Page 11 of Winter Break Up

“Hey, if you’re working at a tree farm this season, might as well make it ours. My parents would love to have the Mercer Russell working for them. And you could win the tree-off, because we’re definitely kicking ass this year.”

Stooping so low as to poach me from my best friend’s farm to win some small-town contest? Yeah, that’s Clyde for you.

“Thanks, man, but I already started with the Palmers. I’m happy there. Good luck, though.” Again, I try to wheel my cart around him.

And again, he takes hold of my arm. One more second of this and I’ll lay him out, no matter what that does for my reputation. The guy is a moronic bully with no filter, and this is more than I can handle on a Tuesday morning.

“Nah, we don’t need luck. Watch your back, Russell. We’re coming for you and those perfect Palmers, too. Five years is the end of the streak.” His voice is meant to be intimidating, but all I can do is choke back a laugh.

Clyde has more bark than bite, and even his bark is weak. If he thinks the Palmers or I are going to be rattled by a threat about a Christmas tree contest, he’s sorely mistaken.

My stomach grumbles as I checkout, stow the last bag in the trunk, and then return my cart to the metal organizer. It’s still pretty early, but one look across the street, and I see the smoke stack coming from the roof of a building I’m all too familiar with.

The Square Street Diner used to be my old stomping ground. From team dinners to dates to late-night munchie runs, my friends and I always seemed to end up at the diner. It looks like it hasn’t changed a bit, with its silver facade and Christmas sticker decals dotting the windows. The blowup Santa in front also hasn’t been replaced since I was last here, and suddenly, I’m locking the truck and jogging across the street.

Their Southwest burrito is calling my name, and a plan formulates in my head to get Grandpa a Styrofoam to-go container of their maple oatmeal waffles as well. But before I can put in my order at the counter and request an extra-large cup of coffee to take on my drive home, a tinkling laugh that’s been tattooed on my memory for years hits my ears.

A few booths back into the diner sits Emily, her back to me, but all that gorgeous chocolate hair begging to be played with. Across from her, facing me, is Genny, the girl she used to get into all kinds of mischief with back in high school.

It would figure I can’t escape her anywhere in this town. But especially here.

Where I took her on our first date.

6

EMILY

“Hi, beautiful!”

Genny jumps up the minute I pull open the door to the diner, and then she comes at me, a cloud of citrus perfume and wild white-blond curls. As she envelops me in a hug, I can’t help the tears that collect at the corners of my eyes.

It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, but this person used to be my everything. My best friend, my one confidant. She knows all my embarrassing coming-of-age stories and experienced them right alongside me. After everything I’ve been through in the past few months, it feels good to hold someone who knew me before I felt like my mind turned against me.

“It’s so damn good to see you,” I tell her as I give one last little squeeze before we slide into the booth she got us.

“I know, I feel the same about seeing you! There is something about being in this diner with you that makes all the homesickness I experienced last semester totally worth it.”

The Square Street Diner has seen us at our best and worst through the years, and when Genny demanded we come here, she got no argument from me. From its nineteen-eighties decor to the smell of bacon and grease that seems to have seeped into the walls, it’s one of my favorite places in Queenwood, not to mention the world.

Red and green tinsel hang from the ceiling of the diner, and every booth has a little mistletoe affixed to the mini jukebox at each table. They’re playing holiday tunes, and drawings of Christmas trees done by the local elementary schools are hung in a gallery on the wall by the front door.

“Tell me all about Vienna. I need to know everything. Your pictures looked magical.”

Genny fiddles with her nose ring as she talks. She’s always been a bit edgier than me when it comes to fashion and what she adorns her body with. The minute she turned eighteen, she made me accompany her to a tattoo shop so she could get her first one without her parents legally objecting. Along with that book quote she got inked on her arm, she has two cartilage piercings in her ears. Even now, while the December weather is turning frigid, Genny sits across from me in black leather shorts, tights, and a cropped cream-colored sweater. She looks ridiculously fashionable for our small town, yet fits in just the same. That’s just Gen for you, and it’s something I’ve always loved about her.

“So, then, I met this guy who took me to the Alps for two weeks—” We’re interrupted before she can tell me more.

“Afternoon, ladies. What can I get for you?” Our waitress flicks her Christmas tree earrings with the pen she’s holding and snaps her gum in a rhythm that’s almost soothing.

Neither Genny nor I have opened our menus because we already know what we want.

“Can I have an egg salad sandwich and an orange soda?” I ask, fulfilling all my weird diner choices in one go.

With a menu that has any comfort food you might want, Gen and I usually order the strangest combination of items and revel in doing so.

Across the booth, my high school bestie gives me a knowing smile. “And I’ll have the short stack of chocolate chip pancakes, a side of fries, and can we also get two egg creams?”

A laugh booms out of me at her last request. We discovered egg creams one night junior year while coming in a little too tipsy for our own good. She selected them because her drunk ass thought the name was funny or maybe sexual, and we became obsessed when we tried them. It warms my heart that even after all this time apart, she hasn’t forgotten to order them.

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