And a Sheep Escapes Too #2
"No. You didn't do anything wrong." God, Max.
You didn't do anything wrong. I did. I fell in love with you.
That's the whole problem. That's the thing I can't fix.
You don't fall for your best friend; everyone knows that, and you especially don't do it when he's already looking past you toward someone else.
"Then why won't you talk to me? Is it—" He stops. His jaw works. "Is it about the s-e-x? Do you regret it?"
"What? No!" Too emphatic. Definitely too emphatic. "I don't regret it."
"Then what—"
"I got them!" Stella reappears, beaming she takes the platter.
"Thank you, sweeties! Oh, we should check out that ornament booth!
" Max looks like he wants to throw something.
Probably at me. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and trails behind us as an oblivious Stella navigates through the crowd toward the ornament section of the market.
This place has everything. Glass. Wood. Felt. Ceramic. Hand-painted, store-bought, and everything in between. Stella is in heaven. "Oh, look at this angel. Do you think Aunt Vicky would like this? Or maybe the snowflake? Max, honey, what do you think?"
"I think—" Max's jaw is tight, the words clearly not the ones he wants to be saying right now.
"—either one is nice, Mom." He'd never snap at her.
That's the thing about Max, he could be furious, falling apart, and he'd still answer his mom's ornament questions with patience.
Stella has no idea she keeps saving me from a conversation I'm not ready to have.
"Hmm. But the angel has more details. Leo, do you like the angel?"
"It's very… angelic," I offer.
One corner of her mouth pulls up. She picks up a different ornament.
"What about this one for Isaac? Look, it's a little cow!
" Max's eyebrows lift, and his mouth curves into that gentle smile I only see when he's genuinely touched.
His eyes go distant for half a second, unfocused, like he's seeing the farm instead of the Christmas market.
"He'll love it," Max says quietly.
Wait. Does she know about the ranch? The cattle? Max swears she knows everything, but… no. It's just a cow. For a farm family. That's all.
Stella beams. "Perfect! Oh, and Leo, you need to help me pick one for your parents—"
"They don't really do ornaments." It comes out more bitter than I intended.
The smile stays but warms into something quieter. No, the smile stays but shifts, becoming more deliberate. Like she's made a decision. "Oh. Well. Then you pick one for yourself. For our tree. Consider it a new Webber family tradition."
My sternum aches. Sharp and sudden, like someone pressed their thumb against bone.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? My dad called last month, let slip about the cabin in Washington, the whole family gathering, and when he realized I hadn't been invited, he said, Well, we assumed you had plans.
You've been going with that friend of yours for the last couple of years.
Like I'd chosen this. Like I hadn't been waiting for someone to remember to include me.
And here's Stella Webber, handing me an ornament, telling me I'm a family tradition.
If I lose Max, really lose him, the way things are going, I lose this too.
This kitchen. This farm. This woman who buys two scarves because she can't choose and kisses the top of my head at bedtime. I’ll lose the only place that's felt like home since I was nineteen years old.
That's why I can't ruin this. That's why I have to get it together, and why it would have been so much easier if I'd never fallen in love with him. Max is watching me. His expression is… hurt. Fuck I’m hurting him.
I turn to intensely examine a display of glass ornaments.
These are some interesting glass ornaments.
Look at the craftsmanship, the light refraction.
I have to make them fascinating. There's a chance I'm about to cry in a Christmas market.
I don't. Barely. Stella saves me by moving to the wreath display, and I follow, grateful for the distraction.
Then Santa shows up. "Well, hello there!" We're near the carolers. Stella's debating between two different wreaths. A man in a full Santa costume is waving at her. At Stella.
"Merry Christmas!" Santa says warmly. Too warmly. Is he… is he flexing?
"Oh! Merry Christmas!" Stella smiles.
"You look lovely today. That coat is festive." I watch it happen in real time: the furrow, the blink, the slow dawning, oh no, horror that takes over Max’s entire face.
"Is Santa hitting on your mom?" I whisper.
"I'm going to murder Santa Claus," Max whispers back.
"I don't think that's in the Christmas spirit."
"I don't care."
Santa's leaning in closer. "You know, I'm on break in about twenty minutes. If you'd like to grab some hot chocolate—"
"MOM." Max appears at Stella's elbow. "We should go. Lots more to see. Very busy. Let's go."
"But I wasn't done talking—"
"Yep, time to go, very busy, Merry Christmas, Santa, BYE." Max is physically steering his mother away. Santa looks disappointed.
I'm trying not to laugh. But I'm failing, my shoulders are shaking. Max turns slightly and glares back at me over Stella's head.
By the time we're done, Stella has approximately forty-seven bags, but honestly, I stopped counting two hours ago.
"You boys head to the car, I'll catch up in a minute!
" Stella hands over a mountain of purchases and a platter of cookies I'd swear has less on it than it did when we first picked it up.
Then she's gone. Disappearing into the crowd before we can say anything.
Max and I look at each other, then down at the bags.
"Guess we're going to the car," he says. We walk through the market. Past the nativity scene, where the sheep is now safely contained, and Mary is cradling a repaired baby Jesus. Past the cookie booth and the ornament displays and all the happy families.
The parking lot is less crowded, but it’s so much colder without the body heat of the market crowd. When we reach Stella's car, Max tries the door, but it's locked. We stand there. Holding bags and balancing the cookies. Staring at the car.
"She has the keys," I say.
"She has the keys," Max confirms.
We're stuck in the parking lot. Can't get into the car. Can't leave. Can't go back into the market without abandoning all the purchases. It’s just the two of us, all alone, for the first time all day. Max turns to me.
"Don't," I say.
"Leo. Please… five minutes. That's all I'm asking." I stare at the SUV. The colorful running boards. Anywhere but his face.