Christmas is a big to-do in the Barnes household. There’s not a single inch of my mother’s home left undecorated. From the hulking eight-foot tree that looks straight out of Southern Living, to the elf hand towels in the half-bath, Beverly Barnes goes all out. Which I guess I should be thankful for, because if anything, it’s a distraction from the hot mess my love life has become.

“Azalea, could you please grab the rolls from the oven?” Mom asks as she whips the potatoes to fluffy perfection.

“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, donning two oven mitts.

“You ever plan on tellin’ me what happened with Drake?”

“Do we have to get into this tonight, Mom?”

She huffs at me as she begins carrying food over to the buffet that sits behind the dining room table. “Sweetie, I’ve been worried about you.”

Sighing, I tell her, “You have nothing to be worried about.”

She huffs at me again and holds up her index finger. “One,” she begins counting, “you cancelled our last dinner. Two, you haven’t been by the house as much. Three, you sound on the verge of tears almost every time we talk. Four, last I heard, you and Drake were trying to give this a go and now, nothing. Five, this new attitude of yours didn’t start until we ran into him and the brunette at dinner a few weeks ago.”

By the time she’s finished, she’s holding up all five fingers on her left hand and her cheeks are red. “So, don’t tell me I don’t have anything to be worried about when my ball of sunshine suddenly transforms into a rain cloud.”

I groan and drop down into a chair, watching out the window as Pops fiddles with the turkey fryer. “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

She wipes her hands on her apron before taking the chair next to me. “Of course.”

“How . . . how did you get over Dad?”

Mom blinks at me a few times before asking, “Whatever do you mean, Azalea?”

I take a deep breath. “I mean, when did you stop hating men?” She looks affronted at my words, so I rush to continue. “For so long, all I ever heard you say was that men are nothing but liars and cheats. And then one day, Pops came along, and it was like everything was better. You quit crying all the time and you quit hollering at the TV every time there was a sweet scene. You just one-eightied.”

“Oh. Oh, Azalea, sweetie.” She reaches out and takes my hands between hers. “I didn’t realize you were listening all those times. I didn’t realize you . . . oh. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl.”

“It’s okay, Mom. You don’t have to apologize. I just want to know how you did it. How you moved forward. How did you learn to trust again?” I don’t realize I’m crying until Mom reaches up and wipes my tears away with her thumbs.

“I spent so long being bitter after your father’s lies came to light. I was angry and hurt, and I am so sorry that I put that on you. It was never your burden to carry, Azalea. But there is no trick. I didn’t magically stop hurting. It still hurts some days. The only thing that changed was me. I realized there was more to life than him and that in a way, maybe it was a blessing. Maybe it was the universe’s way of giving me you while keeping me from him.

“Things were ugly, and I was bitter for so long, but meeting Herbert really helped change that. He showed me that not all men were like your father. He showed me compassion and love and kindness. And the minute I saw him with you, how patient he was with all of your pre-teen snarling, I just knew there was more to life, and it was up to me to either stay in the past or to open my arms wide to the future and all it had to offer. Now, let me ask you a question. What does any of this have to do with Drake?”

“It’s a long story,” I tell her, dropping my head into my hands.

Mom glances at the clock on the wall. “Well, Pops said the turkey wouldn’t be finished until one, so you have fifteen minutes. Spill.”

I give Mom the condensed version, starting with our first kiss at Jake Bishop’s party all the way to me showing up at his house last night, and all the gory bits in between. By the time it’s all out in the open, I feel lighter.

“My darling girl,” Mom says, once again wrapping her hands around mine, “I could tell it the very first time I met Drake that he loved you, and, sweetie, I’d be willing to bet my life that he still feels the same.”

“I know he does. I just don’t know how to convince him that I do.”

“Well,” Pops booms, scaring us both. “From what I’ve heard—”

“How long have you been there listening?” I ask, cutting him off.

“Long enough. Now listen up. You kids these days, with all this technology mumbo-jumbo have lost the ability to communicate. You need to talk to him, Azalea. The old-fashioned way. And if you don’t think you can get it out in words, write him a letter. Not a text. Not an email. Not a Face-whatever message. A pen and paper letter. Tell him, plain and simple, exactly how you feel.”

“Look at you, all wise Pops.”

“Damn straight. Now, let’s eat!”

After we eat, I leave my parents’ house inspired and refreshed, ready to set to work on a new plan to secure my future with the man I love. I drive straight to my apartment, forgoing my usual Christmas Eve trip to Dream Beans for one of their famous, only-available-one-day-out-of-the-year, peppermint white mocha hot cocoas.

Because Drake Collins is more important than chocolate. He’s more important than anything. Everything. And it’s high time he knows it.