Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Cheyenne
I’m a mess.
It’s been three days of crying now, and I still can’t seem to stop the waterworks. I splash cold water on my face for the millionth time, but it doesn’t help the swelling ... or the hollow feeling in my chest.
Breaking up with Garrett isn’t new. We’ve done it before. But never in front of other people. Something about him walking out on Thanksgiving, in front of the Williamston family, feels ... different. Final.
“He certainly made his point,” I mutter to my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hair’s thrown into a sloppy bun, and I’m wearing the same oversized Glaciers sweatshirt I’ve had on since yesterday, paired with leggings that have definitely seen better days.
I shuffle back to my couch and curl up under the throw blanket that’s become my nest for the past seventy-two hours. Jhett, my sweet little black lab mix, nudges my hand with his wet nose. His deep brown eyes watch me intently, like I might shatter if he blinks. And maybe he’s right.
Every time I replay Garrett’s words in my head, the crack in my chest splinters a little deeper.
Normally, in the heat of an argument, I fight back.
But this time, I was so caught off guard by the public humiliation of the whole thing that I just stood there, absorbing his words like I was some sort of punching bag.
And somehow, the quieter I got, the more he said.
“He didn’t mean all those things, right?” I whisper to Jhett, who tilts his head in that adorable way that usually makes me smile. Today, it just makes me want to cry—again. “He couldn’t have possibly meant all the horrible things he said to me.”
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and glance around our apartment. It looks about as wrecked as I feel. There are empty ice cream containers on the coffee table, tissues scattered across the floor, and a pile of clean clothes in the corner that I was supposed to fold two days ago.
Genna hasn’t said anything about the mess, but I know it’s bothering her. She’s been tiptoeing around me since we got back from her parents’ house on Thanksgiving.
Ugh. Thanksgiving. More like disaster-giving.
After Garrett stormed out, Dylan convinced me to go back inside and have some real pie.
Then Genna drove me home later that night, since my boyfriend—err, ex-boyfriend—left me stranded.
I couldn’t even find it in me to be angry about that at the time.
I was too numb. In a state of shock after everything he said.
But once the shock wore off ... the embarrassment settled in. I think that’s why I can’t stop crying. I just feel so ... pathetic.
I reach for my phone, checking it for the hundredth time today. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Usually by now, I would’ve heard something from Garrett.
His silence is so loud.
The sound of keys in the door makes me straighten up slightly. I hastily wipe the tears from my eyes, though I know it’s pointless.
“Hey,” Genna calls out, kicking the door shut behind her. I hear the rustle of grocery bags, followed by her footsteps. When she appears in the doorway to the living room, her face softens. “Oh, Chey.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, though the crack in my voice betrays me.
“Yeah, you look totally fine,” she says as she drops her purse. “That’s why your eyes are so puffy that they’re practically swollen shut.”
I sniff. “It’s just allergies.”
“To what? Being dumped by jerks?” Genna plops down beside me on the couch, causing Jhett to readjust his position at my feet. “You’ve been crying again.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I could help it,” I mutter, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“What did he say to you?” she asks, her tone softening. “When you followed him outside, before he left. You never told me.”
My throat tightens. I choose to distract myself by picking at a loose thread on my blanket to avoid looking at her. “He said that I ... embarrass him. That I never take anything seriously. That I’m stuck in some childish bubble and refuse to grow up.”
“That’s absolute garbage,” Genna retorts.
“He said...” I swallow hard, my voice cracking.
“He said I was too much. Maybe I am.” The tears start again, and I angrily swipe at them with the back of my hand.
“Maybe that’s why no one ever sticks around.
Maybe that’s why my dad left before I was born, why my mom moved to Europe without me, why Grandma’s gone, why every relationship I’ve ever had falls apart. ”
Genna’s expressions hardens. “Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there before you spiral any further into this pity party.”
“It’s not a pity party if it’s true,” I argue weakly.
“It’s not true,” she fires back. “Your dad was a coward who couldn’t handle the responsibility of parenthood.
Your mom moved to Europe because she fell in love with a rich surgeon.
Your grandma didn’t choose to die. And Garrett?
” She practically spits his name. “Garrett is a pretentious, self-centered jerk who treated you like an accessory when it was convenient and a disappointment when it wasn’t. ”
I flinch at her bluntness, but she doesn’t stop.
“You know what your problem is? It’s not that you’re ‘too much.’ It’s that you picked a man who wanted to change you, then twisted yourself into knots trying to be the person he wanted instead of just being who you are.
” She leans forward, her green eyes intense.
“And who you are is pretty dang amazing.”
I look away, clutching a fresh tissue in my trembling hands. “He said I’m childish.”
“Why? Because you and my brother play pranks on each other? Because you laugh too loud? Because you’re not self-absorbed, or obsessed with status like Garrett is?” Genna shakes her head. “All those qualities are what make you fun, Chey. It’s what makes you ... you.”
I want to believe her, I do.
But Garrett’s criticisms have burrowed too deep under my skin.
“You’ve been through several breakups with him before,” Genna says, softer now. “What is it about this one that’s hitting you so hard?”
I fidget with the tissue, tearing it into tiny pieces. “I don’t know. Maybe because it was in front of your family. Or maybe because...” I hesitate, embarrassed by what I’m about to say aloud. “I really thought he was gonna propose soon. He kept hinting at it after his promotion.”
