Epilogue
Eli
Our dorm room looks like Christmas threw up in it.
There’s no other way to describe it. Tinsel wrapped around the bed frame, fairy lights draped across the desk, a little fake tree blinking in the corner with candy canes hanging off every branch.
Even Max’s textbooks have tiny red bows stuck to them.
He pretends to hate it, but he’s the one who untangled the lights for me yesterday morning.
I flip the charity calendar on the wall to December and freeze.
Our photo. The one everyone still teases us about.
We’re wrapped in Christmas lights—literally tangled together—his hand resting on my hip, both of us staring at each other like we forgot there was a camera.
I remember that moment, that’s when I really knew I wanted him.
Before it was a fantasy, but pressed that close to him and feeling the heat come off of him, it became real.
The light catches the glossy page, and I smile. I’m never getting rid of this calendar.
A pair of arms slides around my waist from behind. “Admiring your own work again?” Max’s voice is low, rough from sleep.
“Technically, it’s our work,” I say, leaning back into him. “I’m just appreciating art.”
He chuckles against my shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to the side of my head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” I remind him.
He doesn’t argue.
The Christmas photo my mom took last year sits on the nightstand. She caught us in the middle of laughing—me with my head thrown back, Max looking at me like I hung the damn stars. It isn’t the same one I gave him. This one my mom sent us with a note that said For your shared space.
He follows my gaze. “You’re thinking about your mom, aren’t you?”
“She’s probably already baked eight pies,” I say. “And texted everyone we’ve ever met to brag that I’m bringing my boyfriend home for Thanksgiving.”
“Boyfriend,” he echoes quietly, like he still likes the sound of it.
I turn in his arms, smiling up at him. “Don’t pretend you’re not her favorite now.”
“Only because I helped her garden last Spring,” he says.
“That’s love, Calder.”
Before he can respond, his phone buzzes on the desk. A FaceTime notification flashes across the screen. Mom.
I see the way he freezes. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but I feel it. His breath catches, fingers tightening slightly on my waist.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
He just stares at the screen, like it’s a ghost. “She hasn’t called me since…” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. I know what he means. Since the night his dad kicked him out. Since everything changed for him.
The phone keeps ringing. He hesitates, then swipes to answer.
His mom’s face fills the screen—eyes already wet as if she had already been crying. “Max,” she says, voice trembling. “Hi, sweetheart.”
He blinks, like the word doesn’t fit anymore. “Mom?”
“I left him,” she blurts out, the words tumbling out like she’s been holding them in for years. “I left your father. I should’ve done it sooner. I should’ve been stronger. I just…I needed to see your face. To tell you I’m sorry. For what happened. For not stopping it.”
Max sits down slowly on the edge of the bed, still holding the phone like it might shatter. His throat works, but no words come out at first.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” she interrupts gently. “You didn’t deserve that night, or any of the years before it. You deserved to feel safe in your own home. To be loved exactly as you are.” Her voice cracks. “And I want to know if you’re okay. If you’re happy.”
His jaw tightens. For a second, he looks like the kid he must have been back then—trying not to break. “I am,” he says quietly, voice rough. “I’ve got…a good life now. People who care about me.”
She nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’m glad, honey. I really am. I just hope one day you can forgive me.”
Max swallows hard, blinking back tears of his own, as he nods.
She smiles sadly. “I really am sorry, for everything. I wasn’t a very good mom to you.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I stopped being angry a long time ago.”
She lets out a quiet, shaky laugh, the kind that sounds more like an exhale of years she’s been holding in. “You always were too gentle for your own good,” she says.
Max’s lips twitch—something between a smile and a wince. “Didn’t always feel that way,” he murmurs.
Her gaze softens. “I know. I can’t change the past, Maxie, but I want to be someone you can be proud to call your mom.”
He presses a hand over his mouth, nodding once, and for a heartbeat, I can see it—the weight lifting, just a little.
“I should let you go,” she says after a pause. “I just needed to see you. To tell you that I left, and that I’m proud of you. For building something out of your life after what we did.”
He swallows again, voice barely a whisper. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Take care of yourself, okay?” she says. “And maybe…call me sometime?”
He nods, and she smiles—small, trembling, but real—before the screen goes black.
For a while, the only sound in the room is the faint hum of the fairy lights. Max stares down at the phone in his hand, thumb brushing the dark glass like he can still feel her there.
