13 MONTHS, 20 DAYS AGO: 6:17 P.M.
I blow out a breath, tucking the wrapped box in my coat. I hear Landon shuffling around my kitchen, searching for beer. Things have been tight moneywise for him and Lizzie, and he wanted a six-pack in the fridge for his future father-in-law. (He’d never ask for it, so I offered.)
“You sure you don’t want to stop by?” he calls from the depths of my refrigerator. I make sure there’s no wrapping or ribbon poking out of my pocket.
“As fun as that sounds, I think I’m going to steer clear of your parents until the wedding.” You know what’s even less fun than arguing with my parents on Christmas? Watching Landon’s mom insult everything in their apartment. I’ve bit my tongue for twenty-plus years. Not much more restraint left in me.
“I wish I had that option,” Landon says, setting the six-pack on the counter and kicking the fridge door shut. He eyes one like he’s ready to crack it open now.
A knock comes at the door, and Theresa pops her head in without waiting for me to answer.
“Oh, good, you’re ready,” she says, smiling at my out-the-door apparel. She’s bundled up in a bright blue coat, white earmuffs, and a fluffy scarf. Her nose is stained red from the bite in the December air, and she’s got a giant box full of gifts tucked under her arm. I immediately reach for it so she doesn’t have to carry the thing back downstairs.
“Lock up when you leave?” I ask Landon, and he nods, waving us out the door. I’m not sure if it’s the wedding nerves or just the fact that his parents and the future in-laws are at his place right now, but he’s seemed a bit off lately. I pause before closing the door and say, “If shit hits the fan, kidnap Lizzie and head to Grandma Carver’s to be with us.”
That gets him to crack a grin. “Thanks.”
“Merry Christmas, party pooper!” Theresa shouts before I shut the door and adjust the giant box, not-so-subtly looking for the one with my name on it.
“No peeking,” Theresa scolds me, opening the door to the stairwell.
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Sure you weren’t.” She jumps the last step on the set of stairs we’re on, then starts on the next set. It’s been nearly four months since the drunken kisses, and it’s taken this long to get us back to this—friends. I barely even feel anything more than friendship when I’m with her. Barely, but I still feel it; I shove it away every time my head starts getting crazy ideas.
We take it slow when we hit the parking lot since it’s basically an ice rink out here. She slips twice, I slip once. Neither of us falls, but we laugh at each other.
“Keys,” she says after I pop the trunk on my car. I hold them out to her, and she jumps in the passenger side while I stuff the presents in back. The exhaust smoke blows up into my face when she starts the ignition, and I hear the scary wheeze of my heater turned on high. It’s been making this weird knocking sound for a good few months, but I haven’t taken it in yet. Safety and emissions inspection isn’t until May, so I’ve been using the good ol’ procrastinator’s motto.
“I hope Jace’s grandma’s house is warm,” Theresa says as I slip behind the wheel. She’s rubbing her mittened hands in front of the heater, which isn’t exactly hot yet. The frost on the window hasn’t melted, so I keep the car in park.
“If Jace got the fire going,” I say, “but there’s a good chance that he hasn’t.”
She lets out a laugh, her breath fogging in front of her. My arm twitches, like it wants to wrap around her and hold her till she’s warm, but I push back the impulse.
Ten minutes later I’m on the highway, dragging ass so I don’t spin out. It’s not exactly storming, but there’s a light snowfall and the roads are all ice.
“Come on, Grandpa,” Theresa says, nudging my arm. “I’m starving and I want to open presents.”
“I’m going the speed limit.”
“Exactly.” She throws her head back, and I laugh at her. “Step on it.”
“And crash.”
“Into what? There’s no one out here.”
“The railing. A pole. Fly off the overpass.”
“I will start calling you names until you drive like a normal person in their twenties.”
I push on the gas a little, making the red needle in the speedometer go up one notch. “Better?”
“Four more miles per hour and I will be satisfied.”
I laugh and get up there, but as soon as she’s not looking I slow it back down. She gives me a teasing glare but doesn’t backseat-drive anymore.
Jace’s grandma lives in the bottom part of a duplex. It’s a small place, and I know Jace wants to get her something else, but she’s always telling him it’s just her and he doesn’t have to worry. But I get his concern, since the people who live above her always have sketchy guests and there’s a distinct smell of marijuana every so often. Luckily today, all I smell when I pull up is whatever Grandma Carver has cooking in her oven. Both Theresa and I let out synchronized Homer Simpson drool sounds. Of course, I have to ignore the extra thumps of my heart.
“Hold up,” she calls when I start up the walk, arms full of presents. I shift them and wait for her to get to where I’m standing. The cold has painted her already crimson cheeks a shade darker. “We’ve been doing good, right?”
I adjust the gifts again. “What do you mean?”
