Zoe

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do not shed one single tear. The stars come into view out the window as I gaze up, trying my best to stop the tears. We've been driving for what feels like hours now, and I can't wait to get home. The scenery passes by in a blur and I wish I could just erase the last few days.

This is all my fault. Waltzing around that room, dolled up in white, pretending to be the doting fiancée of Graham Steele, I enjoyed it. I wanted it. I should have said no to his offer. I shouldn’t have let my dreams of becoming the soap queen of Colorado overcome my sense of right and wrong. More importantly, I shouldn’t have developed feelings for him.

I mean, so what if I would have lost the Mountain Goat Resort account? It’s not like I had any accounts to measure it with.

“They just live different lives than us,” my mother rambles on in an attempt to make me feel better. “They just use people for their own silly games.” She drives us down the mountain, away from my fake family. Away from Graham.

It’s late, I’m tired. And I can’t stop thinking about the way he asked if I was sure. Like I had any other choice. I force the tears away as my mother continues to lecture while I watch the trees pass us by. It's like watching my life pass me by.

The one time I decide to pave my own way— to make things happen and head my life into a new direction—something like this happens. The only person I can really blame is myself, though.

By the time we get home, I’m too emotionally exhausted to do anything but fall into bed and hide under my covers.

I spend the next day, Christmas Eve, at my mom’s moping and listening to “Blue Christmas.” Part of me, I realize, thought when this ended, maybe Graham and I might actually be something. It felt like we had one of those connections you read about and hope you find. Trudy effectively erased that idea, though. I would never jeopardize his resort for my own selfish happiness. That night, I send a little Christmas wish out that I won’t miss him more than I already do, because that might break me, and then I go to bed the same way I woke up—moping.

Thankfully, there’s something magical about waking up Christmas morning. And when I wake, I try to pretend the whole mess never happened. I traipse downstairs with the spirit of Christmas propelling me forward. I’ll be jolly today, if it kills me.

My mother is already doing our own Christmas tradition--blueberry pancakes and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

“Morning,” I grumble, pouring my own mug of Christmas bliss. Think I can say Christmas anymore times?

I wonder if I say Christmas more, if it will make the pain of losing Graham go away? It can’t hurt to try.

So, I grab a mug of Christmas coffee, and sit my Christmas ass on the Christmas stool at the Christmas bar.

It’s not working.

Is it even worse I checked my phone this morning in the hopes he may have called? I know, sad and Christmas pathetic.

“I figured I’d make a big breakfast and then maybe we can cuddle on the couch and watch Christmas movies?”

See. This is why I don’t need a big family. All I need is my mother. “Sounds perfect.”

And that’s just what we do. We spend the afternoon watching movies and drinking hot coffee, until I get a call I never expected.

I know it’s controversial, but I love pumpkin spice. Like hook it to an IV and pop it into my veins. Yum. Today, however, sitting in Baked Beans, the corner coffee shop, listening to a Bon Iver song playing through the speakers while nervously tapping my foot to the beat, I can’t taste my pumpkin spice latte at all. My taste buds have shut down from pure nervousness, and I’m just going through the motions. I’m so nervous, I’m sweating. I tug my coat off as I wait, hoping I don't look as nervous as I feel. It's been a few days since Christmas, and I'm sorry to report, I still miss Graham. It’s like a gentle tug at my mind, he’s always there, following me around throughout my days. I can’t seem to get over it. And I don’t know if I even want to.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Lindsey says, sliding into the booth.

“Sure, of course. I was surprised to hear from you.” I take a sip, to busy my hands, letting the burn from my tasteless coffee calm my nerves. When she called and said she needed to meet with me, I was shocked to say the least. I’m assuming it’s about Graham.

“I didn’t bring you here to rehash what happened with my brother.” Well, that’s what I get for assuming. Lindsey’s expression is unreadable as she remains quiet, peering at me from over her coffee cup.

“I appreciate that,” I lie, a little disappointed it wasn’t about how he’s pining over me too.

“I don’t know if Graham ever told you, but I’m one of the VPs over at LGC.”

“The shopping channel?” I ask her.

“Yes.” She leans forward, like she has a very important secret for me to hear. “Those soaps you gave me for the kids cleared them right up.” She snaps her finger. “They’re amazing, and I’d like to offer you a contract with us over at LGC.”

My whole world gets turned upside down with just those words. I’m at a complete loss of what to say, but nod, knowing my soap dreams are coming true.

“Yes,” I finally agree after about a minute of awkward nodding and smiling. She must think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.

I can’t wait to tell Graham. And that thought right there knocks me straight out of my happy-fest. There will be no sharing excitement with him.

Lindsey goes over important details while I try desperately to listen and not ask any questions about Graham. It’s nearly impossible, but somehow, I manage.

“I’ll be calling you after the New Year to plan a meeting,” Lindsey says, once everything is squared away. “I have to run and get the girls.”

I hug her, thanking her profusely before saying goodbye. As she leaves, I resist the urge to stop her and ask for one little something about Graham, because as great as this is, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel a little hollow.