Chapter 34
CHRISTMAS EVE
MELODY
The silence stretches as Cassie and I sit on the couch. She takes in the room with wide eyes that linger on the tinsel, the tree, the garland—the whole Christmas explosion that is my apartment. The TV is off for now, but I’m itching to turn it on just for background noise.
“I wasn’t expecting…” she trails off, her gaze landing on a throw pillow like she’s afraid Santa might pop out of it and bite her. “All this.”
I shrug, hugging a faux fur blanket to my chest. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”
She glances over. “No. It’s… good.”
That catches me off guard. “Really?”
Cassie nods slowly. “Yeah. I mean—it’s weird. But good. It suits you.”
A deep breath fills my lungs. I hadn’t realized how tight my chest had gotten until now.
For a second, we just sit there—suspended in the quiet hum of years lost and words unsaid. I want to ask a hundred things: Are you safe? Are you out for good? Did you miss me? But the questions tangle in my throat.
Instead, I reach for the tin on the coffee table. “Want a cookie?”
She eyes it warily. “Are they… normal?”
I grin. “Define normal.”
Cassie cracks a smile, hesitant but genuine. “No poison or broken glass?”
“Only peppermint and butter.”
She takes one.
I watch her lift it to her lips and nibble. She chews gingerly, nodding as the taste settles in. Her shoulders drop. She sits up a little straighter.
“These are really good. Did you make them?”
“From scratch, baby. Just like Grandma.”
At the mention of our grandmother, Cassie’s eyes lower. “You got more time with her than I did.”
She’s right. Cassie’s six years younger.
I was twelve when Grandma died—Cassie was only six.
By then, the Heralds had caught on to our sneaky basement Christmases.
Our parents got admonished. No more secret Santa sugar cookies.
No more humming “Jingle Bells” while pretending it was a folk song.
We still had a few cookies, but no Christmas shapes allowed.
“Why are you here, Cass?” I finally ask.
She freezes mid-bite, then lowers the hand holding her half-eaten cookie to her lap.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” she says. “But you’re very skilled at ignoring your phone.”
“Damn right I am.” I puff up my chest. “All those years ignoring Herald busybodies have made me an expert.”
Her eyes flash with hurt. I bite my tongue.
“Courtney told me she saw you at the Christmas bar.”
“Once a snitch, always a snitch.”
“She left too.”
“Too?”
Cassie nods, then takes a deep breath. She fiddles with her cookie, then shoves the rest into her mouth.
“You left?” I ask quietly.
She chews, swallows. “I did.”
“Why?”
“I met someone,” she says.
“Uh-oh,” I say. “A non-Herald?”
She nods.
“That’s amazing, Cass!” I cheer. Even my little sister is less alone than I am. I pop a cookie in my mouth. “I’m so happy for you! Tell me everything. What’s he like?”
She hesitates. “She,” she says softly.
I freeze, crumbs on my lip. “Oh. Oh! Cass, that’s wonderful. What’s she like?”
“She’s great, but…” her eyes drop; her mouth pinches. She worries the hem of her sleeve. “Well, you can probably imagine.”
I set the tin aside and scoot forward, wrapping her in a tight hug. She stiffens at first, but then relaxes into it, a hand settling on my elbow. Our foreheads touch.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“It’s not like any of us were there for you.”
I pull back. Cassie hangs her head in shame.
I tilt her chin up. “Hey. That’s not fair. You were a kid.”
“Old enough to know better.”
“Sixteen’s still a kid—especially when you’re trapped in a cult.”
She exhales, almost a laugh. “Kind of wild that we’re more forgiving than the Heralds now, huh?”
“Wild,” I smile. “How long have you been out?”
“Three months.”
“Fresh deconstruction,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”
She nods, then glances toward the TV. “So… what do we do now? Watch Christmas movies or something?”
I follow her gaze and laugh. “Yeah, sure. We can put something on.”
We settle into the couch as I flip on the TV.
“Hey, wait,” I say. “Why aren’t you with your girlfriend?”
“She’s working tonight. I’m going to spend Christmas with her family tomorrow.” Cassie pauses, tilting her head. “I wanted to spend it with mine today.”
My throat tightens. I smile and cue up Home Alone.
“Let’s ease you in,” I say, tossing the blanket over both of us. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
We don’t talk much after that. Just curl up together, half-watching the screen and half-watching each other out of the corners of our eyes. My Chinese takeout arrives still piping hot, and we nosh on my lonely girl Christmas feast—not so alone anymore.
When one movie ends, we start another. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Elf, How the Grinch Stole Christmas—as many of my favorite Christmas movies as I can cram into one night.
By the time the credits roll on A Christmas Story, we’re both asleep—two sisters, snuggled up in a pile of faux fur, peppermint crumbs, and the kind of peace I never thought I’d get back.
When my phone buzzes to life for the first time in twenty-four hours, it startles me awake. I sit up, disoriented. The room is flooded with bright morning light.
Christmas Day.
Cassie’s still out cold, drooling on one of my throw pillows. She looks cozy in a red-and-green plaid pajama set I let her borrow. I smile.
I got my sister back.
The best Christmas present ever.
My phone buzzes again—an unknown number.
Maybe: Forest Park Assisted Living.
What the hell?
Okay, sure—I kind of skipped out on the pageant early, but calling me on Christmas Day? Are they really that worried?
I answer, just in case. “Hello?”
“Melody, we need you to come here right away.” It’s Missy. Her voice is tight, urgent.
“What?” I sit up. “Right now?”
Cassie stirs beside me. She yawns and stretches, rubbing her eyes.
“Yes, we need you. It’s… an emergency.”
My stomach drops. “An emergency? Is someone hurt? Shouldn’t you call 911 instead of me?”
“It’s… Edna. She’s asking for you.”
I hear groaning in the background.
“Edna is asking for me?”
There’s a rustling sound. Then Edna’s gravelly voice cuts through: “Get your ass over here right now. I’m dying and I need you.”
“You need me? For what?”
“Are you daft—”
More rustling. Missy’s clearly wrestling the phone away.
“Please, Melody,” Missy pleads. “We need you. It’s for the olds.”
Someone in the background shouts, “Who you callin’ old!”
I exhale. “Okay. I’m coming.”
“Thanks, Melody. We owe you one.”
Another voice hollers, “I don’t owe anyone shit!”
The line clicks dead.
I stare at my phone.
Cassie blinks at me, bleary-eyed. “Who was that?”
I sigh. “It’s a long story. But I gotta go.”
She checks her watch and nods. “I do too, actually.”
“I—uh—what are you doing tomorrow?”
“Working, unfortunately.”
“Right, okay.” I look down, trying to hide my disappointment.
“But,” she adds, “Rena’s working on New Year’s. She’s a 911 operator, hence the weird hours. Do you want to hang out on New Year’s Eve?”
I light up. “Really?”
She nods.
New Year’s was another forbidden “pagan holiday” growing up. It’s not one I’ve fully embraced—mostly because ringing in another year without my family always made me feel sad and alone. But now—
“I’d love that,” I say, laughing as I pull her into another hug.
She hugs me back, just as tightly—quietly answering a question I hadn’t dared to ask.
“I missed you so much,” she whispers.