Eggnog & Evergreen

03 • Cocoa Cries

I find myself at the doorstep to my apartment building. I find myself hating the holly wreath that's adorning it, and the fact that I put it there.

I push the door open to my cozy loft. It's like diving headfirst into a candle, thanks to the cinnamon cookie wall diffusor that's occupying the outlet right beside the front door. A solid, seasonal greeting.

I toss my bag on the floor and leave my snowflake dusted coat in a heap on the velvet chintz chair. My phone is left behind as well.

I tear down the snowflake garland I strung around my doorway one month earlier (yes, before Thanksgiving) and punch my Santa pillow into a lumpy pulp. All the sudden my apartment is like the inside of some suffocating stocking.

A lump rises in my throat as I see the framed picture of Preston and me on my end table, next to the mini Christmas tree. It's of us -on last year's Christmas trip. Stupid LA -all bright and sunny -like I was when I woke up this morning.

I peel off my sweater dress and silently promise myself to never bother with 4-inch heels again. I change into an oversized sweatshirt and baggy plaid pants. I use a wipe to remove all my heavy makeup and pile my hair on top of my head. It's the purple fuzzy socks though that really complete that just dumped look.

There's only one thing left to do right now. The thing that somehow always makes me feel better when I'm feeling down, especially this time of year. Make hot cocoa. The global panacea.

...

I pour warm milk into what's left from my first mug of hot cocoa. I load on the whipped cream and even top it off with crushed peppermint for good measure. I let my eyes wander outside as I prepare my coca.

A mini and uneven snowdrift has settled onto my kitchen window. My fire escape is almost completely covered. I dim the lights in my kitchen as I make my way back to my new life on the sofa.

I caved and put on some horribly unbearable holiday movie, ironically of course. It's not that I want to watch it -it's that it's so cringeworthy that it actually alleviates some of my own embarrassment from tonight. The key word being some.

I used to enjoy them all -holiday movies -not only without judgment but with mild appreciation. They were part of the gooey, magical enchantment that blankets this time of year. Now I see them for what they truly are.

Hard, stiff, and non-gooey with absolutely zero magic included.

After talking myself out of crying again, I decide to flip through my phone and revisit all the old pictures including Preston. By old I mean as recently as 1 day ago.

I wrestle through a heavy internal debate regarding whether or not to delete all our pictures. I'm finally spared when I see Deja's picture brighten up my screen inviting me to a video chat.

"Welcome to the South Pole," I say, answering grumpily.

"So you are alive then? You didn't text me back!" Deja chides.

"Yes, alive. Thanks for reminding me," I say. "I'll just be here."

I bring the mug to my lips with the hand that's not holding the phone at a safe distance. No one, no matter how good a friend, needs to see my puffy, bloodshot eyes up close and too personal.

"Want me to come over?" Deja asks.

"No, Dej, really. I'm fine," I tell her.

"Because every 27-year-old who's fine makes themselves hot cocoa on a Thursday night," Deja scoffs, knowingly.

"When it's T-9 days 'til Christmas they do, yeah." I deliver my best bah humbug.

"You can't sit and cry over P all night, babe. I won't allow it. Get off your ass and come out!" Deja invites me.

"But-"

"No. Come!" She insists. "Bring whoever you want. Bring the J's!"

"But I will just bring everyone down. Zero spirit to go out right now. Zero chill." I whine.

"And I'll make sure there's zero Christmas cheer to bring you down," Deja says.

"I'm already unchanged. Plus it's too much work to get up." Another sip.

"Fine," Deja let's up.

For one solitary minute I think I've won this argument.

"Tomorrow night then. No excuses," Deja declares, before she abruptly hangs up on our video chat.

"Ugh!" I flop my head back on my pillow.

When our call ends, Preston's face resumes its place on my screen.

The lump is growing again, swiftly climbing up my throat. Will more tears help?

I pull open my text thread with the J's (as Deja calls Jayden and Jules). I read through the 15 texts they've sent since I did my own rapid-fire break-up announcement.

"Miami?!" I almost scream to myself.

They're inviting me on their own holiday getaway -back to the motherland to visit their extended family and hampering grandmother. A great perk of being besties with your cousin is never needing to brave holiday home visits alone.

Home.

"Hah!" Another audible scoff delivered for my own benefit.

I can't even imagine my childhood house at Christmastime right now. I can't even imagine going back home!

I may be losing all my bodily fluids from crying over Hawaii, but I'm not desperate enough to go back home.

I bury myself into my hot chocolate once more, burrowing deeper into the fluffy blanket where all my worries disappear.

Maybe I will disappear too.