Chapter 31
“Eben! Eben!”
I call for him up and down the hallway—but the only voice that answers is my own echo, ricocheting with remorse. God, how could I be so fucking stupid? Ally’s right. This situation was never any of my business. I should have stayed the hell out of it.
But noooooo, I had to go and open my big dumb mouth.
The worst part is, I know better. I grew up in a freaking cult.
My whole life, I’ve been an iron fortress.
I understand the importance of keeping other people’s secrets confidential.
I know how dangerous it is when someone you trust doesn’t.
It’s not like me—meddling in another family’s mess.
I just like him so much, and I hate to see him suffer.
By the time I made it out of the community room, the crowd had revolted against the Christmas King.
When I last saw him, he was spinning on one boot, taking cover from the barrage of Christmas-themed projectiles—cookies, candy canes, and a…
jingly elf slipper? The front rows of influencers didn’t get the heartwarming spectacle they came for, but they definitely got a spectacle.
Vaulting over the last folding chair, I caught sight of a few of them already swarming Anne—phones up like it was breaking news and not the messy fallout of a small-town pageant gone off the rails.
I would have jumped in, but Missy was already bulldozing through, swatting phones and steering Anne toward the exit like a bodyguard escorting a pop star offstage.
“Eben? Please. I’m sorry. Where are you?” I call again, softer, down the next corridor. And the next.
At last, I find him.
He’s on the edge of his mom’s narrow bed, tall frame folded in on itself like he’s trying to disappear. My heart catapults to my throat. He looks up at me but says nothing.
I step into the room—and realize I’ve never actually been inside. It’s humble, barely big enough for one person. On the wall opposite the bed hang photos of Anne and Eben from every stage of his life—T-ball, a trip to Disney World, homecoming, college graduation.
They’re not there to cozy up the room. There’s something precise about them, something almost utilitarian, like anchors. Like a lifeline lassoing in the parts of her life she’s desperately trying not to lose—even as her disease violently claims more of it, piece by piece.
I hover in the doorway, heavy with shame. “Eben. I’m so sorry.”
Only the HVAC hum answers.
I pace, sweating. “I care about you so much. Hearing what your dad did to you and your mom—out loud—while he stood there looking like a pompous ass? I lost it. I know I shouldn’t have opened my big, stupid mouth, but it just came out. The injustice of it. I didn’t mean to—”
A sob catches in my throat. Tears blur my vision. I almost miss the tiny gesture: he pats the space beside him on the bed.
“I know,” he says, barely audible.
My heart drops as I sink onto the mattress beside him. Our thighs touch. He turns his palm up, and I lace my fingers through his. I squeeze. I don’t breathe until he squeezes back.
After a long silence, he says, “He had that coming.”
“Yeah.” We sit in the stretch of quiet.
“Families are… complicated,” I offer. It’s the only thing I feel qualified to say.
I can’t stop replaying Ronnie’s face—the shock when he realized that Eben had been paying the bills alone.
The Christmas King might be emotionally stunted, but in that moment, he looked like a father.
A father who cared, who didn’t know his son was carrying this burden alone.
The pain radiates from Eben in waves. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off, and I can feel it in his pulse, in the way his grip tightens and loosens. I squeeze his hand harder, trying to calm us both.
“Ouch,” he says with a weak smile.
“Sorry. Just thinking.”
A shadow crosses his face. He knows what I’m thinking—and hopes I’ll keep it to myself.
If Ally were here, she’d kick me. Beg me to shut up, especially after what just happened. But I’ve been through too much to stay quiet. And anyway, turns out I can’t.
Eben watches my face, bracing.
“I think you should give your dad a chance to make it right,” I whisper—so soft I barely hear the words myself.
His hand goes slack. He inches away. “Melody—”
“No, listen. You shouldn’t have to pay for this alone. Your dad clearly didn’t know. Did you see his face—”
“You mean when you humiliated me in front of strangers and the entire internet? Yeah, I saw it.”
Okay. That stings.
“He really didn’t know, Eben—”
He shoots to his feet. “He didn’t know because he doesn’t care. Mom and I didn’t need him then—and we sure as shit don’t need him now.”
The tension in his voice coils like a cobra.
I stand too, heat rising for no good reason. “Yes, you do, Eben. You do need him.”
“Melody, you don’t know what I need. This isn’t your family. Not your problem.” He exhales, clipped. “And after you blew my confidence—slip-up or not—the least you can do is butt out.”
