Page 90 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“You invited Elvis over for Christmas?”

He stops mid-twirl. “Did I not tell you?” He must take my vacant stare as a resoundingnobecause he goes on to say, “It was before your shit hit the fan. I thought it would be fun if we both had our people over, since we both have dates for the holidays this year.”

“But you knew my thing with Chase would end.”

“I was optimistic it wouldn’t.”

I stare at him, unamused.

“What?” he says in defense. “So, I wanted both of us to get laid on Christmas. What’s so bad about that?”

“What are we serving?”

Now it’s his turn to give me a look. I never cook. He’s the only one who uses our kitchen, and I pull my weight by periodically providing takeout. Miles puts a hand to his chest. “I’ll be making a garlic roasted chicken with potatoes and asparagus.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “So, we’re hosting Christmas dinner? For Elvis?”

He nods. “We are hosting Christmas dinner for Elvis.” He turns, his back facing me so he can organize our already clean kitchen. “And if you wanted to invite Daddy?—”

“No.”

His hands go up in surrender, and he dramatically turns around. “It was just a suggestion! Damn.”

Changing the subject, I ask, “What can I help with?”

He sets his elbows on the counter in front of me. “No sulking.”

I give him a sharp nod. “Done.” I’m actually feeling excited about the holiday now. Having someone here on Christmas will force me out of my funk.

“And today,” Miles continues with a subtle quirk of his lips. “You’re going to let me practice making Christmas cocktails while we watch whatever Christmas movie your heart desires. Even if it means I have to listen to Anna Farris sing about forgiveness for the fourth time this month.”

I practically melt into that statement. “God, I love you.”

He grins. “I know.”

For the rest of the day, I feel better than I have since leaving Chase’s apartment Saturday morning. Things settle into how they were before Chase, and how they will be after him. Miles keeps me laughing with his jokes while we taste test his different concoctions, and the buzz helps to distract me from everything that’s happened recently. The best one is made with sparkling wine, rum, orange, and cranberries. I hope he knows what he’s gotten himself into because I’ll probably ask him to make it every year for the rest of eternity.

We don’t talk more about Chase.

We don’t talk about Nicolette even though I’m already dreading the appointment she scheduled next week.

Christmas Eve with Miles is light and vibrant, and I feel a little more like the version of myself that I was before.

forty-three

As much asliving in Florida makes Christmas feel different from the movies, I love this holiday. There’s something wonderful about getting together with those you love, and even though our table may be small this year, I couldn’t imagine spending this day with anyone other than Miles and Elvis.

It’s the first year I’m not with my family, and as much as I love them, this has been the most relaxing Christmas yet. No rushing out the door looking presentable. No waking up early to make a pie that I probably won’t eat later because I’ll be too busy. No last-minute gift wrapping I should have done the night before but didn’t.

Instead, I’m still wearing the leggings I slept in, my hair is up in a messy bun, and I’m wearing an old T-shirt that reads,Jolly AF, with a reindeer design surrounding it made to look like the stitching you’d find on a sweater. To be fair, Miles is wearing a shirt with a plate of cookies that says,I Put Out for Santa.I haven’t been outside today, but Elvis showed up wearing a sweater, so it gives me hope that maybe the temperature has dropped for the occasion.

I sit on our couch with my feet tucked beneath me as I sip my second cocktail. Elvis sits a few spots away with his arm casually around Miles, and the sight alone makes my heart feel full. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Miles this invested in anyone. He’s happy. That’s all I need for this Christmas to be great.

Yesterday was the first day Chase and I didn’t text since meeting. Late last night, after the clock struck twelve, I sent him a text wishing him a Merry Christmas. It was a moment of weakness that I succumbed to thanks to the help of Miles and his many cocktails. Plus, even if I want to keep my distance from Chase, he was still a huge part of my Christmas this year. Not acknowledging the holiday with him somehow felt wrong—unfinished. I had waited for those three dots to appear, wondering if he was home or staying with family. Wondering if he’d thought about me at all that day. Eventually, I gave up hope. I pushed him away, and I succeeded. Why would he answer a late-night text from me?

This morning, I woke up to a text from him. All it said was “Merry Christmas,”but it was sent just past two. Did he go out on Christmas Eve? Or was he home? Maybe he already found someone else to keep his bed warm. My chest aches.

So, all day, I’ve been pushing down those feelings. I’ve been fighting the urge to send a text asking him why he was up so late. I’ve been fighting the urge to text him at all. This morning, I deep cleaned the apartment in preparation for the arrival of Elvis while Miles took to the kitchen. Everything he’s prepared so far has been incredible. How a man can somehow make a charcuterie board that tastes better than other charcuterie boards, I will never know.

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