Page 27 of Love Letters to Christmas

It’s beautiful, and I wish she weren’t opening a Taco Bell sauce packet over it.

At the very least, it helps me pretend that the deep-seated anxiety taking residence in my stomach is wholly her fault, not the fault of my being in my hometown for the first time since Ihad a less-than-great exodus.

Also, on the topic ofparents, hers happen to be here, too, and judging by the awkward, tear-filled way she hugged them goodnight after the service, she shouldalsobe a puddle of nerves right now, yet she isn’t.

I love and loathe her in the very same breath sometimes.

Worriedly watching the crowds, I peel back the wrapper of the burrito I got at the Taco Bell truck near us and shift at the picnic table beside the festival’s food court. “Everyone in town must be here, and you have been kind of busy getting married and with your own parents, so the fact you’ve not seen mine meansnothing,” I provide, confidently, well on my way to obtaining true zen.

Ceres drenches her burrito in sauce. “This event was advertised at key cities within a logical distance, so tourism is at an all-time high. The fact there are a lot of people here doesn’t necessarily mean the entire town came out. It’s all cityfolk.”

Crowds and crowds of cityfolk, playing games, riding rides, eating food.

I’ve got to hand it to whoever put this festival together, it’s amazing. I wish I knew whether or not it’s normal for me to never have heard of it before. With my social media time consisting entirely of stalking Brian in Iferous, Indiana and my parents not loving whenever I’d do anything but come straight home from work and school, maybe it’s only logical that I missed this whole extravagant, annual Flag Day celebration.

My attention navigates to Brian, a light in the fray, surrounded by people who haven’t seen him in ages. He’s hugging a stuffed cat he won at a fair game earlier, laughing, and—

AndI am not staring at him.

I can’t distract myself from everything else going wrong inside my head by fangirling over Brian anymore. In my searchfor mental wellness, I read an article about attachment styles and discovered I’m a collection of bad ones. I’m unwilling to let my avoidant behaviors with my parents turn into anxious ones with Brian. It’s not his responsibility to constantly reassure me of anything, and, furthermore, getting into a relationship won’t fix me.

Dragging my attention away from my reason for life, I locate a red flag.

Letting my gaze trail, I find more. I noticed earlier that the red, white, and blue expectation of this holiday seemed overshadowed by, well,justred…but… It’s like I’m being told off, or something. “Why aren’t there any American flags?” I ask.

Ceres eyes me as she dips a chip in nacho sauce. “Because. Mars is crazy.”

I stare at her.

She arches a brow at me.

I blurt, “Mars stole all the white and blue decorations?”

Despite the surrounding noise, Ceres’s nacho crunch is deafening. “No? He didn’t order any.”

Order…any?

I smile, but only because I do not wholly know what else to do right now. My dear sweet Ceres… My only real friend…What do you mean he did notorderany?“I do not understand.”

Sighing, Ceres mutters, “He only likes red flags, so he did whatever he wanted. Basically.”

“What does Mars have to do with the festival’s decoration committee? I didn’t know you could be on a decoration committee with a criminal record.”

Ceres freezes before dipping another chip. “Oh,” she says, with insufficient guilt. “This was his idea. This whole thing was a scheme to get his brother and Lyra to realize their feelings for each other.”

You have got to be joking.

“Along the way, I found feelings for him, which I am assuming was also part of his master plan.” She smiles down at the rest of her food. “He’s resourceful like that.”

My friend barely tells me she’s getting married and now she’s telling me that her now-husband planned an entire town-wide Flag Day festival that has brought more tourists into Bandera than I have ever seen, even though I used to work at the Walmart right by the interstate exit?

“Ceres,” I say.

She hums and sips her drink.

“We have got to have a conversation about your communication skills.” Forcing in a deep breath, I use this information to settle my fears over the possibility I might see my parents. “Iwantto know what’s going on with you. Especially right now, while I’m trying to tame the rabid, Brian-centered chipmunk in my brain. Please tell me things. Is there anything else going on in your life that I don’t know about? Like, I don’t know, are you pregnant?”

This time, both her brows shoot up. “Ijustgot married.”

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