Chapter Twenty-One
REX
“I can’t believe this is how I’m spending my Christmas morning,” I say to myself, looking up at the rotating fan on the ceiling of the pet shelter. Elvis’ smooth voice fills the speakers playing from the corners of the room.
Normally, I play light jazz, or classical because I’ve heard it calms animals. Maybe any other animals than these wild things, but if anything, it calms me. Normally.
Not today.
I’m laying on my back as Fluffy pads in circles on my chest trying to get comfortable. Her little Bolognese body acting as if she were on her dog bed and not pressing down on my lungs.
She’s lucky she weighs next to nothing.
Not that it’s been easy for me to breathe since last night, anyway.
I roll my head to the side when I see movement, watching as Lucy lifts the ridge of her golden brow. She watches Fluffy with envy, as if she could also fit her fifty-pound Labradoodle body on my chest the same way.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.
She huffs and flops back down.
Yup, I’m officially the Grinch.
Looking back up at the ceiling, I let my mind wander to the events of last night, trying to figure out what went wrong so quickly. One minute I had Holly in my arms, dancing to Christmas music, feeling like we were the only ones in the world. Feeling that maybe, for the first time in a long time, things were going right.
Then, there was the moment in the snow. That fraction of a second where we went from almost kissing to having her run off. My chest hurts, and not just because Fluffy stretches, digging her nails through my sweater and into my skin, but because I know that Holly didn’t just leave me. She left the town. And I have no idea if she’s ever coming back.
“Well, Merry Christmas to you,” Jacob’s voice says from the doorway.
I don’t bother to look over, knowing I’ll see confusion, sadness, or worse—pity—in his eyes.
“Merry Christmas,” I grumble.
“Are you really listening to ‘Blue Christmas?’ Please tell me you don’t have it on repeat.”
“I’m not confirming or denying that statement.”
Who’s he to judge me? The Christmas police?
“I brought you a Holly Jolly Latte,” I hear him take a step into the room, most likely lifting his foot over the doggy gate rather than opening it like he normally does.
“Impossible. Cassie never opens on Christmas,” I grumble.
“No, but it helps that he knows the owner,” Cassie says from the area of the doorway.
I shut my eyes, not wanting an audience for my pity party.
“I appreciate you coming, but don’t you have somewhere better to be on Christmas morning?” I lift my hand, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Fluffy doesn’t appreciate my movement as she turns on my chest and faces away from me. I don’t know how I end up collecting the dogs with the biggest attitude problems, but I do.
“And miss this joyous occasion? I think not,” Cassie says sarcastically, sitting cross-legged next to me. Ginger walks up and gives her a sniff before plopping down and rolling onto her back, offering herself for Cassie’s belly rubs.
As if Cassie has a say in the matter.
Cassie only chuckles before using both hands to give Ginger a good scratch, making Ginger’s back leg twitch.
“Are you really letting Rexy wallow like this, Ginger? Shouldn’t you be cheering him up?” she says in an overdramatic, playful voice.
“There’s no cheering,” I grumble as I pick up Fluffy off my chest and place her on the ground beside me. This seems to anger her even more as she snorts before walking off to her dog bed and laying down, still facing away from me. I shake my head as I accept my Holly Jolly Latte from Jacob’s extended hand, wondering just what else could go wrong this Christmas.
“Bah Humbug,” Jacob says with a smirk.
I take a sip of my coffee, feeling even worse when it doesn’t give me the immediate uplifting feeling it always does.
“Look, you’re in a horrible place right now, but you couldn’t make her stay,” Jacob says, taking a seat next to Cassie.
“And you don’t know that she isn’t coming back,” Cassie adds.
“Do you know something? Have you heard from her?” I sit up straighter, noticing that I’m desperate for any information on Holly I can get.
“Sorry, no. I just mean that I know she was really torn up about leaving. She’s just as sad as you are, Rex. She might just need some time.” Cassie looks back down at Ginger, who’s now curled up and resting her head on Cassie’s leg. “You know as well as we do how much of a change this all was for her. To go from Christmas being one of the most painful times of the year to, well…this. In case you don’t remember, Candy Cane Creek is a lot to take in, especially from someone that’s not from here.”
I blow out a breath, thinking back to when Lauren and I first moved to town. Being from the city, we were both blown away, and leery of how nice everyone was. They accepted us into the community, no questions asked. When Lauren got sick, they took care of us. When she passed, they took care of me. They made sure we always had food and someone to lean on if we needed it—sometimes even when we didn’t realize that’s what we needed.
Throw in Holly’s view of the holiday and I can see why it would be overwhelming. Not to mention her hesitation towards relationships.
I didn’t have the hurt of someone choosing to leave me. I know with my whole heart that if Lauren had a choice, she would still be with me right now. I couldn’t imagine dedicating my life to someone just to have them throw it away.
