Page 116 of Mistletoe Season
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He texts me the next day when I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight.
Carwyn:Gonna miss you.
I sigh. Is this what our future will be, lots ofmissyoutexts? I’m never at a loss for words... until now.
Five minutes pass and another text comes in.
Carwyn:????
Okay, I can’t keep ignoring him.
Hailey:How’s this going to work?
There are the little bubbles. He already has an answer. Then come the words.
Carwyn:I don’t know.
Not what I was hoping to see.
More words follow.
Carwyn:But let’s not give up. We’ve started something great. Let’s not be quitters.
I thumb my brilliant response.
Hailey:OK.
I’d planned to finish my book on the flight home. Instead, I stare at the computer screen, and the flashing cursor mocks me.
Back at the apartment I have a therapy session with Ramona. We go over the whole trip and how I felt about every moment of it, and we talk about where my relationship with Carwyn is now probably not going.
“You did survive Gwendolyn,” she points out. “And unlike my family, yours is together and great and you love them.”
“I do.”
“You had a good time. And most important, you started a romance for the ages. This one isn’t a mistletoe fail. Unless you make it one,” she adds. “Do you love him?”
“I do.”
When I was young, I loved the idea of Carwyn, the unattainable boy next door. Then I loved the one-dimensional, hunky, fantasy version of him. But now I love the real him—the kindhearted, trustworthy man whose kisses promise a life of commitment and contentment. It’s the best version of all three.
“Then, really, what’s holding you back? It’s not New York and your life here. Don’t give me that. It’s such a bunch of beans.”
I press my lips together, rub them back and forth, searching for the reason behind the excuses. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” she says.
Yes, I do, really.
“Say it.”
“I’m afraid,” I blurt. “I’m afraid this will end up being just another mistletoe failure. I’ll give up my life here and go home, and it will all crumble before my very eyes.”
She scoots over on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t be a goof. Your past is, well, your past. You got a mistletoedo-over this year. Take advantage of it. You deserve the kind of happy ending you write.”
I bite my lip. A tear is trickling down my cheek. Do I?
