Page 56 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 34: Gavin

One of the first times that Gavin and Skylar had ever hung out, she told him that he belonged in the English countryside instead of a Colorado ski town. “Dressed in your wool pea coat, walking around with that notebook of yours, you’re like a benevolent, sober version of Lucky Jim.”

He’d never read Lucky Jim, but after Skylar told him that, he instantly checked it out from the library. The novel is about this lower-middle class guy, Jim Dixon, who gets a job teaching history at a British university, but he’s terrible at participating in the social rigmarole of campus life. He gets drunk a lot, falls for the girlfriend of another professor’s son, and constantly one-ups himself in rebellious acts against pretension. When Gavin was done reading it, he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted. Sure, Jim had his charms, but he was an acquired taste, like curry. Gavin would rather be universally loved by women, like Mr. Darcy, like a flourless chocolate torte.

Still, he didn’t take offense. That would just get in the way of his ultimate goal, which was to make Skylar his. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about her that obsessed him, but he did firmly believe in the rarity of love. All the novels that Skylar read professed the same theory: It is only the lucky who truly know love, who can sacrifice their own well-being to benefit someone else. Gavin would sacrifice himself and all he wanted in return was a piece of her heart.

Gavin thought back to a year and a half ago, to what he considered their fourth date. He’d taken her to his grandfather’s cabin in the woods. It was an overcast Sunday afternoon, and they had snowshoed over hills and amongst tall trees before reaching the cabin, where he cooked a French beef stew, spiced with a rare Dijon he’d had to drive to Denver to buy. The memory was so vivid he could replay all the details like they were happening that instant.

Skylar’s eyes had widened in delight after she’d taken her first bite. “Wow!” she’d said. “Is this your own recipe?”

“No, it was my grandfather’s.” Gavin had gestured around the cabin. “The cabin was his too. He died eight years ago, but he left me this place. I also got my love for cooking from him.”

Skylar had looked so pretty in the flickering candlelight of the cabin, her face like fresh cream, her hair like honey. “He sounds special. You two were really close?”

He’d nodded, holding back tears. “Sort of like you and your sister.” Skylar then gave Gavin a crooked, questioning look, so he’d tried to explain. “You know; he was the person who understood me best, who loved me best of all. I like to come here because it makes me feel like he’s still around.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

They had been sitting on the rickety old couch, holding their bowls of stew while eating, but he’d placed his bowl on the rustic coffee table that his grandpa had made himself, using two-by-fours as the base and some thick iron pipes as legs. “You must miss her a lot,” Gavin had said.

His heart had skipped a beat as a sad smile invaded Skylar’s face.

This was back when she’d believed that her sister being a continent away was the worst thing that could happen. He’d urged her then to tell him stories about their happy times together and she’d complied.

One day I’ll make you as happy as she does, he’d thought to himself. One day I’ll be the person who loves you best, who understands you best.

Now he knew his time had come.