Page 10 of Merry Little Hate Notes

Her parents, and especially her dad, who owned a large commodity brokerage firm, expected their daughter to be more conventional and serious about life. But Carmen was determined to defy them. I loved her spirit.

“Marco is the best yoga instructor, and he’s from Italy,” she gushed. “You should see him move.” She fanned herself. “He does things with his body I didn’t even know were possible. And his tatted arms and dreadlocks are going to make my parents’ heads explode.”

“Okay, I’ll come,” I laughed. It’s not like I had a life, aside from making scary charts in my head and taking care of my dad.

Carmen jumped up, folded her mat, and grabbed her bag.

I stood as well and hugged my friend, my ride or die. She did most of the riding while I worried about how we might die. It worked for us. Well, sort of. I hadn’t always been like this—I used to be a rider too. Not on, like, any crazy drives with sharp turns and steep drop-offs, but at least I’d been on the road to somewhere.

Carmen dropped her things and hugged me extra tight. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to my parents’ place tomorrow for Thanksgiving?”

I avoided our old neighborhood, just like I avoided Christmas, after my parents’ divorce and the subsequent sale of my childhood home. The place that held all my dreams before they were crushed likea junkyard car. I was afraid to return to see if it was just as magical as I remembered. But I feared above all that I’d findthe magichad never existed. I wasn’t ready to suffer that blow.

“As much as I love the Día de Acción de Gracias celebration at your parents’ house with an endless supply of homemade tamales and mole, Dad and I are just going to keep it simple here at home. Dad thinks we need to honor the first Thanksgiving with cod and corn bread. Yummy.” I tried to sound enthusiastic and not dwell on the roasted turkey and orange rolls we used to have every year as we gathered around the Cassidys’ Thanksgiving table.

“Sounds better than the lecture I’ll be getting with a heaping side of judging all my life choices, while both my abuelas ask me a hundred times why I’m not married yet.”

“You know, cod and corn bread does sound better compared to all that.” I giggled.

Carmen released me and took a moment to study me. “I’m sorry, Holly.”

“For what?”

“That the holidays are so hard for you. Maybe someday you’ll be Holly Hollydays again,” she teased, using an old nickname she had for me.

I smiled, remembering how crazy I would go this time of year creating countdowns to Christmas and a holiday movie chart I’d made my entire family and Brandon adhere to. Don’t even get me going on my peppermint craze. And every Christmas Eve I made Christian sleep under the tree with me, long after we’d stopped believing in Santa. For some reason Brandon joined us for that tradition too. He was always there. Now he was here again, and I hated him most for stealing some of the magic.

“I don’t think Holly Hollydays is going to make an appearance anytime soon.”

“That’s too bad. I think you miss her. Bye, best friend.” She grabbed her things and flitted off like she hadn’t just shaken me with her words.

Carmen was right.

I missed Holly Hollydays. So much.

BRANDON

MY PHONE BUZZED ON MY way into the office Monday morning. I juggled the drink carrier holding two coffees and the laptop case swung over my shoulder while reaching into my coat pocket to retrieve it. The screen readMom. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure I should answer it—Mom was determined to be my wingman. Over the holiday weekend she’d tried to come up with witty hate notes I could write Holly, while forcing me to help her decorate an insane number of Christmas trees.

Apparently, she felt like my old notes lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.It was like I had let down our family or something. If I’d had any idea my mother would be judging my hate notes, I’d have tried a little harder. Who knew Mom would want me to excel at being cleverly hateful? Or how badly she wanted me to be with Holly? Not that I didn’t want a chance with her, but I knew that was incredibly unlikely. I was just aiming for the opportunity to give her an apology she actually believed.

Knowing I’d receive a continuous barrage of phone calls if I ignored Mom, I stopped in front of the cascading floor-to-ceiling water fountain near the elevators andanswered.

“Hello.”

“Oh, Bran, I was hoping to catch you before you made it into work.”

“I just walked in. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I just had this idea.”

I leaned against the wall to brace myself. Mom’s ideas over the last few days had been interesting, to say the least.

“It’s about Holly,” she added, like I hadn’t already guessed.

I looked around to make sure I didn’t have an audience. When I felt it was safe, I responded, “Okay.”

“Listen, I know you’re not sold on the notes, but I really think you need to cultivate this connection. With that said, I was thinking it would be adorable if you gave Holly some Christmas-themed sticky notes like she used to enjoy this time of year. Maybe it would spark something and help her feel some holiday spirit. You could even tell her to have some merry little sticky notes. It’s a take on the song ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.’ Cute, right?”

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