The Christmas Trap
Chapter 1
Six Days Until Christmas
kelsey
The rental car’s wipers scraped uselessly over the thin layer of ice building up on the windshield, and I wondered—not for the first time—why I’d ever agreed to spend Christmas in Colorado.
The answer—and reason I did most things—lay with the daughters who’d tag-teamed me with a ‘tiny, little request.’
Addie’s practical arguments and Sky’s emotional pleas had worn me down until saying no would have been tantamount to canceling Christmas and disowning them both.
Now, gripping the steering wheel as the GPS cheerfully announced my arrival at what appeared to be the lost set of a Hallmark movie, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been played.
I killed the engine and sat for a moment, watching the sleet dance across the glass.
The cabin loomed before me like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting with its warm wood and glowing windows.
The only thing missing, as far as I could tell, was a statuesque plume of smoke rising from the chimney, but that could be remedied after a hot bath.
After multiple flight delays, a never-ending rental car line, and a white knuckle drive up icy mountain roads, my body felt as though it had been put through a woodchipper.
The cold hit me the second I opened the car door, sharp enough to steal my breath and sting my eyes. Texas winters hadn’t prepared me for this. I hauled my suitcases from the back, the wheels immediately useless in the ankle-deep snow. Because why would anything about this trip be easy?
By the time I managed to wrestle the luggage to the front porch, my designer boots—purchased in a fit of post-divorce retail therapy—were soaked through.
I also invented several new curse words when the key code Addie texted me didn’t work before realizing I’d transposed the last two digits in my half-frozen state.
Inside, warmth curled around me like a hug I hadn’t asked for but desperately needed after the day’s events. I dropped the bags by the door and paused to take it all in.
String lights wrapped around the exposed wooden beams overhead, casting a soft glow over the living room. A pine wreath hung on the far wall—not the fake, perfectly symmetrical ones found in every craft store, but a lopsided one braided together with real greenery.
Throw blankets in deep reds and forest greens were neatly folded on a leather sectional that had seen better decades but looked comfortable enough to swallow you whole.
Someone had clearly put a lot of effort into transforming the rental into a cozy Christmas cottage.
I peeled off my wet boots and ventured further inside, eagerly soaking up every little detail, from the hand-carved wooden reindeer lining the mantel to the collection of holiday mugs lining the open shelving in the kitchen.
None of them matched, like they’d been collected over years of Christmases.
Pine-scented candles dotted various surfaces, unlit but still managing to perfume the air with that sharp, clean scent that never failed to remind me of him.
I pulled out my phone and started snapping pictures before my mind could detour too far down memory lane. The mismatched mugs. The reindeer with a malformed antler. A ceramic Santa that looked like it had been around since the seventies, complete with a chip in his beard that had been painted over.
Once everything was documented, I opened the group chat Addison had named ‘Riggs Girls ’ and uploaded the photos.
Me
How cute is this? The owner of this place really went all out.
The response was immediate.
Sky
you made it
isn’t it PERFECT??!!
Addie
We knew you’d love it. It’s so you.
So me?
What did that even mean? My Christmas mugs matched, every piece of decor on display back home perfectly arranged and in pristine condition.
My mind immediately went to the reindeer with the wonky antler. Before, I would have made up a funny story about how he injured it to entertain the kids and asked Teddy to help me fix it. He would have laughed it off and told me it wasn’t worth the glue to fix.
Somewhere along the way, I became the chipped antler. Easier to leave broken. Not worth fixing.
Me
It’s lovely. Have you landed? The rental car line is a beast, so you might be there a while. I was thinking of picking something up for dinner and doing all the grocery shopping in the morning. What sounds good?
There was a lengthy pause. The kind that made my stomach tighten with the same maternal intuition I got anytime they were up to something.
Sky
okay before you get mad, we have the MOST brILLIANT PLAN.
Addie
It’s practical.
Sky
SO brILLIANT
Addie
If someone would stop chiming in, I could explain it properly.
Sky
fine
but I came up with it
Addie
We BOTH came up with it.
Mom, we found a solution to the whole Christmas situation.
I sank onto the couch, still in my damp coat. The leather creaked under me, my fingers shaking as I typed.
Me
What solution? I thought we agreed that if I came to Colorado, you’d spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with me, then you’d drive to spend the rest of Christmas and the 26th with your dad.
