Chapter 23
twenty-three
I couldn’t stop thinking about Josh. I had to stop.
I needed to stop. It was over. Done.
It was easier that way.
Though, every time I blinked too long or let my mind wander for more than a second, there he was again. His crooked half smile, the way his laugh curled at the end of a sentence, that one perfect second when his hand had cupped the side of my face like I was something precious.
It was all still there.
Worse, it wasn’t even the kiss that haunted me most. It was everything around it. The way we fit. Like the smallest puzzle pieces that only ever had one right place to go.
And now it was just … silence.
Unsaid and unresolved and unbearable.
I shoved a few last-minute things into my overnight bag and unzipped the front pocket to double-check if I had enough underwear packed.
Not exactly the romantic start to a holiday homecoming, but if I forgot something, Gina would never let me live it down.
She was already threatening to leave me behind.
The drive home was slow. Slower than usual, like the car was dragging its feet too.
Josh drove. Gina rode shotgun. She insisted on playing her holiday playlist, which was mostly glittery remixes of nostalgic songs in no particular order. The sound filled every inch of the car. The music was loud enough to make talking impossible, which I approved of for once.
Josh barely spoke. Except when he commented on the playlist with a dry, “This one? Really?” or, “Wasn’t this track just playing?”
I sat behind him in the back seat, my head resting against the cold window, breath fogging the glass slightly.
Outside, the city fell away slowly—lights thinning into suburbs, storefronts giving way to empty lots and stretches of dark, familiar roads. I let my eyes close, half dozing.
Sleep hadn’t been kind to me lately. Not when every time I closed my eyes, I imagined Josh saying, “I want all of it. All of you,” and I woke up, aching with the fact that I still wanted him too.
“Hey!” Gina’s voice snapped me out it. “Do you want to drive by your old house?”
My eyes flew open. “What? No. I’m good. Thanks.”
She made a vague sound, like she didn’t quite understand, but wasn’t going to argue. “All righty then.”
The car grew quiet again, except for the distant crooning of some Christmas song I couldn’t pay attention to. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
In the rearview mirror, Josh glanced at me. His eyes caught mine for just a second; it was brief, but something passed between us anyway. Maybe guilt. Maybe apology. Maybe nothing at all.
I looked away.
He took the next turn, bypassing the street I hadn’t driven down in years. The one with the leaning mailbox and the uneven sidewalk slabs. The house with the chipped paint and the rusting fence. My house. Or at least, what used to be.
When I’d left the last time, I’d made a promise to myself that it would be the final time.
That I wouldn’t be one of those people who looked back.
There wasn’t anything left to return to anyway.
The family was gone, the furniture was sold, and the memories …
well, the ones worth keeping had already been packed up and taken with me.
The rest could rot under the weight of their own silence.
Josh didn’t say anything else. Neither did I.
The tires crunched onto a more familiar driveway a few minutes later—his parents’ house. It was warm light and tidy bricks and a wreath on the door, too big to be tasteful. The kind of place where nothing really changed, and yet everything felt different when you came back.
Gina jumped out first, excited to be home.
Josh paused. Turned off the ignition, but didn’t move.
I opened my door, hand gripping the strap of my bag tightly. He still hadn’t said a word to me directly.
“Josh.”
He opened his door and stepped out. “Welcome home, Brielle.”
Gina looked at me and then up toward Josh, who said his hellos inside quickly before making his way up the steps away from everyone.
Mrs. Hutton released me from a hug to look between us all. “Did something happen on the ride?”
“He’s been like that lately,” Gina said with an unconcerned shrug.
“Huh,” she sighed. “Hopefully, he isn’t unhappy. I thought that since he came back from his trip, he was enjoying his position at the school.”
“He is,” I interjected, trying to soothe her worries.
Both women turned to look at me.
“He is,” I repeated. “Josh told me how much he enjoys his new job. The work is simple, but he’s been making friends with people on the staff.”
“Wow,” Mrs. Hutton looked back towards the stairs again where he went. “Then I wonder what is going on with him.”
“How did you know that?” asked Gina.
“Know what?”
“That he’s been enjoying school and that fundraiser thing?” Gina clarified.
“Oh, well, we’ve just been talking more at home when you were at work, and I asked,” I said. That wasn’t a lie, though for some reason, my heart started to rocket in my chest a little faster, as if I needed to come up with one—and quick.
