Page 65 of Merry Me

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Riley: I don’t think you need cookies. I think you need a fire extinguisher. Because apparently, Santa’s lap is flammable.

Me: That’s not the worst part, though…

Riley: Ok, what’s the worst part?

Me: I don’t want to tell you. Because I don’t want to tell myself.

Casey: Just do it.

Riley: We’re literally your emotional support group. You can tell us if you moaned “stocking stuffer”.

Me: It’s worse.

Casey: …

Riley: …

Me: I think I might still…like him.

Casey: Wait.

Riley: HOLD UP!

Me: Not like “like” like. Just…like. With extra feelings.

Casey: Nat.

Me: OK FINE…MAYBE I NEVER STOPPED.

Riley: Ok, everyone breathe.

Casey: Are you saying you’re catching feelings for your ex…

Me: I KNOW HOW IT SOUNDS.

Casey: What are you going to do?

Me: I don’t know. Maybe run away. Join a gingerbread convent. Change my name to Holly and never wear redagain.

Riley: Ok, before that…maybe talk to him?

Me: Ew. Gross.

Casey: You’re already emotionally compromised. Might as well finish the character arc.

Riley: We’ll be here if you need backup. With jokes. And possibly snacks. And like…emotional tasers.

Me: I hate how supportive you both are about this. You’re supposed to be telling me this is the worst thing ever.

Me: But also, thank you.

I was still trying to decide if I needed a priest, a therapist, or a vat of holy water when I turned down the hallway and heard it.

Crying.

At first, I thought maybe someone was laughing too hard. Holiday brunch had that effect on people—too many mimosas, not enough shame. But then I heard it again…softer this time, raw, like someone was trying not to be heard.

I stopped mid-scroll on my phone, Riley’s latest text blinking up at me:

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