Page 18 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

But the parallels between my story and Jesse’s were so slim—it was odd that I was connecting the two at all. Was I that desperate?

I sipped some more, feeling the heady rush. I shouldn’t have more, but …

I’m tired of always doing what Ishould.

With a self-satisfied smile, I took a longer drink from the glass. Looking out the window I’d left open, I stared out at the snowflakes. I loved a good snow, as long as I didn’t have to drive in it. Or clean it up. Snow was an essential part of the holiday season for me, and as a child, I’d always felt a little cheated if I woke up on Christmas morning and there wasn’t any snow on the ground. Of course, this was Minnesota, so there usuallywassnow. And lots of it.

I pictured the Christmas village, all snowy and white. Ice skaters were on the pond, and some kids and their parents were sledding. Colorful lights and wreaths and holly were hung everywhere—as far as you the eye could see, if you were standing in the center. And the tree, the grand tree …

And slowly, as I envisioned the beautiful scene, I saw it all fade in my mind, like I couldn’t stop it, like a waking nightmare.

Breathing heavily, I sat up straighter. What was I going to do? I needed the village to be mine. I needed to convince Jane to sell. Did she think I was going to transform it into something hideous or bulldoze it or something? I thought we’d successfully assured her of our good intentions, but maybe she didn’t believe us. Could I convince her?

Was it possible? I slumped back again. Was it even worth it? I could convince someone of anything with numbers and plans and money and logic. But Jane didn’t care about all that. What could I even offer her? Should I even try?

Why does this even matter so much to me?

But even as the question came to me, I felt a sharp pang in my chest. I knew.

I closed my eyes, seeing his auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes and thick lashes, so like mine. I saw his smile, and it broke my heart because he offered it so freely, without reserve and without any conditions. And he never smiled more than he did at Christmas. Dad loved the holiday almost as much as he loved me. Even though we had so little, he somehow put a few presents under the tree, every year. He might have wrapped up a shiny rock, but coming from him, it meant everything to him—and therefore to me as well.

When it got to the point where his heart condition couldn’t be managed at home and he had to move to a care facility, my heart broke for him. His independence had meant so much to him, and I was all he had. We had no other family, as far as I knew. Though life in foster care wasn’t great, I showed up every Christmas with the brightest smile. For my dad.

He was my everything.

I realized tears were streaming down my face as I thought of that last Christmas with him, when I was 10. His condition had worsened, and I was so scared. Terrified that it could be the last time I saw him. Hoping, praying to every god that I had heard of, pleading with the universe to spare my father. But through the fear, the absolute terror, I smiled. For my dad.

He was my everything.

Life without him went on much as it did before. I didn’t love living in foster care, but I was used to it. We celebrated Christmas, and it was enjoyable, I suppose.

It wasn’t the same, of course. Not without Dad.

In my earlier years of foster care, I was moved around a lot. But in my later teens, I stayed with the same family for several years. Lisa Jackson was a pretty good foster mom, by all accounts, and her biological daughter Rhonda even became a friend. They were a well-to-do Black family living in a St. Paul suburb, and for once in my life, I had everything money could buy. But more importantly, I had what felt like a real family—they cared about me. I even started to enjoy Christmas again with them.

A fresh wave of tears emerged as I thought about the three of us sitting in front of the fireplace eating frosted Christmas cookies. Life was good with the Jacksons. But when I was 17, Lisa decided she wanted to adopt me. At first, I felt loved, grateful that someonefinallywanted to keep me. But then, I panicked. I ran, literally.

It was just months before my 18th birthday, and I stayed with a friend from school. I felt terrible about disappearing from the Jacksons’ life, but in the end, they were probably better off without me. They’d forget about me, surely. Or so I’d thought.

Tragedy struck again, a few years later, when Lisa died of cancer. A lawyer for her estate contacted me one day while I was studying for my MBA, and 24 hours later, I learned she’d left me one-third of her estate. The rest was left to Rhonda. I looked up Rhonda online and told her she could have my portion. She refused, saying that her mother had wanted me to have it. Then she hung up. Of course, I eventually used the windfall to purchase the resort.

But one important thing happened in between. TerrygoddamnGrant. Even though he hadn’t responded to any of my messages after our summer fling when I was 19, I’d still held out hope. We had promised to meet in Shipsvold on Christmas Eve. Well, I should’ve known, but I was stupid and hopeful.

Of course, he didn’t show up.

I couldn’t do Christmas any more. I just couldn’t. I tried, the first year after that. But I just oscillated between thinking about my Dad and thinking about Terry, both leading to stupid tears and feelings I didn’t want to deal with. Sometimes anger. Sometimes depression. That was the last time I celebrated Christmas. I decided I didn’t need the holiday anymore.

But I’m tired of letting the past dictate the present. I’m not going to let stupid Terry ruin Christmas for me—I never should have let him in the first place. I won’t let him ruin what it means to me, the memories of Dad, and all the new memories I can make.

Iwillbuy that Christmas village.

When Mariana Northam decides—whenIdecide to do something, I make it happen.

I will buy it, and I will make Dad proud.

Chapter 7

While nursing the hangover headache from hell, I wondered for a moment who had it worse, me or Jesse. But probably me, since he was probably used to drinking heavily. He was Jesse Cane, hard partying star. I was Mariana, and my middle name was Regret.

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