Boxed wine becomes my best friend the following night once again as I flip through channels of romantic Christmas movies full of happy endings. My popcorn bucket tips over onto the carpet when I fling the remote off of my futon. It’s useless, and I end up watching the last half of Love Actually. Camila calls, and upon hearing the TV in the background she promptly arrives with more wine and candied chocolates.
“You’re the real Santa Claus.” I say. We drink until we’re tipsy.
“David’s been a lot more calm since the owners left, gracias a Dios.” Camila gives me a wary look. “But you’ve been depressed. Anything you’re not telling me?”
I realize I hadn’t told Camila anything about my fatal romance. I’ve done my best at keeping the twins at the back of my mind, a crisis to be dealt with later. But the words come flowing out before I can stop myself, and soon Camila is biting her lip and gasping when I tell her how close I had gotten to sleeping with the both of them.
“But it was obvious they didn’t actually care about pleasuring me. They only cared that the other brother wasn’t.” I complain. Camila finally blinks and lifts her jaw.
“Dios chica, you’ve been living a real telenovela without telling me? It’s a miracle you even passed your classes!” She’s not wrong. I’m surprised I didn’t fail mid terms. “But what now? Are you going to see them again?”
“I blocked their numbers.” I say, and she groans.
“Idiota!” She yells. “You blocked the numbers of two rich hot brothers who both are in love with you?”
“What am I supposed to do? Be with both of them?” I argue back. “Camila this isn’t a Spanish TV show. That’s not how the real world works. I was ready to give both of them my virginity but how would we have done that? They hate taking turns!”
“They love you and you love them. That’s all that should matter.” She insists.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m over it.” I lie, and Camila sees right through me. She rolls her eyes but drops the subject, and we finish our sleep over with the rest of the wine and chocolates.
Camila wakes me first in the morning, and we both rush to get ready for our early shift together. It’s below freezing outside and we hurry to the subway, blowing hot air into our hands. It’s the day before Christmas Eve now, and it shows as every other person no the train holds bags upon bags stuffed with presents on their laps. Camila’s parents have flown in already, and she discusses the Christmas dinner that she’s been prepping nearly all year.
“Are you coming over?” She asks me as we get off our exit. “I’ve only asked you a million times and mami even brought an extra packet of socks to give you.”
“No thanks, Camila. Don’t think I could handle your crazy family.” We arrive at Kennedy’s before David does and begin opening. The breakfast crowd rushes in, and the first moment I get I hide in the storage room and scarf down a plate of our holiday peppermint french toast and candied bacon. I eat until I feel like my blouse is going to pop off and run to care for my tables. It’s our last business day of the week and the busiest so far. After only a few hours I’m covered in a light sweat with a pretty good amount of tips.
“Haven’t seen such a beautiful smile in a while.” A man at one of my tables says. He’s tan with dark hair and a thick beard, and his muscles prove that he spends a decent amount at the gym.
“Well, thank you.” I say, but it’s not as chipper or flirty as it would have been before the twins.
He ends up leaving an alright tip, and I know it would have been higher had I given in to him. But the disappointment quickly turns into desperation when I glance the back of two blonde men similar in height. They turn to me as I walk towards the hostess stand and I stop in my tracks. They’re not the twins.
The mailman arrives when breakfast turns into lunch and drops a stack inside David’s office. He intercepts me on his way out and hands me a thin letter. My name is written in neat cursive, but there’s no return address or name. I slip it into my apron and wait until my tables are taken care of before sneaking into the break room.
I pull out a postcard that has a short and simple note.
Remy, before we go we would like to apologize in person.
Christmas Eve night, Six P.M.
We’ll wait here for you, and hope you come.
An address finishes the note, and after looking it up on my phone I find out it’s a building downtown near their suite.
The letter falls from my hand onto the floor. They just want to apologize, I tell myself. Maybe say a proper goodbye. I can say goodbye to the Kennedy twins one more time.
I kneel and pick it up, brushing against the handwritten note most likely written by Emmet. Christmas Eve, it said. I’ll spend Christmas Eve with Emmet and Jake, and then say goodbye.
Chapter Fourteen