Sky
but that is so SAD
driving away on Xmas!
like we’re abandoning you
Addie
What Sky means is that we found a way to spend Christmas with both of you without anyone feeling left out.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. The tightness in my stomach had graduated to a full knot.
Sky
the rental is literally only twelve minutes away from dad
we mapped it
Addie
Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds, actually.
Sky
NOW WE DON’T HAVE TO CHOOSE!
we can do Xmas eve dinner with you, breakfast with dad, lunch with you, dinner with him, etc.
Addie
Or whatever arrangement works best for you.
The point is, we can see both of you without the long drive.
I stared at the screen until the words began to blur.
Twelve minutes.
There was a time when it was twelve seconds—the time it’d take me to walk down the hall to the living room recliner he dozed off in while watching the evening news. Gradually, the seconds between us became minutes. Then miles. Until the distance could have spanned the Pacific Ocean.
My ex-husband, whom I hadn’t seen in two years, was twelve minutes away—eleven minutes and forty-three seconds, if we were being precise. Close enough that I could probably see the smoke rising from his chimney if I looked hard enough.
Sky
we know it’s unconventional
Addie
But this way, everyone gets time together. We don’t lose a whole day traveling, and neither of you has to be alone on Christmas.
Everyone gets time together. As if we were a functional, divorced family who could handle proximity without imploding. Like two years of silence could be bridged by good intentions and a meticulously scheduled meal itinerary.
You said he lived down by Durango—
I deleted the text and tried again.
You’re out of your goddamned minds if you think I’m going to—
Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds is not FIVE HOURS LIKE YOU TOLD ME WHEN YOU GOT ME TO AGREE TO THIS STUPID TRIP—
Christmas is canceled—
No more DashPass, and you can forget about the Netflix login—
I deleted each one before sending, smashing the little x in the corner of my screen like I wanted to do with their heads.
Teddy and I hadn’t had a reason to speak to each other since the divorce was finalized.
Our daughters were in their twenties and more than capable of communicating with their father without a middleman.
After several long, deep breaths, I managed to type:
Me
Wow. That’s very thoughtful of you both. I’m sure we can make it work.
Sky
YAY!!!!!!!
mom you’re the BEST
this is going to be perfect
Perfect wasn’t the word I would have used to describe any part of their plan.
Addie
Thank you for being flexible. We know this isn’t easy.
Flexible. Right. I was a yoga-practicing, gym-going, flexible woman now. I could handle this. I could handle anything.
Me
Have you landed yet?
Addie
About that...
I knew—with the kind of certainty that came from twenty-five years of parenting her—that I wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say.
Addie
Our flight out of Austin got cancelled due to storms in Dallas. We’re trying to get on standby for a later flight, but it’s not looking good.
Sky
stupid winter weather
if we don’t make it tonight, we’ll be there tomorrow morning!
first thing! promise!
I stared at the phone, feeling something between a laugh and a sob building in my chest. Of course. Of fucking course. I’d stood in line with grumpy travelers and driven through crappy weather all to sit alone in a Christmas cabin, twelve minutes from my ex-husband.
Me
These things happen. Travel safe. Love you both.
Sky
love you too
try to relax tonight & enjoy the cabin
Addie
There’s a fully stocked wine cabinet just off the laundry room. Help yourself.
Me
How do you know that?
Addie
I asked the owner. I’m nothing if not thorough.
In line to talk to the gate agent about getting on a different flight now.
Sky
WE LOVE YOU
don’t be sad
tomorrow will be AMAZING!
Me
Love you more. Let me know if you get on an earlier flight.
The cabin settled around me with little creaks and sighs, like it was trying to fill the silence.
A bottle of wine on top of the altitude-induced headache I already had sounded like a great way to spend the remainder of the trip with my head in a toilet.
Tea it was.
In the kitchen, I went through the motions as if it were just another day. Locate kettle. Fill with water. Set on burner. Turn knob. Each movement deliberate, controlled, betraying no hint of the absolute chaos churning beneath my ribs.
I thumbed through a selection of teas in a wooden box near the coffee maker before selecting chamomile—the obvious choice for people who wanted to appear calm—and waited for the water to boil, idly drumming my fingers against the counter to a Christmas tune.