12. Lonely Christmas #2
“I guess Kyle and I are over,” I said, staring into my drink. “Again.”
Honey did not react the way most people would.
“Tell me more.”
I exhaled, letting my shoulders sink a little.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me ‘I told you so’?” I asked.
Honey smiled and shook her head softly. “Never from me.”
I reached for her hand, caressing it with my thumb.
“I found out he’s been seeing someone else already,” I said. “And not just one. There were… others. Like we’re surprised, right?”
I let out a humorless laugh.
Honey hummed, not surprised.
“And how do you feel?” she asked.
I shrugged, even though it didn’t feel like a shrug kind of answer.
“Heartbroken,” I admitted. “But not in a new way.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“It just feels like…” I paused, searching for it. “An echo.”
The word sat there for a second.
“I’ve already felt this before,” I continued. “Just… in a different form.”
With him.
I didn’t have to say his name.
The cosmo arrived just then, the glass sliding gently onto the bar in front of Honey like it had been timed perfectly.
She wrapped her fingers around it, but didn’t drink yet.
Instead, she looked at me.
“What really is it with Victor?” she asked, calm but direct. “Because from everything you’ve told us—yes, he looks good on the surface. But the way you described him deeper?”
A small pause.
“He sounds lowkey bad.”
I let out a breath, eyes dropping to my glass.
For a moment, I didn’t answer, because I knew how it sounded.
“I thought he was the one,” I said finally, the words feeling heavier now that they were spoken out loud.
Honey didn’t interrupt.
“I know how that sounds,” I continued, my voice softer now. “But it didn’t feel like a guess. It felt like… certainty.”
I swallowed.
“It felt like I had already met everyone else I was supposed to meet, and then Victor showed up, and everything made sense.”
My grip tightened around my drink.
“And when you feel like that about someone,” I exhaled slowly, “you don’t question the bad parts right away—the behavior, the push and pull, the hot and cold. You explain them.”
A small, bitter smile crossed my face.
“You tell yourself they’re just tired,” I continued, “or stressed, or scared. You tell yourself you just need to be more patient or understanding.”
I shook my head, almost at myself.
“Because if they feel like the one—then leaving isn’t even an option.”
Silence settled between us, quiet but heavy.
Honey finally took a sip of her drink, then set it down.
“Darling,” she said gently, but with something firm underneath it, “you didn’t find the love of your life.”
I looked up.
“You found someone you decided was the one.”
I felt that one.
She held my gaze.
“And once you decide that,” she continued, “you start building a whole future around a person who hasn’t even proven they deserve your present.”
I let out a quiet breath, my fingers tightening slightly around my glass.
“Can I be honest?” I said.
Honey raised a brow. “When are you not?”
I huffed a small laugh.
“I’ve heard all of this before,” I admitted. “From you, Andi, from literally every TikTok therapist I’ve followed, and from every TikTok tarot reader.”
Honey didn’t interrupt but judged me on the tarot reader part.
“What?” I said. “I need a coping mechanism when I was down. And the tarot readers are really compelling.”
“So what’s next, you believe in God?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes.
“Anyway, it all makes sense,” I continued. “Like, logically? I get it. I understand all the advice. I can even repeat it back word for word if you want.”
I shook my head, a little frustrated.
“But why doesn’t it land soul-deep?”
The question hung there.
Heavy.
Real.
“Why does it feel like I know everything that’s wrong with him—every red flag, every inconsistency, every moment that should’ve been enough for me to move on. And yet I still end up back at the same place.”
I looked down at my drink.
“I always come back to the good parts,” I said.
“The way he looked at me at that drag bar. The way he made things feel easy. The fantasies of possibilities if we never ended. And it’s like…
no matter how much I try to focus on the bad, my mind keeps going back to the version of him that felt right. ”
I let out a breath, almost a laugh.
“It’s actually exhausting,” I said, looking away. “It feels like I’m going backwards.”
