Chapter 12
NATALIE
A s soon as I staggered down the hall, my phone was out and I was texting my girls.
Casey: …
Me: Don’t … me. This is a real emergency.
Riley: I’m not sure that you know the meaning of that word, Nat.
Me: I JUST HOOKED UP WITH SANTA CLAUS!
Casey: What?
Casey: What do you mean?
Casey: What does that mean?
Riley: Are you being serious right now?
Me: DO I SOUND SERIOUS?
Riley: Well…no. Ob viously.
Casey: Right now I’m picturing you and a mall Santa banging it out in those fake workshops they set up.
Riley: That was oddly specific. You and Parker act that out or something?
Casey: If anyone is going to act out that particular fantasy, it would be you and Jace. Just saying. Or…evidently Natalie.
Me: Ok, I may not have hooked up with actual Santa.
Casey: I’m not sure you actually had to tell us that.
Riley: Yeah, I’m not sure Mrs. Claus would have allowed that. Oh, and I have one for you.
Casey: Have what for us?
Riley: Why does Santa always come through the chimney?
Me: I’m not sure this is the appropriate time for this, but I’ll allow it.
Casey: …
Riley: Because he knows better than to try the back door!
Casey: Ok, tell Jace that one was funny.
Riley: Hey! That could have been from me.
Casey: Ok…we can pretend to live in that world.
Me: Can we focus? Less ho ho hoing and more fixing my life!
Casey: I would like to point out again…that the only one ho ho hoing is…you.
Riley: She’s probably preening right now.
Me: I HOOKED UP WITH EASTON DRESSED AS SANTA!
Casey: Now this is getting good.
Me: It was the costume. One look and I turned into one of those “he can sleigh me anytime” kind of girls.
Casey: I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.
Me: Think of Parker in his football uniform and how you get all wild and crazy. That’s what happened to me. One second, he was saying “Merry Christmas.” And the next second, I was on his lap. And the next-next second, I was saying “Yes, Saint Nick. Yes.”
Me: I am not ok. Just in case that wasn’t obvious.
Casey: You just made me choke on my tea. Rude.
Me: DO NOT LAUGH! I AM SPIRALING. MY HOLIDAY WREATH IS CROOKED. I LOST A FAKE EYELASH. AND I THINK I YELLED “JINGLE MY BELLS” MID-CLIMAX…
Riley: Honestly, this is peak you, Santa-seducing queen.
Me: I need a deep cleanse. Like sage, a shower, and three hours of silence. Also a cookie. Possibly a nap. SEND HELP.
Casey: Sending cookies. And a therapist.
Riley: I don’t think you need cookies. I think you need a fire extinguisher. Because apparently, Santa’s lap is flammable.
Me: That’s not the worst part, though…
Riley: Ok, what’s the worst part?
Me: I don’t want to tell you. Because I don’t want to tell myself.
Casey: Just do it.
Riley: We’re literally your emotional support group. You can tell us if you moaned “stocking stuffer”.
Me: It’s worse.
Casey: …
Riley: …
Me: I think I might still…like him.
Casey: Wait.
Riley: HOLD UP!
Me: Not like “like” like. Just…like. With extra feelings.
Casey: Nat.
Me: OK FINE…MAYBE I NEVER STOPPED.
Riley: Ok, everyone breathe.
Casey: Are you saying you’re catching feelings for your ex…
Me: I KNOW HOW IT SOUNDS.
Casey: What are you going to do?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe run away. Join a gingerbread convent. Change my name to Holly and never wear red again.
Riley: Ok, before that…maybe talk to him?
Me: Ew. Gross.
Casey: You’re already emotionally compromised. Might as well finish the character arc.
Riley: We’ll be here if you need backup. With jokes. And possibly snacks. And like…emotional tasers.
Me: I hate how supportive you both are about this. You’re supposed to be telling me this is the worst thing ever.
Me: But also, thank you.
I was still trying to decide if I needed a priest, a therapist, or a vat of holy water when I turned down the hallway and heard it.
Crying.
At first, I thought maybe someone was laughing too hard. Holiday brunch had that effect on people—too many mimosas, not enough shame. But then I heard it again…softer this time, raw, like someone was trying not to be heard.
I stopped mid-scroll on my phone, Riley’s latest text blinking up at me:
Riley: Moral of the story, though…you’re fine. You just got sleighed. Happens to the best of us.
I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t.
Because just up ahead, tucked in the shadow of a side corridor near the library room, was Paige.
Sitting on a bench with her knees pulled up to her chest, her red waves a mess, her face blotchy and streaked with mascara.
And she was crying. Hard.
