Nik loved Christmas. And he loved his family. It was wonderful to see his parents, to see Natasha and Dimitri celebrate their first Christmas together, to see Alex and Marina so excited about the upcoming birth of their first child. Christmas in the Kovalenko family meant being surrounded by loving couples, people who had happily settled down because it was worth it when you had the person you loved by your side.

Nik wanted what they had. He’d never noticed the little signs of connection, of love, between the people around him. The way Alex leaped to refill Marina’s water glass before she could get up. How Mitya hung on Tash’s every word. The way his father came up behind his mother in the kitchen to rest his hands on her shoulders and knead her muscles gently.

Nik wanted all of that and more.

With Jess.

She didn’t want any of it, though. Didn’t want him. She preferred to stay home, alone, whiling away the holidays watching TV. And when he got back?

Despite her invitation to text her when he returned to LA, he didn’t have high hopes. After all, she’d also said they should have no contact while he was gone. She was probably trying to find a way to let him down gently.

His uncle flipped channels, landing for a moment on some version of A Christmas Carol.

It reminded Nik of Jess, his adorable Scrooge. He glowered at his uncle and hefted himself up from the sofa, seeking refuge in the kitchen.

“Do you need help with anything, mamochka?” he asked his mother, sticking to English because Natasha stood by her side at the stove. Oksana had been cooking for two days, and tonight they’d have Christmas Eve dinner. Tomorrow, they would drive out to New Jersey to Alex’s house for Christmas Day festivities with all the other cousins.

“Start setting the table,” his mother told him, pointing at the dishes of food on the counter. “Use the Christmas plates.”

He knew the drill. In the dining room, he opened the lower shelves of the china cabinet and carefully unwrapped the good plates they used for Christmas.

When they were kids, this had been Dimitri’s job, but early on it became clear that while Nik was a holy terror most of the time, racing up and down the halls in the small apartment they’d shared with his aunt, uncle, and cousins, he took great care with precious items. Slowly and methodically, he set the table the way his mother liked it done, the way she’d taught him so many years before.

His parents had belonged to the Eastern Orthodox Church before coming to America, which celebrated Christmas on January 7th. They’d tried to keep to their traditions, but the public school holiday schedule had made it difficult. When Nik started school, he’d been upset that the other kids celebrated Christmas before he did, and eventually his parents had shifted to celebrating on December 25th. Still, on January 6th and 7th, his family celebrated again with the traditions of their home country. It had meant two Christmases, so Nik had loved it. They also left their tree up until after both celebrations. He’d had a friend in school, Luis, who was Puerto Rican and celebrated Three Kings Day on January 6th. Sometimes they stopped by each other’s houses to join in on the additional holiday customs, and it had made Nik feel like it was normal to celebrate on an extra day. Plus, his father’s extended family was Jewish, and they had sometimes celebrated Hanukkah with them.

All of these experiences had reinforced the idea that while people might come from different places, by settling in the same place and bringing their traditions with them, they could all come together in the spirit of celebration, family, and love. For him, that was the true meaning of the Christmas season. It wasn’t about religion, or spending money, or even about the particular holiday of Christmas itself. It was about connection. The days were getting longer again, bit by bit, and Christmas was about opening yourself up to that light and letting people in.

Through all three dates with Jess, that’s what he’d tried to show her. It was okay to let people in.

His phone felt heavy in his back pocket, and his fingers itched to text her. But what would he say?

Let me in. Please.

He couldn’t. And anyway, he knew what her answer would be.

When he returned to the kitchen for the food, his mother stopped him and pressed her hands to his cheeks. “Moy mal’chik,” she crooned, then spoke in English. “You are so sad, Kolya. It breaks my heart that you won’t tell me what happened.”

No one laid on a guilt trip like his mother. She’d even busted out his childhood nickname. He met Natasha’s eyes over Oksana’s head for a brief second. Tash gave a little headshake, which he took to mean his mother had drilled her for info and she hadn’t told.

He just shrugged and said, “It didn’t work out.”

It was what he’d said the other twenty times his mother had questioned him since he’d walked in the front door the previous day. If he could go back, he wouldn’t have mentioned Jess at all.

“I have to put out the food,” he mumbled, slipping away from his mother’s intense gaze. Hefting a large tray of pierogis, he ducked out of the kitchen.

What was he supposed to say? He’d tried. He’d gone big with Jess, as big as he could go, and then…he’d gone home.

Not enough.

The thought made him pause. He set the platter down in the center of the dining room table, then snagged a pierogi off it and nibbled.

The comforting taste of peppery potato and dough always brought him back to childhood, and the feeling of being home. Yet it did nothing to dispel the sick feeling that everything he’d done, everything he was, wasn’t enough for Jess. He’d laid it all on the line, given her his heart, and it wasn’t enough.

He gulped down the rest of the pierogi so his mom didn’t catch him snacking before dinner. Another option floated through his mind. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take the Raise Your Voice role, or find another tour contract.

What would be worse—staying in Los Angeles and feeling like a third wheel in his brother’s house, or returning to work feeling like an absolute failure?

Neither option appealed. He’d feel like a failure either way.

He shook it off, tried to paste a smile he didn’t feel to his face, and returned to his mother’s kitchen.