Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Finley
“What are you two doing here?” I ask, walking down the sidewalk toward a car I don’t recognize parked at the end of the driveway.
“Wait until we’re in the rental car, dear,” Mirna says, circling to the trunk.
I set the pet carrier on the ground and heft my suitcase in, but it takes a bit of maneuvering to fit it in with their two giant bags. “Why did you pack so much?”
“Because we’re not going home,” Mirna says matter-of-factly. “We’re staying in Hollybrook for the rest of the week.”
I gape at her. “What?”
“We know how much this meant to you,” she says. “So, if Alex can’t give you the Christmas you want, we will.”
“But how did you find a place?” I ask, still stunned. “Alex said everything’s booked solid this time of year.”
“We found an Airbnb with a last-minute cancellation,” Barb says proudly. “And we grabbed it. Now we’re having a winter holiday with you.”
Tears sting my eyes, as I hug Barb. “But what about your families? It’s Christmas Day.”
“Pft,” Mirna snorts. “My daughter is still furious about the church service fiasco—she wouldn’t even speak to me. And you know how I feel about Todd’s mother. I called Barb and said I was coming to Hollybrook, with or without her.”
“And I couldn’t let her go without me,” Barb says, as though the idea is absurd. “Besides, my sons were working my last nerve. So…” She shrugs.
“But how did you get here? It’s barely noon.”
“We caught the first flight out,” Mirna says like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
“And I didn’t trust anyone else with Maybelle, so we brought her along.
” She softens, adding, “Plus, I thought you might need her.” Her gaze flicks toward the house.
“We have an audience. Let’s finish this in the car. ”
I glance back. Alex, Mallory, Tyler, and Valerie are framed in the doorway, their faces pressed to the glass like we’re a scene on TV.
My stomach drops. Alex is watching me leave, blood dripping down his arm from my cat’s claws, and he didn’t even flinch.
I picture patching up his knee two nights ago, and the memory makes my throat ache.
I slide into the backseat with Maybelle, blinking hard against tears. The carrier rattles beside me, but I feel the phantom press of Alex’s hand in mine.
Mirna gets in the driver’s seat—thank God, because Barb behind the wheel would terrify me—and backs out of the driveway. Barb lifts her hand and in a cheery wave.
“Don’t do that,” Mirna scolds. “They’re the enemy.”
“They’re not the enemy,” I say softly, my heart cracking wide open. “They did the best they could under the circumstances.”
“Alex dragged you into that mess,” Mirna says, all steel. “And you texted this morning that you couldn’t stay.”
“I know,” I admit, my voice cracking. “But Grant is Valerie’s son. He just broke up with his girlfriend—partially because she was going to have to sleep on the sofa bed. Because of me. I couldn’t make Valerie choose between us. It’s Christmas. He needs his family.”
“Blaming you is asinine,” Mirna fires back.
Her words sting, because she’s right. Deep down, I tell myself this isn’t my fault, but isn’t it?
I knew what I was getting myself into when I accepted Alex’s offer.
We lied to Alex’s family, so maybe this is exactly what I deserve.
Besides, our lie wasn’t without victims. Alex’s mom cried when she hugged me.
Mallory said I was the sister she always wanted. I hurt other people too.
I can still see Alex’s face, like me leaving broke him. But that was just guilt, right? He only felt bad because I’m so upset.
“I know blaming me is wrong,” I whisper, my heart heavy. “But Grant’s hurting.”
The car falls silent until we reach the square, and when Mirna pulls into the driveway of a tiny cottage, it feels like the end of something I barely got to begin.
“This is where we’re staying?” I ask, dumbfounded. From the porch, I can see the ice rink and the Christmas tree glittering on the square.
“It’s like it’s meant to be,” Barb says proudly. “We got it on the cheap for the rest of the week, so you can take your original flight home if you want.”
Is Alex on the same flight? Were we supposed to sit together? Should I change it?
We haul our luggage up to the front porch. Mirna punches a code into a keypad, and when the door clicks open, I step inside—and stop cold.
It looks like Buddy the Elf was on a sugar high and decorated the place in one night.
The entire house is Christmas themed from the red sofa and chairs, the artificial tree in the corner, the garland and lights strung across the ceiling, and—oh, God—the animatronic elves and reindeer jerking at the foot of the stairs.
“What the…?” Mirna mutters.
“It sure is festive,” Barb offers cheerfully.
Festive. That’s one word for it. I walk deeper into the room, my throat tightening.
A week ago, this would have been my dream—an explosion of Christmas spirit everywhere, no empty spaces.
