1 #2
No longer the lanky boy I knew in high school, he’s filled out.
His face has matured, too. I knew Robbie when he still had baby fat on his cheeks.
The twenty-six-year-old Robbie has leaned out, toned up, and sharpened in an attractive boy-next-door kind of way.
Perhaps more striking is his confidence.
I haven’t kept close tabs, but from what I’ve heard, Robbie is a big-time musician on Broadway, and it shows—he’s got a strong presence about him that he didn’t have in high school.
But it’s not what’s different about Robbie that surprises me. It’s what’s the same.
The same light brown hair kept just a little too long, just a little too careless, with strands styled upward and back that add an inch or so to his height, though he doesn’t need it.
The same straw-colored complexion with a tinge of pink underneath, like he’s just run a mile.
And the same amber-brown eyes that bring me right back to all our childhood memories, ending in that big blowup senior year.
A flood of unpleasant thoughts fights its way to the front of my mind, reminding me of past events I hate to revisit. I’m already dealing with a shitty start to the holidays. Things are supposed to get better from here, not worse.
“Those mocha rolls look amazing.” Robbie’s smile doesn’t falter as he takes in my tray. “But doesn’t your mom do all the baking for your Noche Buena party?” he asks, glancing meaningfully at my overflowing tray.
My pulse quickens. Of course, he remembers my family’s traditional Filipino feast we have on Christmas Eve.
He used to come every year. Ironically, Robbie was the only person I ever managed to bring home with me for that dinner, even though he was always just a friend.
That streak was supposed to be broken this year, until my date came down with a fake illness. Something like hope fills my chest.
“Yeah, of course,” I say. “You should totally stop by.”
The offer is out of my mouth before I even have a chance to fully think it through.
Robbie’s cheeks flare pink, and his gaze drops to the floor. “I’m not sure—”
I rush to cut him off. “No. Right. I’m being silly.
” I don’t think I can survive another rejection today.
Apparently, I’m so worried about disappointing my mom, I’m not above putting myself and an old, estranged friend in a super embarrassing situation.
What a morning… I’m mistaken as a bakery employee and now I’m looking extra desperate in front of Robbie.
What next? A chocolate pie launched in my face?
He presses the toe of his sturdy brown boot into the floor, and my chest softens. The motion reminds me of the Robbie I knew growing up: the shy boy who would tell jokes to cheer me up. I know this is what he does when he’s feeling awkward.
He takes a breath and grins at me—not just smiles, grins.
Having grown up with him, I know there’s a difference.
Whatever he’d been pondering clearly got shoved back down.
Which is good—no need to focus on my awkward invitation.
I’ll spare him from having to reject me, and I’ll save myself from being rejected again.
“That’ll all look killer on your feed,” he says, gazing at my bakery tray. I nod, both flattered and shocked he’s been on my social media. He’s not wrong. It’s sort of a hobby of mine to post food aesthetics—especially coffee drinks. This morning, though, I’d just planned on getting my eat on.
“They don’t call me the queen of qua-ssants for nothing,” I joke. Photos of cute croissants next to steaming lattes in pretty mugs are one of my favorite aesthetics to post.
I wince and rebalance my tray in both my hands. Pastries can get heavy.
“You okay?” His expression tightens. “Your tray looks like a workout.”
“I’m fine.” I pretend to lift it like a weight. “This is my type of fitness class.”
He smirks. “I’d prefer to do curls with chocolate bars, too.”
Classic Robbie and his cheesy jokes. I can’t help but laugh. He joins me, and for a moment it’s like old times.
But as soon as our laughter fades, the discomfort seeps back in.
I haven’t seen Robbie in almost eight years, and here we are joking with each other?
The last time we spoke face-to-face we were arguing, there were raised voices.
Tears. Then we both went to different colleges and never spoke again.
Now I’m not sure how I feel, except my instincts are quietly whispering time to go.
There’s too much baggage here. Too much history.
I lift my baked-goods-piled tray. “Seriously, this is getting heavy,” I say, motioning toward the cash register.
He grabs an empty tray off a nearby counter and, despite my protests, relieves mine of several cinnamon rolls and sugar-dusted brownies.
“Come on,” he says, setting his tray at the cash register, but not before grabbing a few cranberry scones. “For my folks,” he adds.
My heart warms at the mention of his parents. The Morrows were always super nice to me. Even after the infamous blowup with Robbie, the few times I saw them before I left Hopewell Crossing for college, they’ve been happy to see me.
“Are you in town for long?” I ask. “I thought your folks went to visit you in New York for Christmas.” That was one of the reasons I never bumped into Robbie when I was home for the holidays.
It’s subtle, but his shoulders tense. “We have some family business this year,” he says. When he doesn’t elaborate, I know better than to push.
He glances at his smartwatch as we finish checking out. “Actually, I need to get going.”
He hands me the cinnamon rolls he took off my tray, and only then do I realize he paid for them.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “Can I buy you a coffee or a snickerdoodle?” One of his favorites growing up.
His eyes glaze like he’s picturing a plate chock full of cookies, but he shakes his head. “Thanks, but you know me. Once I start, I won’t stop.” He pantomimes Cookie Monster.
I snort at the old reference. “Nom, nom, nom,” I tease, feeling dorky. I missed this version of Robbie.
We both laugh again. His eyes crinkle. “It’s been a long time since those Big Bird days.” He hesitates. “If you have time… maybe I’ll see you around?”
Our eyes meet, then just as quickly he looks away.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d like that.”
“Great. Well, we know where to find each other,” he says, his lips quirked in that shy smile of his.
A soft warmth rolls through me. We do know where to find each other.
I can picture his parents’ front porch right now, wrapped in strings of white lights and garlands, a large blue-ribboned wreath on the front door covered in tiny instrument-shaped ornaments—just like it’s been every Christmas as long as I can remember.
With one last wave, I watch Robbie leave.
I’m surprised to realize my chest feels a little lighter than it did before I walked into this place.
I take a deep breath and smile. The idea of spending time with Robbie again actually gives me a little hope that maybe this Christmas won’t be as terrible as I’d originally thought after being dumped.
Maybe there’s a chance we can fix what went wrong between us.
It’s not like I can change the past anyway. But the future? I have a little control over what comes next, don’t I?
My pocket vibrates and I’m relieved to see a text on my phone: Sorry just saw this. Please don’t do anything dramatic. I’m on the way.