Happy Holidays!
The door of Patty's Place clicked behind Anne Shirley as she slid down its textured, chipped surface. Her forehead rested against her knees, and shining droplets of rain slipped from her auburn hair down her pale legs.
She faintly heard Roy's engine turning over as he accelerated away from the house, and she breathed the sigh of one finally alone.
As she thought of the silent, uneasy miles she and Roy had traveled, tears gathered in her gray eyes.
She had truly made a mess of everything between them.
Roy was her romantic ideal!
He was all she had wanted her whole life.
He was tall and dark and he loved her more than anything.
He loved her so much, in fact, he was willing to work past this wretched weekend.
Searing, white guilt bloomed in Anne's heart as she thought of Roy's quiet insinuation.
"Please, Anne, if it's what I think it is, I need more time than even this drive allows."
Anne turned his damning words over in her mind.
Was she so transparent? Could he really have an inkling of what truly happened between her and Gil?
Anne's face flushed in shame, and she squeezed her legs tighter against her.
When had she become this person?
This person who flirts with and kisses a man she has long since rejected?
This person who cheats on her boyfriend of two years?
This person she doesn't even know anymore?
Anne's breath rattled in her lungs as guilt, disappointment, and confusion swelled within her, and quaking sobs shook her small frame.
So Anne sat for hours, curled in overwhelming misery, until Stella, Pris, and Phil returned home from a gallivanting party and discovered their tear-stained friend asleep on the floor.
It had been storming all week.
And Anne couldn't imagine more fitting weather for her mood.
Everything had once been so certain, and now, she wasn't sure even of herself.
She dragged her self to and from class, soggy and sullen, and spent her nights cooped in her tiny bedroom.
Her sweet, loving housemates had sincerely attempted to cheer her up since they found her on Sunday night, but Anne could sense them tiptoeing around her.
Though she only revealed hazy details of her weekend, her friends, like Roy, somehow divined or sensed the details Anne held back.
She could see it in their eyes.
In the way the girls exchanged quick, cryptic glances when Anne's voice brushed over Gil's name in an ostensibly unaffected tone.
In the way Pris narrowed her eyes as Anne's words faded after she related her tense conversation with Roy at Diana's reception.
In the way Phil's gaze shone smugly (though she stoked the smirking smile) as Anne recounted her unnerving drive back to Redmond.
And though they desperately longed for the unabridged story, they simply cared for Anne without pressuring her for answers and details.
Stella baked mini lemon pies and left them on Anne's dresser.
Phil texted her funny quotes from books and movies every hour or so.
Pris rented a different romantic comedy every night for the house to watch (a plan the three women concocted, hoping Anne would find a cinematic solution to her own real-life romantic comedy).
And Anne, who knew they wanted her whole truth, was wholly grateful they didn't press her for it.
She had enough to work out without dwelling again on every single mistake and event, and Anne turned her entire focus on settling her own heart.
She analyzed and questioned and remembered and sorted, and just when she decided on one clear answer, another more complicated issue would arise.
Soon, Anne found it wasn't an either-or decision.
It wasn't just Roy or Gil.
It was the ideal against the familiar; the security of an established relationship against a chance on the unknown; the romantic against the nostalgic.
And then, there was an unexpected question: was she good for either of them?
Anne winced as she though of her wrongful actions against both Roy and Gil, and she hardly knew if she shouldn't just walk away from them both—for their own well-beings.
And as Anne agonized in her own thoughts, her stricken mood remained, just as the stormy weather loomed over the college town.
On Friday, Anne emerged from her dull afternoon class in her introspective haze; she hadn't truly interacted with anyone since she returned from Avonlea—even Roy, whose vain attempts to see her she had brushed off.
But as she glanced at her phone now, another message from Roy popped up.
"Please Anne, let's talk tonight."
Her heart finally succumbed, and she responded.
"Okay, let me know when and where works for you."
Slipping the phone into her bag, she descended the steps of the building with a nervous sigh.
A cool wetness grazed her nose, and she glanced up to see heavy, dusky clouds threatening a downpour.
"Great," she whispered to herself. "Another day of weather tailor-made for me."
Anne began to jog slightly as she headed toward Patty's Place, praying she would reach home before she got completely soaked.
But it wasn't to be.
Just as she rushed past the library, the clouds broke, dumping their torrent on Anne, armed only with a thin raincoat.
"Only three more blocks," Anne thought desperately, her eyes cast downward while the frigid water seeped to her skin.
Absorbed in this particularly motivated journey, Anne almost missed the sound of feet jogging along beside her and the sudden absence of rain in her small radius.
In confusion, Anne lifted her face to thank her savior.
Walking steadily beside her was Gilbert Blythe, holding a deep green umbrella and staring straight ahead.
He offered her neither his words nor his glance, and Anne, aware of her precarious position with Gil, followed his example.
Her own thoughts echoed in her mind.
He would be better off without you.
Anne flushed crimson with remorse, and the pair walked silently onward, Gil remembering exactly the quickest paths and turns to reach Patty's Place.
Three blocks quickly evaporated, and soon, Gil unlatched the dusty white gate and Anne started down the walkway to the front door.
Just a few steps from the old house's small porch, Anne quickly turned and blocked Gil's path forward, forcing his eyes on her.
"Thank you, Gil," Anne started quietly. "For saving me."
Gil appraised her for a few moments, his eyes lingering with some masked heat on her flushed cheeks and loosened damp hair.
"Not the first time," Gil said mirthlessly. "But you really should've thought ahead and brought your umbrella. It's no secret that it's been raining all week."
His admonishment caused Anne to twist her hands embarrassedly and step slightly backward out of the umbrella's shelter.
"I lost it," Anne whispered. "My umbrella, that is."
Gil's eyes softened slightly, and he shifted toward her, causing the umbrella to shield her fully once more.
"Then I'm glad to be of service," he murmured, apologetically.
Gil's familiar earthy scent amplified in the humid air, and Anne nearly forgot a world existed outside the dry haven under the green umbrella.
Gil's mouth opened as if to speak but closed again promptly as his eyes searched Anne's face.
The rain began falling even more rapidly, and raindrop-loosened leaves and petals showered the couple as well.
"Anne," Gil finally spoke, finding confidence with the storm. "Have you thought about it all?"
His words surprised Anne, and she breathed in a shuddering gasp of wet air.
"I have," she said softly, enamored by the spark that flashed in Gil's eyes. "But I don't know quite…."
Her words floated to the petal-covered walkway, and Gil shook his head slightly.
"Well, I've waited enough, and I'm not sure…. " he strained, his voice choked and his eyes aching. "But you know, happy to save you once more, but I've got to get home."
He stepped forward, his hand clasping her forearm.
Anne breathed in anticipation and her eyelids lazily dropped.
But Gil gently turned her forward and pulled her to the safety of the covered porch.
"Goodbye, Anne," he said, before stepping away and quickly down the cobbled path.
Anne watched his retreat regretfully before apprehensively checking her phone.
"I'll pick you up at 6."
Anne sighed and stepped inside.