“You two should go up as well. unpack and get yourself settled,” suggested Mrs. Hutton.
Gina nodded, making it up to steps before she turned back to her mom. “Do you need help with anything for the party tomorrow?”
She smiled. “I would love some help with baking actually if you two girls would like to join me.”
The warmth of the Huttons’ kitchen wrapped around me like a favorite blanket, comforting and almost painfully familiar.
The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and browned butter filled the air, thick and sweet, clinging to my sweater sleeves as I tied one of Mrs. Hutton’s faded floral aprons around my waist. It smelled faintly of vanilla and peppermint, like it had absorbed a decade of holiday cookie making.
The granite countertop was a flurry of flour and sugar. Gingerbread dough had been cut into rows of stiff little men and stars, waiting for their turn in the oven.
My fingers moved without thinking, rolling and pressing cookie cutters into the soft dough, but my mind kept slipping back upstairs.
Josh’s footsteps had become a phantom sound I couldn’t stop hearing, even when they weren’t there. Just like his laugh. Just like the memory of his lips on mine.
“So, you’re sticking to the plan of all the usual cookies this year?” Gina asked, trying to make casual conversation since it didn’t seem like I was going to start any, though that wasn’t anything new here.
“You bet,” agreed her mom. “Everyone always asks for the iced sugar cookies. You know that. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”
Gina, who was sifting flour into a bowl, flashed her usual easy grin as she reached toward the basket holding each small, laminated note card.
I smiled at the familiar sight, glancing at Mrs. Hutton again, in her own little world, much like Gina when she got in the zone. She hummed as she worked.
A sharp bang came from upstairs; someone—clearly Josh—had dropped something loud and heavy.
Mrs. Hutton looked up toward the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. “That boy,” she muttered, though her tone was affectionate.
I didn’t look. Couldn’t. I focused on slicing the legs off a slightly-too-thin gingerbread man, the edge of the cookie cutter wobbling in my grip.
“So, Brielle, any big plans?” Mrs. Hutton asked, her voice warm and inviting. “I can imagine that so much has happened for you this year since graduating. Gina has been so busy lately. I bet you’re looking forward to a little time off as well.”
I snapped out of my thoughts and looked up.
My cheeks flushed. “Uh, yeah, definitely,” I replied, trying to recover while Gina bit her bottom lip, looking guilty for not filling her mom in on just how unsimilar my and Gina’s work life situation had been.
“I mean, work has been … busy. I’ve been accepting a lot of freelance writing projects.
But I’m excited for some downtime before getting back to the job hunt, looking for something full-time in the new year. ”
Mrs. Hutton raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing my hesitation. “You still haven’t found anything permanent, huh?”
I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to admit about my frustrations, especially in front of Gina’s mom.
I didn’t want her to think that I was failing or that Gina might be struggling under the responsibility of keeping us and the apartment afloat.
Because she wasn’t. I was pulling my weight no matter what I needed to do to make it happen.
I gave a small shrug and forced a smile. “I’m still looking. But you know, keeping my options open.” I cleared my throat, trying to let the subject die. “I’m sure something will come along soon enough.”
Mrs. Hutton smiled again, this time softer, her eyes kind. “You always were a smart one. I’m sure the right thing is just around the corner.”
Gina gave a tiny snort. “Or a rich husband.”
I bumped her with my hip. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
But the joke felt hollow. And no matter how hard I tried to focus on the gingerbread, the conversation, or even the familiar thrum of holiday anticipation in this house, Josh was still there. Literally, he was just above my head and impossible to ignore.
Gina’s eyes lit up with mischief as she sensed the switch. “She’s been on quite a few dates lately. My friends have been setting her up.”
“Aw, that’s so fun.”
Some of the time.
Instead of saying that, I winced inwardly and plastered a smile on my face. “Well, uh, they’ve been … nice. Nice guys, you know? Just not really …”
Mrs. Hutton smiled, clearly amused. “Ah, got it. You never know. I hope that Gina might go on some dates and settle down before I’m too old to enjoy her wedding and grandbabies.”
“Mom, I’m twenty-five.”
“I married your father at twenty-four. It’s not crazy.”
“It’s a different world,” Gina replied dryly. “Chill out. Put those expectations on your older child.”
She sighed. “I’ve given up on him. Josh always goes off and does what I least expect.”
“Are you talking about me?”