Page 118 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Lonely Christmas
Jasper
The carpet smells faintly of pine needles and whatever festive candle Ivy’s been trying to convert the air into since mid-November—something with cloves and orange peel and possibly witchcraft.
Lucy’s nestled against my side, one bare foot resting on my thigh like she’s claimed it, eyes wide as I try not to butcher the last page ofThe Dinosaur Who Stole Christmas.
I give the T-Rex a terrible growl and she giggles, exactly on cue. Job done.
Around us, the room is warm and slightly too full—wrapping paper stuffed into bags, coffee cups balancing on the arm of the sofa, someone’s half-eaten mince pie abandoned on a napkin. The tree lights blink slowly, like they’ve also had too much food.
It’s been a good Boxing Day. Too many roast potatoes. Too many terrible cracker jokes. Geoff phoning in from the States just long enough to show off the size of his hotel breakfast. Ivy fussing, Theo pretending not to enjoy it.
It’s what Christmas is supposed to be.
And still.
There’s a weight sitting just behind my ribs, refusing to shift. I check my phone again, subtly, like maybe I missed it.
Nothing.
No message. No “thanks for the gift.” No photo of her feet in unicorn slippers. No emoji. Not even a Merry Christmas.
And I know what that means.
I close the book and set it gently beside Lucy’s cushion. She yawns, then reaches for my hand.
“Can we read it again tomorrow?”
“When I am back next time,” I say, brushing her hair off her face.
She closes her eyes. I stay a moment longer, pretending not to listen to the quiet disappointment humming in my chest.
Miranda didn’t like it. Or worse—she liked it, and it only made things harder.
And she’s probably with him. Sim-Sim. Perfect bloody timing Sim-Sim. What a ridiculous name for a grown man.
I push myself up off the floor, joints creaking like someone twice my age, and head to the kitchen to say goodbye and head home. There is some whisky waiting for me in my kitchen.
I find Ivy at the sink, elbow-deep in soapy water, sleeves rolled up, her reindeer apron declaringSleigh All Dayin glittery letters like it’s an actual life philosophy. She’s humming something jazzy and very much not carol-related.
“Thanks for everything,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “The food was incredible.”
She grins handing over a Tupperware container. “Thank your brother. The only thing I contributed was positive thoughts.”
“Pretty sure I won’t need to eat again until January,” I try to object to the food offering that does look delicious.
“You say that now. Wait till you’re elbow-deep in cold pigs in blankets at midnight,” Ivy winks.
“Guilty,” I admit. “Very on brand.”
Theo appears in the doorway, mug in hand, watching me like I’ve just said I’m emigrating. He looks comfortable. Settled. The kind of settled I used to find a bit smug and now… I want it too.
“You sure you have to go?” he says. “Stay a bit longer. We’ve got that bottle of Brandy we didn’t open yet and there’s leftover trifle Lucy thinks she’ll eat all on her own.”
“She threatened me with a fork over it,” Ivy calls out, without turning around.
I smile. “Tempting. But I think I need some time to myself.”
