Chapter 7
Sam
Merry freaking Christmas
The storm’s been building for hours, wind rattling the windows. I keep half an ear on the TV, but mostly I’m thinking about her out there somewhere on the white roads. I tell myself it’s none of my business, and still, I can’t quite shake the boulder in my chest.
A loud crunching noise echoes down the street, which has me standing in an instant.
I turn the screen off to look out the window, watching as Frankie’s car slowly pulls back into her driveway hours after she left.
A kernel of relief pops like freshly heated popcorn in my chest at the sight of her safe again.
Snow swirls around her as she climbs out, her movements slower than usual, her shoulders hunched against the wind.
Something about the way she trudges toward her front door gives me pause.
Normally, Frankie is all energy, bouncing up the steps, her curls flying behind her, and always radiating cheer. But tonight, she looks... deflated.
She disappears inside, and I wait for the familiar glow of her Christmas lights to spill out into the night and my living room. I wait for the moment the colors blind me like they always do. But it doesn’t come. Her house stays dark, the festive glow conspicuously absent.
Awareness prickles the hair on the back of my neck. Something’s wrong.
I step away from the window, running a hand through my hair. It’s none of my business. She’s safe at home now; that’s all I need to know. Maybe her holiday spirit finally burned itself out.
Pfft, I snort. Not bloody likely.
I move into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on, mindlessly grabbing a mug from the cupboard above, going through the motions of pulling out a teabag, filling the mug, stirring in the milk.
But it doesn’t serve as the distraction I hoped for, because the image of her hunched shoulders and the way she didn’t even bother with the lights won’t leave my mind.
Tea forgotten, and against my better judgment, my feet are already finding my boots, and my coat is around my shoulders.
I don’t even feel the snowflakes slap onto my skin as I cross the driveway and step onto her porch with no real plan in mind, just the need to check on her.
Hesitation shivers through me, my hand hovering over the doorbell.
“What am I even doing?” I mutter to myself, closing my eyes, and I press the button before I can give it another thought.
The chime echoes faintly inside, playing Jingle Bells because, of course, even her doorbell is themed, but it’s followed by silence. For a moment, I think she’s not going to answer, but then the door creaks open, and there she is.
Frankie stands in the dim light of the hallway, wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt that looks like it’s seen better days.
Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, dark curls spilling out all around her head, and her face is bare of makeup, revealing dark circles under her eyes and a faint redness around her nose.
“Sam?” she says, her voice hoarse.
I clear my throat, suddenly unsure of what to say or do. Inviting myself in is a bad idea, but checking on her is fine, right? “I, uh, saw you come back. Just wanted to check you’re okay. You didn’t turn your lights on, and I guess that felt ominous somehow.”
Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. “That’s... unexpectedly thoughtful of you,” she says quietly, then tugs at the sleeve of her sweatshirt, looking down at the floor. This isn’t the Frankie I know.
“Well, I…” I fumble through the mess of thoughts rattling around in my head, none of them making sense because, looking at her right now with eyes that glitter like sorrow itself, something stirs in my chest. It’s not a dramatic thudding heartbeat—I don’t even know if my heart has that in it anymore—but a pulse, faint and real, all the same.
“I… I should…” I gesture vaguely behind me, unable to finish because she’s already stepping aside.
“You might as well come in. It’s freezing out there.”
She turns and walks into her house, and I’m left on the doorstep, knowing I’m going to follow.
The sadness inside her seems to be calling to something in me, too.
Instead of wanting to wallow with her, I want to soothe her somehow.
I don’t know when my concern outweighed my desire to push her buttons, but I’m not walking away now.
The warmth of her house is a welcome relief from the outside, but it’s not the cozy, cheerful haven I expected. The living room is dim, the lights of her Christmas tree conspicuously turned off. Everything looks like a department store at night when everyone has left.
Frankie sinks onto the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. She wraps her arms around them, her sweatshirt bunching around her elbows. “I take it you’ve come to tell me I was an idiot for driving in this weather?”
I hadn’t, but I shrug anyway, sitting in the armchair opposite her. “I figured you already knew that.”
Her laugh is soft, almost bitter. “Turns out, the storm canceled all flights anyway. I didn’t even make it to the airport, let alone Boston.”
I nod slowly, searching for the right thing to say, but coming up blank. My hands twitch with the urge to reach for hers, to offer something to take away that hollow ache of being cut off from the people who make you feel like yourself. I know that feeling too well.
“I was supposed to spend Christmas with my family. First time in years, we’d all be together. And now...” she gestures vaguely at the room, her bottom lip wobbling, “it’s just me. Merry freaking Christmas.”
I study her face, noting the way her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she sniffs away some of the emotion.
Frankie, the woman who never stops smiling, who lit up the whole block with her ridiculous decorations, looks utterly defeated.
And all I can think about is how much I’d like to make her feel better but not knowing how.
“It’s not fair,” she says quietly, her voice trembling.
“I had everything planned. I was going to bake cookies, snuggle with my new nephew, play charades with my mom, watch It’s a Wonderful Life with my dad.
And now I’m stuck here, eating instant noodles because I didn’t go to the store, and staring at an empty house. ”
Her vulnerability hits me hard, tightening my throat.
The feeling she has right now is all too familiar.
I’ve spent the last four Christmases alone, and it never gets easier.
Except this year I’m not alone… I came here planning to check on her and leave.
But seeing her like this, sad and unguarded, chips away at the walls I’ve so carefully built around myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, and I mean it.
She sniffles, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Thanks.”
I shift in my seat, feeling the awkwardness creep in. I’m not good at this—comforting people, offering words of reassurance. I used to be. But Frankie doesn’t seem to need grand gestures of being fixed. Just being here seems to help, in some small way. At least, I think so.
“Look,” I say, leaning forward, “it’s not exactly Boston, but... you’ve got a pretty decent setup here. Lights, cookies, a whole sleigh in the yard. That’s more than most people.”
She blinks, her lips twitching into a weak smile. “Are you... trying to cheer me up?”
“Only if it’s working. If it isn’t, you heard nothing,” I mumble as heat creeps up my neck.
Her laugh this time is genuine, if a little watery. “You’re full of surprises, Sam.”
She’s not wrong. I’m surprising myself right now. I’m not sure why I’m about to do this. “Now, come on.” I stand holding my hand out.
She looks up at me, confused. “What?”
“Lights,” I say, jerking my head toward the darkened tree. “Turn them on.”
For a moment, she just stares at me, assessing me with those big brown doe eyes. Then, slowly, she gets up and walks to the corner of the room. She hesitates, her hand hovering over the switch, before finally flipping it.
The tree springs to life, its lights casting a warm glow across the room. It changes everything. The room feels brighter, cozier. A lot more her.
Frankie turns back to me, her smile a little steadier now, and she takes a breath that I feel.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much.”