Chapter 14
Calla
It’s Christmas Eve.
I have to break the cycle. I can’t waste another day.
Starting small, I drag myself out of bed, grab yesterday’s shirt off the floor, and shuffle to the kitchen. As the coffee brews, I take in the state of my apartment—dishes piled in the sink, laundry spilling over, wrappers scattered across the counters.
It’s too much to tackle all at once, so I start where I can.
I sip my coffee between bursts of movement—folding blankets, tossing trash, gathering abandoned mugs and glasses from my desk and the coffee table. Each dish hits the sink one by one, rinsed quickly and loaded into the dishwasher before I can overthink it.
It’s not perfect, but it’s better.
By the time I’ve worked my way through the living room and kitchen, I feel lighter. Like I’ve cleared more than just the mess.
But there’s still one last thing to face.
Me.
In the bathroom, I keep my gaze low, unwilling to meet my own eyes in the mirror. My reflection feels like too much right now, so I focus on shedding layers instead—pulling my shirt over my head, stepping out of my underwear.
My hands skim down my sides, the touch almost foreign. On instinct, I wrap my arms around myself and hold. Just for a breath, maybe two.
I don’t know if it’s for safety or comfort. Maybe both.
The water is scalding, but I let it rain over me, scrubbing until I feel clean. Awake.
Alive.
The sadness that’s been clinging to me for days finally begins to lift, piece by piece, like the water is rinsing it away.
When I step out and wrap myself in a towel, exhaustion threatens to drag me straight back to bed. But I fight it.
I’ve spent too long letting everything keep me still.
It’s time to move forward.
It’s time to talk to Tyler.
But as I get dressed and grab my coat and keys, another thought crosses my mind. Tomorrow, I’m supposed to go to Chase and Haiyden’s for Christmas dinner, and I still need to pick up a gift and a bottle of wine.
It’s a practical concern, sure—stores are closing early.
But really, it’s an excuse.
Something easier to focus on before I face the harder thing.
Sitting in my car with my hands on the steering wheel, I run through my options. I could just bring wine, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not for Chase. He’s been kind in a way that feels genuine and rare, always making space for me without a second thought .
Haiyden, on the other hand, is… complicated. Distant and snarky. Never outright rude, but toeing the line.
I don’t know him well enough to justify buying him a gift.
And honestly? I don’t think he deserves one.
Still, I can’t bring something for Chase and leave Haiyden out. And if Chase has gone out of his way beyond dinner and drinks, showing up empty-handed isn’t an option.
With a long breath, I shift the car into drive and head toward the small gift shop in town, hoping for inspiration.
With most people already tucked away for the holiday, I spot an open parking space right in front of the shop. After turning off the engine and grabbing my keys, I jog through the cold, slipping inside just as the wind picks up.
A soft chime rings overhead, and the scent of warm cinnamon and cedar wraps around me.
I’m clearly the only one here, but the shop is full—lined with knick-knacks, locally poured candles, and racks of greeting cards with hand-lettered, sarcastic sayings.
It’s the kind of place no one plans to visit but always leaves with something.
Chaotic and charming. Full of things you don’t need but somehow can’t resist.
Near the entrance, a display of porcelain trinkets catches my eye. Tiny mouse figurines, each dressed for a different job—a police officer, a doctor, a gardener.
One stands out right away: a mouse in a chef’s hat, holding a whisk in one paw and a spatula in the other.
It’s perfect for Chase. Quirky, funny, endearingly unique. Everything about it just feels right. I pick it up, rolling it carefully in my palm as I start weaving through the rest of the store, searching for something for Haiyden.
But nothing fits.
I pause at a table of wood-carved trinkets, running my fingers over the smooth edges of pocket-sized animals and intricate keychains. A wolf catches my eye for half a second, but the idea of giving Haiyden something so symbolic feels wrong. Too personal. Too much.
I move on, trailing past racks of leather-bound journals, mugs that try too hard to be funny, and handwoven mittens I can’t imagine him ever wearing.
I used to be good at giving gifts. Thoughtful ones. Now I second-guess everything, like the sadness rewired something in me, made me forget how to care properly.
After several more minutes of searching, I finally give up. Maybe a bottle of whiskey will do—simple, impersonal, exactly the kind of thing someone like Haiyden would probably prefer anyway.
My brain flashes back to the way he tasted when he kissed me. Whiskey and mint.
A quick shiver runs down my spine. I shove the memory aside, pull myself together just long enough to pay for Chase’s gift, and push the door open a little harder than necessary as I walk back out into the cold.
Next up is wine. The liquor store’s only a few blocks away, so I leave my car parked and walk.
As I pass a small plant shop tucked between two larger storefronts, something stops me.
The trim is painted sky blue—sweet and inviting.
The front window is crowded with vibrant greenery and twinkling Christmas lights.
Strands of ivy drape over the edges of shelves, weaving through tiny ceramic houses and gold-painted pinecones .
I pause, staring through the glass, my thoughts drifting to the neglected, half-dead plants wilting in my apartment. Most of them have all but shriveled up by now.
Maybe it’s time to bring some life back into my space.
Maybe it’s time to take care of something again.
Maybe someday I’ll have a windowsill full of them.
Maybe that’s enough of a reason to try again.
When I push the door open, a wave of fresh, earthy air hits me—damp soil, citrus, and something faintly floral.
The space is small but brimming with life.
A central table overflows with potted plants, while shelves and hanging baskets line the walls, spilling vines and broad, leafy greens in every direction.
Music plays softly in the background, but it fades beneath the quiet rustle of leaves shifting as I pass.
I let my fingers trail over waxy leaves and rough ceramic pots, taking my time. Then I spot them—a neat row of plants with upright stems and glossy, oval leaves.
A small sign sits in front:
Zanzibar Gem (ZZ Plant)
Symbolizes growth, prosperity, and good fortune.
Resilient. Nearly impossible to kill.
The words almost make me smile. Impossible to kill. It seems like a challenge; one I might finally be ready to take on.
I reach for one in a navy-blue pot, already deciding it’s coming home with me.
This used to be me. The girl who bought plants she didn’t need and named them like they were pets. The one who got weirdly excited about navy-blue anything.
I miss her. I think I’m still her, buried somewhere under the fog.
I turn to pay, but something tugs at me. My fingers hover over a different ZZ plant, this one in a mustard yellow pot.
I don’t know why I grab it. Maybe it’s the color—the way it feels like a spark of warmth and light, something someone like Haiyden could probably use.
Or maybe it’s just a feeling.
Either way, I head to the register, a pot balanced in each hand.
One for him. One for me.
With my arms achingly full, I make one last stop at the liquor store a few doors down. Inside, I grab two bottles of wine—a cabernet sauvignon that’s my favorite, a little on the pricier side but always worth it, and a white I’ve never heard of but costs about the same.
I have no idea what either of the boys drink. It’s probably neither, but I’d rather be prepared.
At the register, I awkwardly juggle everything in my arms, trying to figure out how I’m supposed to carry two bottles of wine and two potted plants without a minor disaster on the walk back to my car.
It’s colder now, though maybe it’s just my nerves catching up to me. My steps slow as the truth sinks in. I’ve stalled long enough. Shopping was a distraction, a good one, but the time I borrowed is gone.
I can’t celebrate until I do something. Anything that brings me closer to the truth.
To her.
To Jules.