Page 66 of Christmas Criminal

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you ever think of moving back here? Maybe not with her, but just–I don’t know–coming home one day?”

I lick my lips, trying to figure out the right thing to say. I don’t want to give him false hope–if we’re even at that point yet–but I also don’t want to blatantly reject something that… I don’t know, might change my mind one day.

“Not really. I’m so uncomfortable here it’s really hard to imagine calling this home again.”

He hums. "Don't you think if you gave it some time, you'd get used to it here? If you don't come back very often, don't you think you're almost precluding yourself from evergettingcomfortable?"

I sigh. "I don't know. Every time I'm here I feel like I'm constantly thinking twenty steps ahead in an effort to thwart whoever's going to pop up and try to take me down next."

He's quiet for a second. "I know that that's been your experience, but if you took yourself out of your old bedroom, out of the high school and away from town events where asshole ex-boyfriends crawl out of hiding, don't you think maybe you could breathe easier?"

"What's the point of being here if I have to shun most of the town to feel like I can breathe?"

The silence is deafening.

"I guess you're right," he says, and I realize with that one sentence that I was hoping he might try to convince me.

Like maybehemight be a reason to try.

A few more beats of silence pass between us.

"Hey, Noelle?"

"Yeah?"

He lets out a quick breath that makes awhooshingsound in the phone.

"Will you help me put up my Christmas tree?"

I blink, wondering where this development came from. I'm sure he doesn't actually needhelp.

And that means he wants to spend time with me.

My chest swells, images of red wine and candy canes floating through my mind.

"Yeah. That would be nice."

14

NICK

Sunday, December 15th

Noelle's knock on my door brings me out of whatever anxious stupor my body devolved into this afternoon after I rushed home from school to clean.

When I asked her to help me put up my tree, I wasn't thinking beyond the possibility of having someone around to put up my treewith. It's a little fantasy that's played in my head ever since my mom died, like I'm waiting for someone special in my life to partake in that particular tradition.

But now that that fantasy is becoming a reality, it feels a lot bigger than I thought it was going to. I mean, sure, it's a little date–

I hopeNoellethinks this is a date.

Fuck, what if she thinks this counts toward her community service hours?

I pause on the stairs, nearly tripping over myself because my brain is suddenly taking all of my processing power and leaving nothing for extraneous limbs like legs.

When I finally make it to the bottom, I take a deep breath. I make a promise to myself that I won't be upset if she wants this to count toward community service hours. I won't be upset if she doesn't want to make out in front of the tree with me. If I end up alone at the end of the night between sheets I washed three times today for good measure in the Downy sensitive skin stuff that works for her, I'll be fine.

When I open the door, she grins at me. All pink cheeks and white teeth atop an oversize scarf that causes her hair to fan out in every direction.

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