My face burns. Eben has no idea how lucky he is—sure, Ronnie is a mess and nowhere near Dad of the Decade, but at least he wants to talk. At least there’s a chance.
“Your dad is out there right now wanting to talk to you. Do you know how lucky you are? Did you even see the look on his face? He looked wrecked—”
Eben’s expression empties. He looks past me like I’m a stranger.
“No, I didn’t notice the sad look on Ronnie Golding’s face. Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe he felt nothing. I didn’t see any phantom expressions, because they don’t exist.” His eyes cut to mine. “Instead of projecting some fantasy onto my family, maybe try fixing your own.”
The words land like a slap. My eyes sting.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“And neither can I.”
I inhale. I should let it go. Why can’t I let it go?
“Okay, but maybe—on Christmas—we could stop by. Just for a minute—”
His hands curl into fists. His jaw locks. He’s not looking at me anymore.
“I’m not going there on Christmas. Not now. Not ever.”
I step back. “Okay. We don’t have to. We can do something totally different.”
He blinks at me. Stone silent.
“You already know I don’t do Christmas.”
I shake my head, confused. “But that was before… this.” I gesture between us.
“This,” he echoes, same gesture, “doesn’t change how I feel about Christmas. Or who I am.”
It’s a dagger to my heart. I don’t know why I thought he might see things differently now.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “So… you’re not going to see me on Christmas?”
My voice comes out high and tight—like a deflating balloon.
I sound like a mouse. A tiny, pathetic mouse begging for a scrap of cheese.
Only in this case, the cheese is love. Love I can’t seem to get from anyone—not from Eben, not from my family.
Even Ally made other plans this year that don’t include me.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t see you,” he replies. “I just—I don’t do Christmas. I can’t.” He looks away. “I told you that.”
“What are you going to do instead?” I ask, starting to spiral.
He keeps his eyes on the floor. “Same thing I do every year. Visit Mom. Get a rotisserie chicken. Watch football.”
Indignation lights me up like a match. “You’re going to spend Christmas with a cooked chicken instead of me?”
A long beat. When Eben finally looks up, his eyes are full of regret.
Oh my God. That’s a yes.
Before the tears fall, before I say something else I’ll regret—I bolt.
“Melody, wait—”
I don’t look back.
I just run.
Out the door.
Down the hall.
I don’t stop until I’m in my car.
At home, I tear off my pageant dress like it’s on fire. I crawl into bed in just my underwear, unable to stomach putting on Christmas pajamas—but too drained to wear anything else.
My phone buzzes and buzzes. I ignore Ally, ignore Eben, ignore unknown numbers. I’m finally facing the reality I’ve been dreading: I’m spending Christmas alone.
I just want to rot.
At some point, I fall asleep. Or dissociate. I think I hear a knock—soft, tentative—but my doorbell’s been broken for years, so ignoring visitors is easy.
Eventually, my phone dies. Just like that, all contact with the outside world is severed.
Time goes fuzzy. I drift in and out of half-sleep for what feels like twelve hours. I lie in my bed like a corpse, heavy, motionless. Unable to feel anything but the weight of being utterly alone on Christmas.
Where did it all go wrong?
I know I should have minded my business, but it’s not like Eben was planning on spending Christmas with me anyway.
Ever since my family cut ties, there’s been a bone-deep chill.
A hollow where there was once community.
A longing for something I lost—something I could only keep if I abandoned myself.
I’ve spent six years grieving the family that I could only have by being “perfect.” Or at least, their version of it.
And now the old ache rolls over me in waves.
Something about this thing with Eben made me feel less alone. Less empty. Maybe that was an illusion—because even he doesn’t care enough to embrace this one, simple joy. He won’t let go of old wounds long enough to try something new—with me.
Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one being obtuse about the whole Christmas thing. Maybe I should’ve let it go, shared the rotisserie chicken. Watched the football game. Sat beside the man I’m falling for and called it a successful holiday—because at least I wasn’t alone.
But isn’t that just the flip side of the same coin?
Betraying who I am just to keep someone else happy?
Morning light slips through the window. My eyes are crusted with sleep and dried tears. I didn’t wash my face, so now my pillows are stained with mascara and regret.
I glance at the clock on my nightstand.
8:30 a.m.
December 24th.
Fucking Christmas Eve.