Page 16 of A Very Addicted Christmas

AFTER CHAPTER 19 IN LOVERS LIKE US

We listened to "Morning Blue" by Giant Rooks and "Connected" by Stereo MC's plus all the music mentioned in the bonus while writing this scene.

Character List:

Eliot Cobalt - 18

Luna Hale - 18

Tom Cobalt - 17

LUNA HALE

WINTER IS HERE.

It’s a magical time. Myfavoritetime. Winter means something different for everyone on Earth. For me, it’s always meant the end of school.

An achievement unlocked. Winter break has begun.

But this year, I’ve screwed up so much with school that in order to graduate from Dalton Academy on time, I need to be homeschooled. Regardless of school, there are reasons why I don’t love summer break as much as winter.

I like how the chill of a falling snowflake feels like an innocent kiss on the cheek and nose. I love how every December, Xander grows another year older, and some winters, he’s happy about it, too.

There are the traditions, the happy consistent things. How Mom tries to keep the Christmas spirit alive with making gingerbread houses, even though we’re both lazy carpenters and always end up eating the walls. How Kinney secretly loves the joyful holiday tunes. How Moffy spends the most time with us. How excited Dad gets in gift-giving. His face turns childlike and youthful seeing Xander geek-out over LOTR collectibles and watching Kinney try not to beam over a makeup palette she didn’t think she’d get.

And the lake house.

It’s always here. Waiting for us during the winter.

But this year, I know it’s different. I feel different, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve fucked up so much or if it’s because I’m getting older.

We all are.

Eliot isn’t twelve anymore, being swallowed whole by his fur coat outdoors. He’s nineteen, sky-scraper tall, and hisfloor-length faux-fur coat seems magically made for him. Like no other human could pull off his wardrobe with the same magnificence.

He stands atop a tree stump in a small secret alcove in the woods. Moonlight and crackling fire illuminate his face, bare chest, sweatpants, and that fur coat. He holds a book like he’s about to read from it, but I know this book has blank pages.

“‘Live in each season as it passes,’” he recites Thoreau from memory, “‘breathethe air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.’” He takes a dramatic pause. “‘Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.’”

I snap my fingers while Tom strums a couple pretty notes on his guitar. He’s more bundled than his brother in a black beanie, puffy winter coat, and scuffed boots.

At least it’s not so cold by the fire. I scoot closer to the flames that swarm the charred logs, and I pull my hoodie’s hood over my head. Still on the tree stump, Eliot sucks on a blunt and then squats down to pass it to me.

I grab it and take a hit before passing to Tom.

Smoke fills my lungs, and I exhale deeply, needing the calm. “Super glad we’re not doing shrooms tonight,” I tell them. We did try that…once. “I definitely don’t need to go on a bad trip.” Weed is better. It calms me down. Eases my anxieties, and I have plenty of those lately.

I didn’t call a meeting out in the woods tonight.

We’re at the lake house.

Nighttime fireside chats are our thing. We’ve been going to this little spot in the woods for what’s felt like forever. It started when we wanted a secret club away from our older siblings and cousins. And something that the younger kids can’t join. Something that was just ours to read, to recite, to sing, to dance,to just…be. Then it turned into a “hideout” to vape away from their mom and my dad, who reallydespisesmoking.

We’re old enough now that we don’t have to sneak out at two in the morning to come here. It’s only 10 p.m., and our families think we took a night walk around the lake.

“Bad trips can be the best trips,” Eliot jumps off the stump and sits on it.

“Or they can just be plainbad,” Tom refutes with another strum of his guitar. He passes the blunt back to Eliot without smoking.

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