But now, all I can do is compare it to the King’s house.
Their decorations had been warm, elegant, alive with memories.
This feels more like a theme park—loud and hollow.
“Well, it’s something,” Mirna says, abandoning her suitcase near the door and heading into the kitchen. I follow, still holding Maybelle’s carrier, the garish holiday cheer pressing in on me.
The kitchen’s no better. A round table for four is in the breakfast nook, a two-foot ceramic snowman with multiple smaller snowmen crowded around him sits in the center.
A painting of Santa outside a snow-drenched building hangs on the wall next to a picture of a Hanukkah menorah.
Even the dish towels are imprinted with holiday sayings like Santa, I Was Framed and My Bells Don’t Jingle Without Coffee.
It’s everything I thought I wanted. So why does it feel so wrong without Alex?
We poke our heads into a bedroom off the kitchen—a king-sized bed, dresser, and bathroom—every square inch smothered in Christmas cheer.
Upstairs, tucked into the attic, we find another bedroom with a full-size bed and the tiniest ensuite bathroom I’ve ever seen.
Corner sink, cramped toilet, and a shower that looks only slightly bigger than a waterslide tube.
The decorations up here are toned down, with a red and green quilt on the bed, and a throw pillow that says, Ho Ho Snow.
“Well, obviously, Finley gets this room,” Barb says.
“No way,” I say. “There are only two bedrooms. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Neither one of us wants to climb these stairs,” Mirna says sensibly. “There’s a king-size bed downstairs. We’ll share.”
I don’t argue, not when my throat feels raw from holding back tears. I set the carrier down, then perch on the edge of the bed, still in shock that they’re actually here, that they came all this way because I couldn’t handle staying.
“We still need to rustle up food for Christmas dinner,” Mirna says briskly, standing by the door. “Which means we need to find an open market.”
The thought of pushing through a crowded store makes me want to collapse. “Don’t do that. Let’s go out to eat. My treat.”
“You’re not paying,” Barb says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Alex will pay me everything we agreed to. I can afford it.” My voice cracks on his name. I have no doubt he’ll follow through, even if we hadn’t had a contract.
The two women exchange a glance that feels heavy with unspoken things, then Barb softens. “Alright. Do you want to get settled for now?”
My gaze falls to the pet carrier. Maybelle’s quieted down, but she’s been in there for hours. “I need to get Maybelle some food and water.”
“Already taken care of,” Mirna says. “We brought some food with us. It’s in my bag. But we don’t have any litter or a pan.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll get her some litter soon, but for now, I’ll just keep her in here with me.” I grimace. “Do you mind if I stay up here for a little while?” My guilt is back in full force. They flew all this way to rescue me, and here I am asking for space. “I need to take a minute to…”
“Process,” Mirna finishes gently.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Her eyes soften. “We’re here for you, Finley. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, grateful and empty all at once.
Mirna goes downstairs then comes back with the Ziploc bag of food and two bowls. After they both study me for a long moment, they leave the room, shutting the door behind them.
I take a deep breath, glancing around. A dormer window overlooks the square and drawers are built into the sloped walls beside the bed.
It’s small, but cozy. And unlike the rest of the house, tasteful.
Still my gaze keeps drifting to the empty corner where Alex’s tree should be.
Will he remember to water it? Will he even want to?
I let Maybelle out of her carrier, and she struts around the room, sniffing like she owns the place, as if deciding whether it meets her standards.
After I fill her food and water bowls, I sink into the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
My chest is so heavy it feels like I could sink through the mattress, through the floor, all the way into the earth.
How could something that felt so perfect fall apart so fast?
I curl up on my side, and there’s a soft thud as Maybelle hops up beside me. She presses against my stomach, her warmth seeping into me. My hand slides over her fur, and her steady purr vibrates against my palm. For such a moody cat, she always seems to know when I need her.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper.
She doesn’t need to say anything. I already know the answer I don’t want.
Alex will come back to Atlanta in a week. Maybe he’ll pretend the last few days never happened. Or maybe he’ll stop coming into the shop altogether, so he doesn’t have to see me and remember the mistake of bringing me home.
The thought shreds me. I don’t know which is worse: being forgotten or being avoided.
Tears slip free, hot and unrelenting. I squeeze my eyes shut and let them fall, wishing—aching—for my mom. When I was small and the world felt too sharp, she’d curl around me and tell me what to do.
What would she tell me now? To fight for Alex? Or let him go?
But how do you let go of someone you never really had?