“You and me.” She offers up a smile, and a piece of her curled auburn hair falls in front of her eye. “We’re really good now, and I just wanted to…well, let you know that I really appreciate that. After the engagement party I thought…” She drifts off, dropping her gaze down to her snow-dusted black boots. Of all the moments we’ve shared since we met, I think that’s the night she regrets the most. It’s the one night she wants a do-over for. It’s also the one night I replay in my mind on a loop so that I don’t forget just how lost she is, and I don’t forget that I’m a lot stronger than I ever thought I was.
One of the top boxes in my arms starts to wiggle loose, and she hurries to catch it. Her hand hits my face a little too hard, and we laugh the conversation away. I think it goes without saying that I think things are good between us now too.
Jace’s grandmother opens the door mere seconds after Theresa rings the bell. She must’ve been waiting on the other side.
“Alec, thank the Lord you’re here. There’s a fire to be started, and Jace is proving to be useless when it comes to conjuring a flame.”
“I heard that, traitor!” Jace calls from inside, and once Theresa has unloaded the presents from my arms I’m able to take the petite, elderly woman into my arms for a hug. Her short, curled hair tickles my five o’clock shadow, and she smells strongly of pumpkin spice. It reminds me of home in Pennsylvania, which gives me feelings of nausea and nostalgia in equal measure.
“You’re putting on some muscle here, aren’t you?” she says, patting my arm as she pulls away.
“You’re being kind,” I answer with a grin, reaching for Theresa to help her out of her coat. The warmth on the material from her body heat sends an unexpected jolt through my stomach. It’s an uncontrollable reaction I get from time to time; I’ve just learned to deal with it. I have trained myself to believe that it is all because she is one of my closest friends, and that the response could very well happen with anyone. I’m just in her company the most often, especially lately.
After hanging up our coats and rolling up my sleeves, I relieve Jace from his pathetic attempts at starting a fire and get embers going in less than a minute. Boy Scouts; I don’t advertise it, but it sure comes in handy.
Theresa and Jace are poking around the tree, trying to find the one lightbulb that’s made the entire strand black out. Grandma Carver clinks something in the kitchen, reminding me of last year when Theresa passed me a full plate of turkey and let go before I had a good hold on it. The dish crashed to the floor, and Theresa and Lizzie scurried to pick up as many pieces as they could within the ten-second-rule timeline.
“Found it!” Theresa shouts, holding up a bulb between her delicate fingers. Jace hands her a replacement light, and I watch, a bit mesmerized by the care she takes and her victorious smile when the strand glows to life, lighting her Christmas-sparked features.
Before I become all too enamored with my best friend again, I quickly look at Jace, who is currently trying (and failing) to get the window clings to stick. I give him props for endurance, because I’d have given up after the third or fourth snowflake fell to the floor.
Grandma Carver shuffles in, clapping her hands at the fire and the tree. “Ah, it’s perfect,” she says.
“I can’t get these damn things on,” Jace says with a laugh. He pounds the Santa against the glass, only to have it unstick and fall to his feet seconds later.
Grandma Carver waves a hand at him. “Don’t mess with those silly things. And language, dear.”
“Like you give a sh—” He stops guiltily at his grandma’s stern look. “Uh…hoot about language.”
“On our good Lord’s birthday I do.” She reaches around to untie her frilly apron. “So, presents or food first?”
Jace says presents, I say food, and Theresa pushes up off her knees, that smile still spread wide on her lips, and says, “Both.” Since Grandma Carver is the deciding vote, she goes with food first. I’ve always liked her.
I pick a spot next to Theresa, on purpose because sitting across from her is too distracting, but also because we pick off each other’s plates. Yeah, we’re all eating the same thing tonight, but we figure our two plates equal one giant one, so we can get one of everything in a single go. Our arms bump and our forks dance around each other, and Jace eats like this isn’t going on, mostly because he’s used to it by now. Grandma Carver, however, watches us with fascination.
Theresa and Jace are too excited about ripping into the wrapping paper to let us clean up first, so we leave the empty dishes and pull our full bellies into the living room. The present I stuffed into my coat pocket is still there, and I consider retrieving it, but I think I’d rather give that one in private. Too many misconceptions are at risk in front of an audience.
Grandma Carver sits in her modern high-backed chair, sipping on her apple cider, grinning at the gift Jace enthusiastically sets on her lap. Most of the presents under the tree are from “Santa,” with the exception of the special ones we got for each other. There are several crocheted wonders from Grandma C., including a beard that I open with a hearty laugh and put on for about half the night until Theresa steals it. I have been cursed with a very light facial hair growth, so the red yarn actually matches her more than it does me. The pictures go up on Instagram almost immediately.
The pile diminishes dramatically, and Theresa’s brow furrows deeper and deeper as we get down to the last few. She has two left, and I can tell the hard frown on her lips is because of the lack of a gift from me. I play it oblivious.
