Page 23 of Christmas With My Ex

My mom was always the one who made Christmas special. She loved everything about it—the decorations, the music, even the cheesy holiday movies. She went all out, cooking enough food to feed an army, wrapping presents weeks in advance, planning every detail down to the last ornament.

I used to roll my eyes at how much she fussed over it, but now... I’d give anything to have her here. To call her, hear her voice, see her smile when I walk through the door with one of her plates of cookies, baked just for me.

The pain of missing her doesn’t fade. Not really. It’s always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble up when I least expect it.

The autopsy didn’t reveal anything specific. Her heart just gave out, they said. The silver lining—if you can even call it that—is she never suffered. She felt fine, went to bed, and never woke up.

And now, sitting here alone on Christmas Eve, that emptiness feels bigger. I’d never admit it out loud, but part of the reason I pulled Nicholas in last night was because, for a moment, I didn’t have to think about the gaping hole in my life. The loneliness that never quite leaves, especially during the holidays.

I swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in my eyes. It’s been years, but sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for her to walk through the door, like I could call her and she’d pick up. Like none of this is real.

But it is. She’s gone. And no matter how much I try to move forward, that loss is always there, shadowing everything I do.

I glance over at the clock. I should probably shower, try to clear my head. Maybe get out of my own way before I spiral any further. But the thought of facing the day feels heavier than usual.

Letting out a slow breath, I push myself off the bed. I grab my crutches and head toward the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower will help. Maybe not. But it’s all I can do right now to keep myself from drowning in the past.

8:59am

Lyingin bed after my shower, staring at the ceiling, I'm starting to feel marginally better. The hot water helped, but it didn’t wash away the mess in my head. My phone vibrates on the nightstand, the sound cutting through the silence.

I reach over, grabbing it with a heavy sigh, already knowing what’s coming.

Hey girl... it’s official. I can’t make it out this trip. You'll have to keep all the powpow to yourself, poor thing.

I stare at the screen, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. I knew this was coming. I’ve known since her flight got canceled yesterday, but seeing the confirmation still stings.

Another buzz.

The only flight I could get is for tomorrow, but it lands in Denver, not Telluride. That’s a long drive in this weather, and I don’t think I can do that only for a day there. I hope you aren't mad at me. Trust me, I'd rather be there with you.

I let out a breath, typing back quickly.

Yeah, I figured. Most things are closed here, anyway. You know I could never be mad at you.

I set the phone back down, letting the disappointment wash over me. Part of me had held out hope, even knowing it wasn’t realistic. But now, it’s real. I’m really alone. Christmas Eve, stuck in this snowy bubble with no way out, and no Bethany to lighten the mood.

I glance at the phone again, half-expecting Bethany to send another message, maybe to check in or tell me she’s sorry or that she’s changed her mind. But there’s nothing.

She probably thinks I’m fine, out here tearing up the slopes. I haven’t told her about the accident. Haven’t mentioned a thing about my busted leg or how completely miserable I’ve been. Because telling her would make it real.

And I’m not ready for that.

She has no clue Nicholas Snowden is here, too. It's likely that she would completely lose her shit if I told her. She thinks he was a dick, but of course, she only knows my side. Still, he was a dick, so she wouldn’t be wrong.

I pick up the phone again, considering calling her. I could use someone to talk to, but I decide against it. No need to darken her Christmas spirit, too.

Perfect.

9:41am

After staringat my phone for what feels like hours, waiting for a message I know isn’t coming, from who, I don't even know, I decide I can’t just sit here. I've got to choose to pull myself out of this funk.

I’ve already spent too much time wallowing, and if I don’t do something, I might actually go crazy. Or worse, I’ll drown in this feeling of isolation.

I remember what the barista told me this morning. The dorky holiday activities the resort has organized might actually be the ticket. While normally I’d roll my eyes at them, right now, it’s either that, or sit here and let the sadness of everything swallow me whole.

I grab my crutches and hobble over to the door, determined to distract myself from the mess that is my life. People go on solitary retreats all the time. I need to embrace the suck and become one with it.

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