Page 26 of Her Christmas Fix
13
MONIKA
The Egyptian cottonsheets refuse to cooperate. I tug the fitted corner over the mattress for the third time, my fingers fumbling with the elastic edge. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I have to start over, smoothing the wrinkles that keep appearing no matter how hard I try to avoid them.
When I finally get all four corners secured, I sit on the edge of the king-sized bed that could easily fit three people, maybe four if you don’t mind being cozy. But it’s only me, and the thought of waking up here alone tomorrow on Christmas morning makes my chest ache.
My phone sits on the nightstand, Griffin’s text from this morning still on the screen.
Need any help with the furniture? Happy to swing by.
I stared at those two sentences for ten minutes, typing and deleting responses.
Yes, please. I already miss you.
Delete.
I’m sorry about last night. Can we talk?
Delete.
I was stupid and scared.
Delete.
What I’d finally sent:
I’ve got it handled. Thank you.
The truth is, I don’t have anything handled. My pulse jumps every time I think about him, and let’s not talk about the pit in my stomach that opened the moment I walked out of his cabin last night.
We didn’t even have a real fight. There was no dramatic scene with accusations thrown or doors slammed. Well, except when he’d slammed the door on the paparazzi, his body a wall between me and the cameras. We just ended, like the last song on a record fading out, which feels worse than if we’d screamed at each other.
I stand and walk to the window, taking in the view that Grammy dreamed about for so many years. The rocks below the house cast long shadows across the beach where we used to walk. I did what I set out to do to honor her memory. I proved that people like us could have beautiful things and created a sanctuary away from the chaos of my life.
The main floor turned out exactly as I’d imagined it. Daniel is facing federal charges, and while a good chunk of my money will be tied up in legal proceedings, at least there’s justice. I got everything I thought I wanted.
So why does it all feel so empty?
I sink into the reading chair that’s positioned perfectly to enjoy the view. I can picture myself here with coffee and a book, reading for pleasure instead of studying scripts.
But sitting here now, I feel nothing. The chair is comfortable. The view is spectacular. And I’m miserable.
It’s just stuff in a beautiful box.
My phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call, and Riva’s face fills the screen when I answer. Her cheeks are pink, and she’s wearing a knit hat topped with an adorable fuzzy pom-pom.
“Mom, show me the finished house. Is it amazing?”
I flip the camera and give her a slow tour of the bedroom, then walk out to the living room with its wall of windows overlooking the Pacific. “The view is even better now that there’s furniture in the room.”
“Awesome. When are you going to do my room?”
“After the new year. You can pick out colors and fabrics next week in LA.” I turn the camera back to face me, settling onto the new sofa. “Are you having fun in the mountains?”
“Dad decided we’d learn to snowboard together, but he kept doing this weird thing with his arms.” She demonstrates some awkward movement. “We both wiped out like twenty times, but it was hilarious.”
I laugh despite the ache in my chest. “That sounds like your dad.”
