The Gift – Excerpt 2
The Gift – Excerpt 2
Monica Dryden hummed along with the Christmas carols on the radio as she pulled the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.
Still humming, Monica transferred the baked goods from the cookie sheet to a plate she’d purchased for the occasion—white china with a cheerful holly border. Her family had been too poor and too indolent to do much for Christmas, so making the holidays special for David brought her extra joy.
David Hollister. Even his name seemed to promise holiday cheer.
She put the plate of cookies and a glass of milk on a tray, added a sprig of holly from the bowl in the center of the table, and bore her offerings to the living room where David watched television.
He didn’t take his eyes from the screen when she nestled against him, but he didn’t pull away either, as he sometimes did. She smiled to herself, thinking how pleased he would be with the burgundy sweater and pinstriped shirt she’d bought him.
“Do you have to do that?” David asked.
She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“Are those chocolate chip cookies?”
He clicked off the television and turned to face her. “We have to talk.” He spoke the words softly, almost kindly, but still, they chilled her.
“Talk about what?” she asked warily.
“It’s not working out.”
“What’s not working out?”
“Us. We’re not right for each other. You’re too . . . predictable.”
She stared at him as if he’d spoken in an alien tongue. “Predictable? Me? You’re the one who insists on my doing the same things the same way. Remember those throw pillows I bought? You said—”
“That’s the old me. The new me wants . . . change.”
Her head snapped back as if she’d been hit. David wanted to change? Since when? She opened her mouth and said the only thing that came to her stupefied mind. “Do you want me to make you a different kind of cookie?”
“This isn’t about cookies. It’s about . . .” He looked at her, expecting her to supply the words as she often did. She usually knew what he was thinking and could easily fill in his missing words, but now she couldn’t even hazard a guess.
David’s eyes shifted from side to side as if he were searching frantically for a way out of the conversation. Finally, his gaze settled on his hands. “I want a divorce.”
Monica froze, then, getting control of herself, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “You can’t have a divorce.”
He jumped to his feet and all but screamed, “I knew you’d be difficult about this. Why can’t I have a divorce?”
“We’re not married,” Monica said evenly.
He gaped at her for a moment, then a grin that broke her heart spread across his face. “That’s right. I forgot.”
Monica slumped forward, elbows on knees, head in her hands. He forgot? How was that possible? Just last week they’d talked about getting married. No . . . wait. She’d talked about getting married. He’d nodded with a faraway look in his eyes that made her think he’d been seeing their future together but apparently only meant he hadn’t been listening.
David’s voice seemed to come from a long way off. “I’ll guess I’ll be leaving.”
Monica jerked upright. “You’re leaving? But this is your apartment.” And then, all in an instant, she understood. “Who is she?”