Honey let the question sit between us, like it deserved its own space.
Then she sighed softly, not annoyed, but understanding.
“Because you’re not trying to move on,” she said.
I frowned. “What?”
“You think you are,” she continued, calm, steady. “But you’re not actually choosing to let him go.”
I blinked. “Then what am I doing?”
“You’re trying to make it make sense instead of moving on.”
That hit.
“You keep going back to the good parts?” she went on. “It’s not because you forgot the bad parts, but because you’re hoping the good parts were the real ones.”
I didn’t say anything.
“But that’s a trap,” she said. “You’re not stuck because you don’t know the truth. You’re stuck because you felt something real… and you don’t know how to accept that something real can still end up being wrong for you.”
Silence.
Because that… that landed.
And I felt it… all of it.
“Hypothetical question,” Honey cut in. “If he returns—Victor—would you ever welcome him back?”
That question didn’t strike hard.
Because, at my state where there were more questions than closures, the answer was simple.
“If he returns with an apology and a grand gesture, I might,” I replied, trying to make it sound complicated.
Honey looked at me—this time with pity in her eyes. Not the condescending kind, but the kind that was worried for her friend.
I hated it.
Suddenly, I was tired. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix, but the kind that sits in your chest. I held all the hurt inside me, nursing it like a baby, feeling everything too much for too long.
I let out a slow breath, staring down at my drink.
“I don’t think I can make it to midnight,” I said softly.
Honey didn’t argue.
She just studied me for a second, like she was measuring how deep it went.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I think I just need to be alone.”
She nodded, understanding.
“Text me when you get home,” she said.
“I will.”
“And don’t go MIA for five months again,” she warned jokingly.
I scoffed. “I’ll be alright, Honey.”
The taxi ride was quiet.
Too quiet.
The city blurred past the window, lights stretching into lines I didn’t bother to focus on.
Honey’s words kept replaying in my head.
“You don’t know how to accept that something real can still end up being wrong for you.”
I leaned my head slightly against the window, looking outside where Christmas was happening.
Inside, everything felt slower. Heavier.
“Sir,” I said suddenly. “I’ll just hop off here.”
The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
I paid, stepped out, and the air hit me all at once—cooler than expected, carrying the distant sound of laughter, music, fireworks waiting to happen.
I.T. Park was glowing.
Restaurants were full, tables crowded with families and friends leaning into each other like they belonged there. People spilled out onto the streets, holding sparklers, phones raised, voices overlapping in cheerful chaos.
“Merry Christmas!” someone called out as they passed me.
I smiled politely. “Merry Christmas.”
It felt strange saying it out loud. Like I was participating in something I wasn’t fully in.
I kept walking. Past the lights. Past the noise. Past the people who looked excited for Christmas to come. And for a moment, I wondered what that felt like—to be certain… to not have to question every feeling, every memory, every version of someone.
My steps slowed as I turned into the street leading to my condo building.
It was quieter here.
The noise of the city softened into something distant, like it belonged to another life.
And that’s when I stopped in my tracks, because I saw him.
Standing a few feet away from the entrance.
Tall.
Still.
Like he had been there for a while.
My heart stuttered before I could stop it.
He was wearing a simple white t-shirt, nothing special about it—but on him, it looked like it was enough.
Clean. Effortless. The kind of presence that didn’t need to try.
For a second, I thought I was imagining it—that maybe this was just another memory trying to sneak its way into the present.
But then he turned… and smiled.
He gave the kind of smile that didn’t ask questions.
Sharp features softened by something warm. Eyes that held steady, like they weren’t trying to figure me out—just seeing me as I was. There was an ease to him, something grounded, like he wasn’t carrying the same chaos I had gotten used to.
And just like that, my chest tightened. But this time, not in confusion, not in uncertainty, but in recognition.
“Hey, James,” he said.
“Rick,” I breathed.
And just like that, every version of my life I thought had already left behind came rushing back.
Because standing in front of me was Ex #3.