Chapter 5 - The Planner on the Kitchen Counter
I didn't plan to go back to her place that afternoon. I'd gone to drop off the spare key she had given me at the airport — the one for the cats — because I didn't want it sitting in my jacket pocket any longer. Her front door was unlocked and she called out from the kitchen for me to come in, like nothing had happened that morning.
Her house smelled like the candle she always burned when she wanted it to feel clean, something with cedar and vanilla. Sun came through the window over the sink and laid a bright square across the quartz counter. And right in the middle of that light was the planner.
It was open. The brown leather cover was snapped back, the rings holding the lined paper flat. The black pen was tucked into the crease, uncapped. I could see the blue ink from where I stood by the doorway, her handwriting tight and slanted, lists running down the page with little boxes checked off next to them.
I set the key down on the entry table and walked closer before I could stop myself.
She was at the stove with her back to me, her tan blazer hung over one of the dining chairs. She'd changed out of the cream top into a white t-shirt but she still wore the layered necklaces. She didn't turn around right away.
"Just leave it on the counter," she said.
"I brought the key," I said. My voice was quieter than I meant it to be.
On the page, under a heading that said PARK CITY - FINAL, there were names. Not just ours. I saw Aunt Linda and Mark, Jenna's family with plus ones, the Millers. There were confirmation numbers written beside each one, amounts circled in blue. Next to one it said nonrefundable - cabin. Next to another, deposit - catering / venue. A third line said shuttle - 12 seats - paid. She'd drawn a small star next to a note at the bottom: welcome dinner - Sat 7pm - all 14.
Fourteen. I counted again. It wasn't just the three of us at the check-in hall that morning.
Her husband came in from the living room then, still in his dark suit but his tie loosened. He nodded at me, polite, and went to the fridge. He didn't mention the airport.
I let my hand hover over the planner without touching it. The ink was fresh enough that I could see where the pen had pressed harder on certain words.
"Is this the party?" I asked.
She turned then, holding a mug. She glanced at the counter and her expression didn't change. Not embarrassed, not surprised that I'd seen it.
"Oh, that," she said. "I just had to cancel the bookings so they wouldn't charge us again. It's fine."
I swallowed. "It says fourteen people. Linda and -"
"They'll understand," she said, quick and even. She took a sip from her mug. "It's easier to just reset everything than deal with rebooking one by one. I told everyone we had a family thing come up."
The way she said easier made my chest tighten. I heard my own voice from that morning in my head, quiet and resigned. Maybe it's easier this way. I hadn't meant fourteen other people when I'd said it.
Her husband closed the fridge and leaned against the counter beside her. He gave me that small, smoothing smile I'd seen at the airport.
"We'll figure it out later," he said to me, like he was being kind. "No need to make it a bigger deal."
I looked back down at the blue notes. Next to Jenna's name there was a little note: first time bringing boyfriend. Next to Aunt Linda's, it said needs ground floor room - knees. These weren't just names on a list. They'd been counting on this trip, on whatever party she had planned up there.
"Did you tell them it was cancelled?" I asked her. I kept my voice low.
She shrugged a little, the gold necklaces shifting. "I sent a group text. People get busy. They'll move on."
She said it the same calm, composed way she'd said everything at the airport that morning, like she was managing a schedule and not fourteen people's plans and money. I realized she wasn't looking at the amounts circled or the shuttle that was already paid for. She was looking past them, at how neat the cancellation had looked when she'd written it.
I didn't pick up the planner. I didn't close it or move the pen, even though my fingers wanted to trace the lines to make sure I'd read them right. I just stood there and let the light hit the blue ink until I was sure I wasn't misreading it.
Fourteen. Nonrefundable. Paid.
May you like
When I finally stepped back, she was already wiping down the counter around it, moving the planner just an inch to the side so she could spray underneath, careful not to smudge the pages.
I left the key where I'd put it and didn't take anything with me except what I'd seen.
