into an eat-in kitchen with double doors that lead to a deck with another breathtaking view of the lake. The highchair at the eat-in table gives me chills, but I walk right past it, moving into the kitchen and circling the island.

I let my hand glide over the smooth, honed marble that looks like it hasn’t seen a day of use in its life. It’s like the house is some sort of mausoleum for the undead. Unused and pristine — perfectly preserved. Yet there are no family photos, no real signs of life…anywhere.

My stomach grumbles, and I open the fridge to see how dire the situation is, but again, I’m surprised to discover it’s well-stocked. Nothing expired.

I pull out a small bottle of orange juice and crack the seal as Blanks strides through a back door, startling when he sees me in the kitchen.

He sets down a drink carrier on the island as well as two brown paper bags. Then, without words, he takes one coffee cup from the holder and slides it in my direction.

He proceeds to unpack the rest of his goods, revealing a loaf of sticky, pull-apart rolls, several miniature quiches, and a mix-and-match dozen of pastries. I salivate. But first, I have questions.

“How long ago was it?”

Blanks looks up at me, a near-sinister glint in his eye. “Be more specific, Angel.”Angel? Feels aggressive.

Ignoring him, I ask again, “How long ago was it that Alexander and his fiancé…ended things?”

“Ahh,that. Well, a couple things. You have to stop calling him Alexander because I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkingabout. He goes by Alex. And second, it’s been about,” he pauses to think, “three days.” I choke on the orange juice.

Three days.Instant dread strangles me.

“It’s only been three days?” I ask in a whisper.

“Well, yeah. Technically. It ended months ago, but things were officially done three days ago.” He smiles a disingenuous, toothless grin. “The same day he did allthis.” Blanks uses one hand to wave around at all the decor.

My appetite is gone, washed right down the drain. Now, all I want is to go take a shower, crawl in a bed, and hide. Because what was I thinking, living with Alexander as his wife on the heels of his life’s implosion?

No wonder he wanted it all to end. If I loved someonethismuch, I’d want the end, too.

FIVE

Alex

I’d never be able to chop enough wood in this lifetime to ease the barrage of internal insults.

Thwack.The ax comes down.Crack.The log splits.You’re a piece of shit, Alexander Palomino.

Thwack. Crack. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t come see me.

Thwack. Crack. You’re worthless.

Thwack. Crack. No one will miss you. No one.

And then it all repeats again.

When my hands start to blister, I finally lay down the ax. I don’t feel any better, but I do feel tired.

Grabbing the shirt I discarded an hour ago, I head inside the house I’ve dreaded entering since the second we touched down on California soil. The remnants of my thwarted plan to get Jess back surround me as I walk through the entry, then the great room, eventually ending up in the kitchen.

Fucking mistletoe.I had hung up fucking mistletoe. Three days ago. I thought, at least I hadhoped, she would be here right now. In the kitchen, singing a song to Eden while she bakedcookies. Or wrapping gifts on the dining room table. Or telling me she loved me while I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight. Because I would have.

I would have held on so goddamn tight if she wanted it.