“This one is actually for both of you,” Grandma Carver says, gesturing to the one Theresa picked up. “And careful!” Her eyes widen at Theresa’s enthusiasm with the wrapping paper. “It’ll tear.”
Theresa bites her lip in her adorable “whoops” face, and slides closer to me so I can help get it open. Not that she needs it.
“I found these during the last storage unit clean-out,” Grandma Carver tells us as several books of sheet music fall into our laps. “My husband was a wonderful piano player. He collected all his favorite pieces from plays and concerts. ‘Deck the Halls’ was always his most cherished piece, which is why it looks so well used.” She laughs, smiling at the Christmas book Theresa is flipping through. “He’d play that song mid-July just to drive me batty.”
Jace snorts, reaching over to pat his grandmother on the knee. “And he’d play it louder and louder, standing up, banging like a madman on the keys. I thought he was going to break your poor baby grand.”
“We had to replace keys on that more often than I cared to.”
They laugh, and I chuckle until Theresa’s arm brushes mine and one of those unexpected thrills rushes through my skin. She whispers low in my ear, warming me to the very bone.
“I don’t think I can take these. I’m not very close with Jace’s grandmother, and these are…they’re important, aren’t they?”
In lieu of stroking a thumb across that rosy cheek (which is what I’d really like to do, but I’m unsure how that small caress will affect the platonic vibe I’ve worked extremely hard for), I settle a hand on the sheet music and nod.
“Grandma, I don’t think we can—”
“Oh, please take them.” She waves me off. “I can’t play worth a lick, and they should be put to good use.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but Theresa places a soft hand on my wrist to stop me.
“Thank you, Grandma. We’ll put them to a lot of good use.”
Grandma Carver smiles behind her mug, and Jace kicks a present over to Theresa.
“This one’s from me,” he says. Theresa hands me all the sheet music, and I straighten them while she rips into her next gift. Then I take the opportunity to open my last present, since I don’t particularly like people watching me while I do this. Theresa’s not going to be happy that she missed me opening the gift from her, but because of the lack of presents with the tag TO THERESA FROM ALEC, she’s not real happy with me right now anyway—I can tell by the cutting sideways glances.
It’s a red tie, and I chuckle as I pull it from the box and swing it around my neck. She’s always telling me to dress up more often, and Theresa’s not known for her subtlety.
Her fake smile twitches into a small real one as she looks me up and down. “Wear it for auditions. It’s a good-luck tie.”
I chuckle as she flicks it up into my face.
Grandma Carver opens her final one, and Jace opens his. All the while I can feel Theresa’s eyes drift over to me to see if I’m hiding one for her, but I put my acting classes to good use and hide my amusement as her silence gets more and more laced with tension.
“So,” Theresa says, looking straight at me, “is that all of it?”
I nod. “Looks like it. Hand me the wrapping paper and I’ll take it out.”
Theresa’s frown hardens into a straight line and she starts chucking loose wrapping paper at me. After everything’s gathered, I help Jace clear the table and Theresa shakes off her scowl and starts a light conversation with Grandma Carver about the best Christmas traditions she had growing up. Once the dishes are done, the ladies come in and Grandma Carver sets a kettle on the stove. It whistles a few minutes later, interrupting Jace’s entertaining story about his last day on the set of Landon’s movie.
“Hot chocolate?” Grandma Carver offers to me.
“Thank you, ma’am.” I haven’t had hot chocolate since I was about ten. The smell of the powder alone is bringing me back to my own grandmother’s house.
“Ma’am,” Grandma Carver says, holding out a piping hot mug. “You hear that, Jace? Manners.”
“Do I get any?” he asks.
“What do you say?”
“You are the most gorgeous woman in my life,” he answers with his hand over his heart, only to receive a massive eye roll. But Grandma Carver still hands over a mug
“Okay, kids. I have my own Christmas tradition to attend to. Stay as long as you’d like.” She pats Theresa and me on our cheeks, kisses Jace, and wanders out of the room. Theresa’s smile fades a little, and she gives Jace a questioning glance.
“Lots of prayer and talking to my parents,” he explains. “She likes to tell them how worried she is that I haven’t found a wife.” He laughs, but it sounds a little off. He doesn’t take a sip of his drink before he puts it down and walks to the foyer. “You guys can stay. I’m just heading out for a minute.”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yep. Just my own tradition—shovel and salt the walk. The landlord doesn’t think it takes priority.”
“I’ll help.”
“One shovel.” He shrugs on his coat. “Don’t worry about it. I like doing it.”
He steps outside into the light snowfall, putting up his hood. The room is eerily quiet without the two noisiest people in the house. There’s also the fact that I can feel the hurt and anger rolling off Theresa in waves—all directed toward me.