Genna’s eyebrows shoot up. “And you actually wanted to marry him?”
“I wanted ... to not be alone,” I whisper, finally looking up at her. “I wanted someone to choose me, for once.”
Her face softens, and she reaches for my hand. “Chey, you’re not alone. You have me, you have my family, you have—”
“It’s not the same,” I cut her off. “You know it’s not.”
She sighs. “I know. But marrying the wrong person because you’re afraid of being alone? That’s a recipe for a lifetime of misery.”
I don’t have an answer to that.
Because deep down ... I know she’s right.
Suddenly, Genna stands up, her movement startling Jhett, who lets out a small whine in protest. “That’s it. We’re not doing this anymore.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” She gestures toward the mess and then to me. “The wallowing. The self-doubt. You’re literally letting Garrett win by believing his stupid lies.”
I blink at her, confused. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you we’re changing the mood around here.” She swiftly charges toward the hallway, disappearing into the storage closet. I hear thumping and rustling, followed by an “Aha!”
When she reappears, she’s dragging a large plastic bin labeled “CHRISTMAS” scrawled in her own messy handwriting.
“What are you doing?”
“We are decorating,” she announces, dropping the bin in the middle of the living room floor. “Thanksgiving is officially over, which means it’s Christmas season, which means we need twinkle lights and tinsel and all the things.”
“Genna...”
She pops open the lid of the bin, revealing a tangle of lights and decor. “We’re about to deck these halls so hard that Santa himself will get jealous.”
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward. “That’s not how the song goes.”
“It does in the Williamston-Blackwell household.” She pulls out a string of garland wrapped in lights. “Now, are you gonna help me, or am I doing this alone?”
I hesitate, still hiding in my blanket cocoon. Part of me wants to stay exactly where I am. To continue wallowing in my misery. But there’s something about Genna’s determination, about the way she’s refusing to let me sink into it any further, that makes me slowly unwrap myself from the blanket.
I sigh. “Fine.”
“Good. Now come help me with this. I can’t reach the top of the doorframe.”
I drag myself off the couch and take the fluffy green garland from her. My movements are sluggish at first, but as I stretch to secure it above the doorway, I feel something loosen slightly in my chest.
“Remember that year we decorated our dorm room with so many lights, we blew a fuse?” Genna asks, opening the second bin of decorations.
“The whole floor was mad at us,” I recall.
“Worth it though.” She grins. “Where’s the box with your Christmas tree? I don’t see it anywhere.”
“Oh, I got rid of it last year. It was falling apart.”
Genna pauses, then turns to me with a mischievous smile. “Well, that’s convenient.”
“Why?”
“Because now we have a perfect excuse to go get a real tree!” She beams. “You’ve always wanted one, right?”
The suggestion catches me off guard.
A real Christmas tree has been on my wishlist for years, but Garrett always talked me out of it. He thought real trees were messy, impractical, and a waste of time and money.
“I have always wanted one,” I admit.
“So let’s do it, then!” Genna claps. “New tree, new traditions, new chapter.”
I hesitate, glancing down at my sad outfit. “I don’t know ... I’m not really presentable enough to go out in public right now.”
“So change.” She shrugs. “Take a shower. Maybe put on something that isn’t covered in tears and snot. And let’s go pick out the best dang tree in the lot.”
It’s clear she’s pulling out all the stops to cheer me up, which I appreciate. And the more I think about this idea, the more I realize how much Garrett would hate this plan—which makes me want to follow through with it even more.
I nod. “Let’s do it.”
Genna beams. It’s clear she’s pleased that she was able to pull me out of my depression. At least for now. “Yes! There’s just one problem, though—I don’t know the first thing about picking out or setting up a real tree. Do you?”
I shake my head. “Not a clue.”
“We need an expert.” She pulls out her phone. “Someone who’s good with their hands. Someone who isn’t afraid to get dirty. Someone who has muscles and can help us carry it...”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Dylan,” we say in unison.
Genna’s already dialing his number before I can second-guess our plan. She puts the phone on speaker.
“What’s up, squirt?” Dylan’s voice fills the living room after just two rings.
“I need a favor,” Genna says. “Actually, Cheyenne needs a favor.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Is she okay?”
The concern in his voice makes my chest unexpectedly tighten.
“She will be,” Genna says, glancing at me. “But right now, she needs someone who can help pick out and set up a real Christmas tree. We’re thinking of heading to that tree farm about twenty minutes outside the city. You free this evening?”
“For Chey?” His response is immediate. “Of course. Text me the address, and I’ll meet you there in a bit.”
A genuine smile spreads across my face for the first time in days. There’s something comforting about his quick acceptance. And knowing that I have people in my corner who will show up without hesitation.
“Thanks, Dylan,” I say, my voice stronger than it’s been all day.
“Anytime,” he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “See you soon.”
As Genna ends the call, I feel a sudden flutter of anticipation.
“I’m gonna go shower,” I say, looking down at my disheveled state.
“Good plan.” Genna smiles.
As I head toward the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror.
I still look like a hot mess express, but something seems .
.. different now. I spot a tiny spark in my eye that wasn’t there before.
Maybe it’s hope, or maybe it’s just the reflection of the Christmas lights Genna strung up.
Either way, it’s a start.