Page 115 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
It would be so easy. Just a small message. A funny one. No drama. No pressure. Just... a little connection.
But as I stare at the screen, the bubble of comfort starts to fade.No, I can’t do this to him. I delete the message.
The screen goes blank. Quiet.
I set the phone down and lean my head back, listening to the rhythm of two sleeping cats and the muffled chaos still unfolding downstairs.
Still not my finest plan.
But at least they didn’t knock over the tree. Yet.
Chapter thirty-one
Tidings of Unicorns
Miranda
Wrapping paper is everywhere. SJ’s halfway through constructing a cardboard fort from the debris and has already declared this the best Christmasever.
He’s beaming at his new skateboard—bright red with lightning bolts and a helmet he insists he’ll definitely wear. We’ll see. I’m helping him peel one of those impossible plastic ties off a box when someone offers me a mince pie and a Bucks Fizz. I take both.
Around the room, there’s the usual festive soundtrack: polite laughter, the crinkle of paper, a dad joke from Irene’s brother. Christmas in full swing.
I’m just sitting back with my fizz when Sim-Sim hands me a box.
Small. Heavy. Too nicely wrapped.
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard. “You didn’t need to—”
“Go on,” he says, smiling. “Open it.”
I pull at the ribbon and lift the lid.
Inside is a delicate silver necklace—fine chain, sparkling pendant. Definitely expensive. Definitely a statement.
My stomach does that uneasy shift. I smile, automatically, but it’s the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, carefully. “But…”
Sim-Sim leans in slightly, still smiling. “No buts. I wanted you to have it.”
I glance around the room. All eyes aren’t on me, but theycouldbe in a second.
I lower my voice. “Sim… this is too much.”
“It’s Christmas,” he says with a shrug. “It felt right.”
I want to give it back. Tell him gently that this isn’t where we are. That jewellery, especially jewellery likethis, carries weight. Suggestion. Intention.
But I also don’t want to turn Christmas Day into a scene. Not with SJ watching. Not with Irene looking like she’s already mentally planning our vow renewals.
So I nod again. “Thank you.”
I slip the box back into my lap and sip my drink.
My smile stays in place, but now it aches just a little.
A while later, the lounge has thinned out—people drifting towards the kitchen, the telly murmuring in the background. Sim-Sim’s dad is already hovering near the wine like he’s preparing for a tactical refill.