She lets out a long sigh and shuffles into the living room with heavy feet. Her mouth is pressed in an adorably frustrated straight line as she puts her mug down on a coaster and flumps onto the plastic-covered couch. I discreetly fish around in my coat pocket before following.
“Nice Christmas,” I say, sitting next to her. The fire from the fireplace is dancing in her very narrowed eyes.
“Yep,” she says, clipping the word. I pretend to ignore it.
“I liked that card Grandma Carver gave us.” I blow across my mug of hot chocolate. “Pretty hilarious.”
“Yeah, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that family.”
“It sure didn’t.”
Silence descends on us, except for the crackling of the fire and Theresa muttering softly under her breath. She always talks, even when there’s nothing to say, and it’s not a bad thing. Not at all.
“And they remember presents,” she says after a few long seconds. She turns her eyes on me, and I meet them, playing the innocent, clueless male. “It’s nice to know that someone’s thinking about you when you have to spend Christmas away from your family. That’s a good friend right there.”
She puts her mug to her lips, and I can’t help but let my smile break through.
“You’re mad.”
Her glare is so damn cute. “What do you think, Alec? Of course I’m mad.” She puts down her mug, probably so hot chocolate doesn’t get thrown anywhere. “Not only did someone who’s practically a stranger think to give me a gift, but one of my closest friends just thinks, ‘no thanks.’ And I know it’s selfish and stupid, but I spent forever searching for the right present for you because I thought we’d finally gotten to a place in our friendship where we could actually be friends again. Even Jace, the ignoramus, got me something. And you didn’t have to do anything big. I just wanted you to give me—”
I settle the rectangular box in her lap. It’s wrapped (pretty well, mind you, for someone who can’t wrap well) in Walking Dead paper with a dark red bow. A wiseass grin hits my lips as she finishes in a whisper, “Something.”
“I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone.”
Her shoulders droop, and the corners of her mouth turn into an uncontrolled grin. “Great, make me feel like shit.”
“You did that yourself,” I say with a laugh as she eagerly tears into it. I’ve always loved that about her. She’s not one to be careful with wrapping paper.
“It’s jewelry.” Her lovely brown eyes turn my way. “Heart-shaped jewelry.”
“It’s butt-shaped.”
She silently chuckles and pulls the necklace from the box. I can tell she’s unsure how to react, unsure of the intention behind it. My fingers find the back of my neck and I scratch even though there is no itch.
“I know you’re scared about things changing.” Her eyes flick to mine, suddenly scared, and I quickly clarify. “With Lizzie.”
The lines around her mouth crease with her smile. “Things will change with Liz.”
I nod. “I know guys don’t get sentimental about this, but…I’m losing my best friend too. I mean, at times I feel like I’ve already been replaced, but I know with the marriage, it will have to be that way. It should be that way. They are good for each other.”
She nods, then looks back at the necklace, thumb tumbling over the silver heart.
“I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”
Her hands drop to her lap, and she looks at me the way I’ve always wanted her to look at me: with wide eyes so full and open that I can see into her mind, her thoughts. Suddenly the feelings and the words come back with a vengeance. I love you. They’re right there again, sitting on my tongue, wanting to be said, but not wanting to be heard. I press my lips together, begging them to keep those words and feelings secret—to keep them only for me.
She puts her hand on mine and it’s almost my undoing. “You are off-the-charts charming, you know.”
I clear my throat, begging my voice to say the right thing. “Charming?”
“Some days.” She hands me the necklace, then turns, lifting her long, wavy hair so I can snap the clasp. My clumsy thumbs take a bit to get it closed, but when I do, I give her shoulder a tiny squeeze so she knows I’m done. I’m tempted to press my lips there too, but thankfully I defeat the impulse.
“Thank you,” she says in a hushed, warm tone that goes straight to my head. “Sorry for being so impatient.”
I laugh. “Hope it was worth the wait.”
She looks down at it, her fingers gliding over the heart. Without answering, she slides her arms around my shoulders. Her face burrows into the crook of my neck, and I turn my head, inhale the Christmas pine scent of her hair, and hold her close to me for as long as she allows. And she allows me more than my fair share of time, yet it still doesn’t seem long enough.
“Now I feel like my present to you was crap.” She waves a hand at the tie around my neck.
“I did do so much better.”
A soft hand pushes my shoulder, and her smile hits even the darkest parts inside of me.
“I’ll play for you,” she offers, her eyes landing on the piano in the corner. She pushes off the couch, fingers toying with the heart around her neck. I bend down, grab the Christmas book from Grandma Carver, and flip to “Deck the Halls.”
“This one good?” I ask over the piano with a smirk.
She shakes her head and settles the music in front of her.
“See?” she says, playing the first note. “Charming.”