“So, what do I do?” I ask into my coffee cup.
“Well, you don’t sit and listen to the saddest Christmas song ever on repeat, that’s for sure,” Jacob scoffs.
“Elvis is classic. Take that back,” I respond.
“Plus, we all know ‘The Christmas Shoes’ is the saddest Christmas song ever,” Cassie adds.
Jacob and I both nod. I won’t argue with her on that one. I avoid listening to that song at all costs.
“Okay, so other than stop listening to sad Christmas songs, what do you suggest?”
Cassie and Jacob look at each other, both donning smiles that tell me they’ve already concocted a plan.
“You come with us,” Cassie says, turning her attention back to me.
“I’m scared to ask where,” I counter.
“You’ll see,” she says, rubbing her hands together.
* * *
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter as I stand in the town square, looking at the scene before me.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Cassie asks, rocking back and forth from the balls to the heels of her feet.
“It’s…something,” I answer, looking up at the big tree in the middle of the square.
The decorations have changed from a classy mix of string lights and oversized bulb ornaments to something straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. Large and small bulbs of every size and colour fill every branch of the fifty-foot tree.
“Did this happen last year?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the sight in front of me.
“Nope,” she says, popping her ‘p.’ “Brand new this year. Isn’t it great?”
I look up at the very top. “Did they curve the tree at the top? How…?”
“No idea. This was all William’s idea. He’s been working in secret with the council for months,” Jacob adds, looking up.
“Well, now their outfits make sense,” I say, looking over at William and the council as they huddle in close discussion near the base of the tree. The men are wearing knit sweaters and dress pants, the women all in dresses that seem to remain flared out unnaturally. What they all have in common are fake upturned noses and outlandish hair. “So, what is this exactly?”
“It’s a Who-Breakfast!” Cassie exclaims excitedly.
“Did you have something to do with this?” I ask Jacob, knowing that the Inn is usually involved with anything that needs to be catered.
He responds, giving me a closed-lip smile and running his fingers over his mouth like he’s zipping his lips.
“Come on!” Cassie links her arm with mine and pulls me forward.
I’m immediately greeted by people in town—some dressed like Seuss characters, some not—as they wish me a Merry Christmas. No one mentions the fiasco that happened in front of everyone last night, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
Cassie and Jacob lead me to a long table, which really must be about ten tables lined up together, all packed with food. There’s everything from sausages, hash browns, and eggs to pancakes and waffles.
“Take your pick! There’s a little of everything,” Jacob says, handing me a plate. “There’s your favourite Gingerbread pancakes. I made sure to get your favourite recipe from Hal at the diner.”
“You did not!” I gasp, gaping at him. “Hal’s kept that recipe under lock and key! I’ve begged him for it for over a year now!”
“What can I say? I have my ways,” Jacob smirks.
“If you two don’t mind, I would really like to start eating all of this.” Cassie muscles her way in between us, getting in front and piling sausages on her plate.
“Seriously, though. What is all this? I don’t remember there being a breakfast last year.”
“There was. The theme changes every year, but the sentiment is the same. We all gather around the tree and share breakfast with one another before going home and opening presents with family.”
“How did I not know about this?” I ask, astonished. I thought I’d experienced everything the town had to offer for the holiday season. I’d used it as a distraction. Surely I would have remembered an event like this.
“I think you were in too much of a haze to think about it,” Jacob starts, putting a sausage on his plate now that Cassie has moved to the hash browns. “We all knew you were grieving and wanted to respect that, so we didn’t push.”
“And now?” I ask, taking his place in line, finding myself surprisingly hungry now that I’m in front of all this food.
“Well, you still are. I imagine you never stop. But this year it’s different. Cass and I couldn’t let you sit at home when everyone wants you here.”
I stop, looking over at him as he grabs a spoonful of scrambled eggs. “You and ‘Cass,’ huh?”
“Don’t. We’re focusing on you.” He narrows his eyes at me as he places the scoop of food on his plate and replaces the spoon.
I follow down the table in silence, taking a little of everything as I make my way down.
Except for the pancakes. I take more than my share of those, especially if Hal only shares his recipe with Jacob.
We find spots at a table with Brent and Megan Sanders, and I listen happily as they talk about their plans for the day. How they can’t wait to open presents with their kids, who are currently running around the square with most of the other children from town, hyped up on sugar and Christmas excitement. I stay silent, acting as if I’m enjoying the food—which I am—but I’m really actively trying to think about how much all of this makes me feel sadness.
I miss Lauren and the Christmas we were supposed to have together.
I miss Holly and the ones I thought we would share.
Twice now I’ve envisioned my Christmas going so dramatically different and again, I’m left here all alone, wishing for what would never be.