Then he exhales—long, unsteady—and sets it down on the nightstand.
I sit beside him, close enough that our knees touch, and he leans into me like gravity’s finally let go. I slide my fingers through his, and he squeezes back.
Outside, snow starts to fall, soft against the windowpane, catching the glow from the Christmas lights.
And in the quiet, with his hand warm in mine, I realize that maybe this is what healing looks like—not loud or perfect, just a little more light finding its way in.
I study his profile, the way his thumb traces idle circles against my skin. His expression isn’t sad—just thoughtful and faraway. “You okay?” I ask quietly.
He nods, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. It was…good to hear her voice again. Strange, but good.”
I squeeze his hand. “She’ll keep calling,” I say. “She sounded like she meant it.”
“I think she did.” His gaze flicks toward me. “And I’m glad you were here for it.”
Before I can answer, a sharp knock rattles the door, followed by Luke’s voice, loud enough to shatter the calm. “Open up, festive sinners! We’re doing drinks before break, and if you’re not dressed, I’m picking your outfits!”
Daniel’s voice joins in, gleeful as ever. “I brought mistletoe! Don’t test me, Calder!”
Todd yells from somewhere down the hall, “Tell the Grinch we’re not leaving without him!”
Max groans into my neck. “They’re getting worse.”
I laugh, pulling back just enough to grab his hand. “They’re getting louder. There’s a difference.”
He catches my wrist before I can reach the door, tugging me in for a quick, easy kiss—just long enough to make my heart stutter. “You sure you want to go, Princess? We could stay in.”
“Mmm,” I hum and fall into his kiss for a moment. “We will have lots of time later.”
His eyes drop shut as I pull away, and he nods resigned.
When we open the door, Luke and Daniel are both wearing matching ugly sweaters that light up when they move. Todd’s holding a bag of takeout, Peter’s already halfway through a candy cane.
Luke smirks. “About time. Look at you two—domestic bliss incarnate.”
Daniel waves his phone. “Smile! I need photographic evidence that our favorite Grinch is officially reformed.”
Max groans, but I swear I see the edge of a smile when I lace our fingers together.
We step into the hall, the noise and laughter wrapping around us like another set of Christmas lights, and everything feels exactly right.
I glance up at him, and he looks down at me with that quiet, steady warmth that still undoes me.
Later that evening
“Tell me again how I got roped into this,” Max says, eyeing the neon-lit sign above the club door.
“Because you love me,” I say, tugging his hand.
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘unfounded allegation,’ but lets me pull him inside anyway.
The bass hits immediately—heavy, bright, and alive. Rainbow lights flash across the dance floor, catching on glitter and sequins and sweat. It smells like sweat, cologne, and freedom. It’s exactly what it should be.
Luke’s halfway to the bar before the rest of us have even handed over our coats.
Daniel’s already dancing, sparkling under the neon, while Todd hovers by the table with that small, secret smile he doesn’t think anyone notices—but I’m not going to out him even in a gay club.
Peter’s pretending to hate it, but his foot’s tapping to the beat anyway.
Max and I find a corner of the bar, his hand settling at the small of my back like it belongs there. It still makes me shiver sometimes—the casualness of it, the ease. He doesn’t check who’s looking. Neither do I. Because we don’t have to hide what we are from anyone.
Luke reappears with drinks, glitter smeared across his cheekbone, and shoves one toward me. “To almost surviving another semester!”
Daniel clinks his glass against mine. “And to the Grinch’s full reform arc!”
Max groans, but he’s smiling, and Luke whoops like he’s won.
Todd raises his glass last, eyes bright. “To all of us,” he says, voice steadier than I’ve ever heard it. “Right where we’re supposed to be.”
We clink glasses and drink.
“Are we sure there are no girls here?” Peter asks, voice almost lost in the thrum.
Luke snorts. “You’re in a gay club, genius.”
Todd hides a smile behind his drink. “You’ll live, man.”
Luke throws an arm around both of us; he’s clearly pre-gamed this outing. “Look at my beautiful, emotionally healthy friends! Who would’ve thought we’d make it this far?”
Daniel laughs. “You? Never. Them? Always.”
Max takes his glass with a small shake of his head, murmuring, “We’re not that interesting.”
Luke winks. “Please. You’re the main character of Christmas, Calder. We’ve all accepted it.”
I grin. “I’ll take co-star billing.”
Max rolls his eyes but can’t stop the smile creeping in.