Christmas Breakdown (Days of Christmas: Season 2)

CHAPTER 1

HOLLYN

The road stretches out before me, and I’m reminded of just how big the states I’ve been traveling through are. This road trip is not for someone who is afraid of a sore ass, that’s for sure. I’ve sat still for longer stretches during this trip than I ever have in my life.

But it’s worth it.

Honestly, the playlists I’ve been cycling through, which were put together in some of the darkest times of my life while looking forward to better days, would make this trip worth it.

But it’s the warmth in my chest at keeping the promise I made to one of my best friends that keeps my foot on the gas pedal and my tires on the road.

I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, and keeping a promise is important to me. It should be to everyone, but I’m not na?ve enough to believe everyone follows through.

The last thing I’ll ever do is break the promise I made to Hillary. Some people might say that keeping a promise to her doesn’t matter anymore. While it might be true, it matters to me.

Hillary not being here, after finally being taken by the disease she battled for years, is even more of a reason for me to keep my promise to her.

It’s the entire reason I’m on the road right now.

If I had really thought about it, I would have put off starting this road trip until after winter, but it felt like putting it off meant letting her down. That’s something I’ll never do. Fucking never.

I left Seneca Falls almost two weeks ago. We had already put Hillary to rest; it was like I couldn’t stick around in town any longer, not with the promise I made to one of my best friends tapping on my shoulder. There’s no way I’m letting her down; she would find a way to haunt me if I did.

In two weeks, I’ve only made it two states over from Nevada. But the states are big, and I’m determined to do this road trip right, which means taking my time. I don’t want to miss anything.

If I were to try and rush this, instead of going slow and seeing everything on the route Hillary and I mapped out, it wouldn’t be doing her memory any good. I owe her this trip.

It’ll be the first thing I’ve ever finished. Really finished.

On my own, you know?

I’m not talking about the inevitability of high school, finishing that was expected of me. So was going off to college and figuring out what to say about my future. Because my parents weren’t going to accept anything less.

No, they weren’t people who always expected perfection and put a bunch of pressure on me. Their nudges were filled with love, but there were times when it felt like the train I was on existed in a constate state of being on the edge of careening out of control.

Then Hillary called me and let me know she was no longer in remission.

I had just graduated and wasn’t sure what came next.

Her call sent me back home to Seneca Falls.

The third in our trio of besties, Montana Connors, was already there.

She never left; home was in her blood in that way.

She was tied to the land, roped like the cattle she grew up beside.

Montana’s twin brother Forest has been running the family ranch for about a year now. He’s taken to it, but Montana works right alongside him. Ranching is a part of them.

Just like when Hillary got sick in middle school, I was determined to be there for her the second time around, too. I wasn’t going to let her fight it alone. Montana was there just as much. We did anything and everything we could to keep Hillary going, to keep her fighting.

But the will to win isn’t always enough. It wasn’t this time. Her strength. Her hope. Her light.

It’s gone now and this road trip is the last promise I’ll ever make to my best friend. No matter what, I’m making it happen.

I remember how fiercely she grabbed my hand, her strength surprising me because she had been so weak. So, fucking weak; none of it being her fault. There was fire in her eyes, neither of us really willing to say out loud that she was losing.

“Hollyn,” her voice was raspy, but the steel there had me blinking at her a few times, “I need you to promise me something.”

Tears filled my eyes before I could say a damn thing. “Of course, you know that,” my voice held the weight of everything unsaid, everything that felt too heavy, everything we were cowards in the face of.

Her eyes held mine for a long moment, stretching time and making the moment wrap around my heart with unspoken importance. “You have to go on this road trip,” she cleared her throat and corrected herself, “our road trip.”

There were so many times in the years since I had come home to be with her, in the years when we still held out hope and flipped off the statistics, when we almost packed a bag and left.

I could work anywhere since building something remote was the only way I could be there for my best friend, the way she needed me.

Being an online assistant, well concierge more often than not, is an interesting job, certainly not the one I thought I’d have after getting my degree in communications.

Still, I guess it makes sense. I’m good at finding things online and I’m good at managing schedules and the needs of others.

Put it all together and it means I’ve built an array of clients but still had plenty of time to spend with Hillary.

We talked a lot about our road trip, especially on hard days.

That day, when she made me promise to go on the trip—without her were the words left unspoken between us, she was so insistent. Her eyes were filled with unuttered pleas and there was only one thing I could say to her.

“Of course I’ll go on our road trip,” my voice was thick, and I had to fight with everything in me to stop myself from crying.

But she needed me to be strong, to not allow this to be about the grief which was already part of every breath I took.

I cleared my throat, my promise sealed. “And you’ll be going too,” I chirped the words like they weren’t a lie.

But they were.

And we both knew it.

Now she’s gone and I’ve spent the last two weeks following through with my promise. Still, when I set out, there was one more conversation, one more goodbye I hoped was a see you later. I wasn’t looking forward to leaving Montana in Seneca Falls.

All too often she was overlooked by the people around her. It wasn’t cruel and I’m not even sure she realizes it. She’s never mentioned it. But I’ve seen the moments, subtle that they are.

Maybe part of it was because Forest was always more comfortable in the spotlight. Everyone always talked about how he was going to take over the family’s ranch. Everton, the oldest Connors kid, was never destined to spend his life on the family’s land.