Panic flipped in my stomach. Not because I didn’t care…but be cause I had no idea what to do. Emotional comfort was not exactly my area of expertise. I could juggle sarcastic banter like none other, but crying?
I was out of my depth.
Still, I slipped my phone into my pocket and took a step closer. “Hey…uh. You okay?”
She jerked a little like she hadn’t realized anyone was there. Her eyes found mine, red-rimmed, shining. “Oh, hey,” she croaked, quickly wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”
My brows rose. “Right. Because nothing says fine like hiding in the hallway outside your wedding brunch and leaking tears onto your heels.”
She let out a watery laugh that turned into a hiccup. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see me like this.”
I dropped onto the bench beside her with a dramatic sigh, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of Easton’s cum leaking down my thighs.
“Well, I just panic-texted my friends that I might be falling for Easton again… after having sex with him while he was wearing a Santa suit. So honestly? Neither of us is winning today.”
Her mouth twitched. “That makes me feel a little bit better, actually.”
I scoffed and side-eyed her. “What’s going on?”
She bit her bottom lip. Then she said it. Quietly. Almost like she regretted it the second it left her mouth.
“I invited him.”
I blinked. “Invited who?”
“Terry. Our father . I invited him to the wedding.”
Everything inside me slammed to a halt, like someone had yanked the emergency brake straight through my ribcage. “You what? Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly, wiping at another tear. “I wasn’t thinking. I just—I got caught up in the moment. I was looking at old pictures, and I…I missed him.”
My mouth was dry. My lungs felt tight.
“You missed him ?” My voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and betrayal.
She nodded miserably. “I know I shouldn’t want him there. I know. But I do . I don’t want to. I just…do.”
I swallowed hard, a rush of memories hitting me all at once.
The year he left and all the pain that had come with it.
The birthday where I waited on the porch for hours in my best pink dress.
I thought of how Mom went quiet for months— not angry , just…empty. Like the air had been sucked out of her and she didn’t have the strength to try anymore.
The way Paige had pretended not to care. Even though she’d been sitting on that porch with me.
And now she wanted him here ? At her wedding? Like nothing had ever happened?
I blinked fast, forcing myself to look away before the heat in my chest spilled down my face. “Do you think he’ll come?”
She gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.”
We sat in silence for a long moment.
And then finally, I spoke. Each word measured, held between gritted teeth and a heart that still remembered how to break. “He doesn’t deserve to walk you down the aisle.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“But if he does show up…” I swallowed hard, forcing the words out through the lump in my throat. “I’ll be there.”
Her head turned, eyes wide. “You will?”
I nodded. “I’ll be standing right beside you. Holding your bouquet or your purse or the emotional shrapnel when it all hits the fan. Whatever you need.”
Tears welled again in her eyes…but this time, they were softer. Quieter.
She leaned her head on my shoulder, and I let her.
Because sometimes sisters cry in hallways, and sometimes ex- boyfriends wear Santa suits, and sometimes life throws you curveballs that hit you square in the heart.
And sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t have to have the right words.
You just have to stay.
We didn’t speak for a while. I didn’t reach for her hand.
I didn’t move her head from my shoulder.
I just sat there beside her in that quiet little alcove, the scent of pine and sugar cookies still lingering in the air, and stared at the rug on the floor like it might suddenly rearrange itself into a map that told me where the hell to go next.
But it didn’t. Nothing did.
I could hear Paige breathing…those soft, stuttered inhales that came after a cry so big it felt like it scraped something out of you. And under it all was the sound of my own heartbeat, thudding out a rhythm that felt hollow. Unsteady.
Something had cracked open in me, and I didn’t know how to close it.
Even now, years later, I could still see my father’s back as he casually walked away down the driveway, unaware he’d already put his suitcase in the car. I remember standing at the window with sticky fingers from gingerbread icing, watching him go. Waiting for him to look back.
He never did.
The memories of him always ended the same: with someone I loved disappearing while I stood there frozen, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.
That— that —was the future I’d convinced myself was inevitable if I let Easton in again.
Another beautiful beginning doomed to the same, crushing end.
I didn’t tell Paige more about what had happened with Easton.
I couldn’t. Because if I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure if I’d cry…
or explode. Or admit that maybe the reason I ran out on Ea ston had nothing to do with the timing and everything to do with the fact that I’d never actually let myself heal.
Maybe I was scared—terrified even—that no matter how real it felt when he touched me, no matter how honest he looked when he said I was the only one…it would all disappear.
I would open my eyes one morning and he’d be gone.
And I didn’t know if I could survive that again.
So, I sat there in that hallway next to my sister, our silent grief braided between us, and I wondered how the hell you’re supposed to love someone when you don’t even know how to trust that they’ll stay.