Page 5 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

What do I tell her? Hazel knows some things from my past, but not everything. Far from everything. I like my privacy, but more importantly, I don’t want her to feel hurt that I have my secrets.

Dammit, Terry.

Why now?

“OK, let’s start with an easy one: Who’s the pinecone?”

If that’s the easy question, I’m in trouble.

I force my quivering mouth to form the words, instead of grimacing. “Terry.”

“Terry?” Her eyes were alight with interest.

“Yeah.”

After a long pause, her eyebrows scrunched together. “And?”

I sighed deeply. “I knew him.”

I took two more bites of my sandwich as she stared at me silently.

“Mariana, you can be the most frustrating person on the planet sometimes. You have to give me more than that!Howdid you know him? When? Who the hell is he?”

A shot of pain burst through me, and I’m sure it must have shown on my face then because she looked guilty for a moment. I quickly recovered though, smiling to signal that I was fine.

“It was so long ago, we were barely adults. I’m surprised he remembers me.”

After a moment where she looked away and then back at me, she said softly, “But you remember him very well. Your first love?”

My eyes shifted downward as I took a shaky breath. I needed to get it together. I wasn’t a flighty 20-year-old anymore. When I was fairly confident I could speak without my voice breaking, I looked her squarely in the eye, as I’d learned to do—as I’d mastered over the years to project confidence—and lied. “No, nothing like that.” I even added a smile as I smoothed my hair, ready to tell a partial truth. “He was just a guest here when I worked here, long ago.”

“You’re a goddamn liar, Mari,” Hazel said, letting out an exasperated breath. “We’ve known each other for how many years? I’m insulted that you think your facade works with me.”

I opened my mouth to refute her words and then closed it. This was the trouble with close friends, people you cared about. It was harder to maintain the image, to be the person I needed to be at all times. I’d survived and gotten this far in life by becoming the new and improved Mariana, who didn’t do emotions and messy human stuff—or if I had to, I did it with grace and a polite smile. But I’d be lying if I said part of that survival hadn’t also rested on having Hazel as my best friend. Being there for me when the facade crumbled, when it became too much. I wish I wasn’t that weak, but I’d learned long ago there was no use lamenting it; I could only work on improving.

I exhaled slowly as I took in her face and body language, which screamed both anger and hurt. “I’m sorry, Hazel.”

She stared at me for a moment and then scooted closer to me. “You can be real with me, Mari.”

I nodded, looking at my hands in my lap.

“I know you don’treallyhear me when I say this, so I’ll keep telling you a thousand more times if I have to. I want the real you.”

I struggled to swallow as I tried to stop my fingers from trembling. I felt a burning sensation in my eyes, and I thought back to all the times she’d said this. If she only knew the real me, she wouldn’t be saying this.

To my horror, she put her hand over one of mine, which was by now shaking visibly and probably sweaty. “Please let me in, Mariana.”

I breathed in a few times, shallow at first and then more deeply. Finally, I looked up, but not at her. “Can I … just have a moment? I need to use the restroom.”

She sighed. “OK, Mari.”

I smiled to let her know I was fine.

She didn’t believe me, but that’s fine. She knew me better than I was comfortable with, and sometimes she let me have my space. Sometimes.

I knew this wasn’t going to be one of those times though. Hazel wasn’t going to let this go.

I stared at my reflection in the wide mirror above my bathroom sink. My cheeks were definitely flushed. From exertion or emotion, I wasn’t sure. Probably both. I cursed my stupid genes, for the millionth time.

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