That’s not to say he doesn’t respect it and couldn’t easily rope a calve, but his heart was never in it. Their dad wasn’t going to force the issue, and Forest clearly wanted the legacy. He always wore the mantle like it wasn’t heavy.

Everton lives in Las Vegas now and is part of a motorcycle club. I guess you can’t predict where someone belongs.

Two weeks ago, with my car all packed, I scuffed the toe of my shoe against the asphalt, unsure of where to even start or what to say. So much was left unsaid with Hillary, and I was regretting it more and more every day. I didn’t want that to be how it was with Montana. Not now.

“I wish I could go with you,” she whispered and looked at me with glassy eyes filled with understanding and a shared pain. “But this road trip was your thing with Hillary.”

My heart started racing, fear gripping me that we excluded her and treated her like some of the other people in her life.

The words rushed out of me, unstoppable and without finesse or care, “I’m so sorry.

We didn’t mean to leave you out. It’s just that we know Seneca Falls is your home.

Your roots are deep here and while one day you might travel, but now isn’t the time. ”

Montana slapped her hands over my mouth, and I looked at her, bewildered because the action was not her style. She shrugged with a smile on her face.

“I had to shut you up somehow.” I blinked a few times at her explanation before we started laughing together.

I’m not sure how long it lasted, but it was just what we needed. There was a moment there, just one second, when it didn’t feel like we had lost her at all. It felt like we were whole again.

But the moment couldn’t last, not with the reality of our grief waiting around the next breath.

“I’m not mad or offended. You had a friendship with her that had nothing to do with me, just like I did with her, and we do without her.

It’s important and it’s special; I’m not upset that you’re going on this road trip and I’m glad you are.

I just wish I could go with you because I don’t like the thought of you out there alone and doing this. ”

“I’m not going to be alone,” I whispered, a wave of pure longing sweeping through me with such strength and clarity that I had to lock my knees.

Montana reached for me like she understood, like she felt it too.

“She made me promise something too,” Montana’s voice shook slightly. “When the time comes for me to keep it, I hope I’m as brave as you are.”

I hugged my friend, words sticking in my throat, because I didn’t feel brave. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, honestly. I just knew I had to get on the road, it was as if Hillary was pushing me forward.

“You’ll be able to keep your promise,” I murmured the words as we hugged, wanting to reassure my friend and remind her of her strength, even when it was hard to find.

“Maybe.” It was all Montana was willing to give, her voice unsure. As we pulled away, she looked at me, her gaze intense. “She told me to remind you that this trip is about more than the journey. The destination matters.”

My heart was pounding in my chest because we never quite worked out where we were going to end up, where the last stop was.

“Okay?”

Montana just shrugged one shoulder and gave me a look to remind me it’s Hillary we’re talking about. She would say things like that a lot, at the most random times. They were her little sayings to live by.

And she did.

Which meant we did too. For the most part.

But we never put the same credence into them that she did. Maybe we should have. Now isn’t too late. Hopefully.

If nothing else, it’ll keep our friend alive.

I’ve checked in with Montana over the last two weeks, and I’ve told her about the towns I’ve seen and the people I’ve met. It’s been difficult putting myself out there and talking to strangers.

That was always Hillary, not so much me and definitely not Montana.

Channeling my best friend hasn’t been easy, but it has been rewarding. I’ve met interesting people and had conversations I never saw myself having. People have shown me what they love about the places they call home.

I’ve realized Seneca Falls never really fit me; now where I end up when this road trip is said and done feels even more unsure. I don’t want to let Hillary down, but it would have been easier if we could have just agreed on a destination. Together. When she was still alive.

As I pass a sign, I glance at it and see that I’m approaching Storyville, Colorado. I’ve been going slowly on two lane country roads for days, the kind that go through small towns and become a variety of Main Streets.

“It would have been a lot easier if our plan was just to wind up in New Orleans or somewhere equally as fun,” I mutter to myself.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to complain about how I’ll be spending Christmas this year.

Before I can, my car starts making a noise that should not be coming from a car.

At least not a car that is in working order, and you expect it to get you through a seemingly endless, at least destination-less, road trip.

My car sputters and squeals as I slow down, my eyes darting to the rear-view mirror to make sure I’m not about to cause an accident. But the road is clear.

With a grimace, I pull off onto the shoulder. Do I bang my head on the steering wheel a few times? Yeah.

Because my dad is never going to let me hear the end of this. Even though I made sure to take my car in for maintenance before I set out on this trip. I was hoping to prevent this exact issue.

Yet, here I am.

On the side of the road with some major problems to deal with. I could pull up some towing options on my phone, but it’s cold out here and I’d rather not wait for however long it’s going to take.

When I pick my head up and look around, I realize I’m at the edge of town, the buildings already closer together than they were a few miles out. A few feet in front of me is a sign saying the library is less than half a mile away.

I can walk less than half a mile. No problem. And it’ll be warmer in the library than in my car.

Maybe the librarian can recommend the best shop to call, too.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I swing the door of my car open and set out on my library mission. Hopefully, I won’t have to delay my road trip for too long.

I have places to be. I don’t know where those places are, but I’ll figure it out along the way.