Eggnog & Evergreen

18 • Caroler Crossing

Today, December 20.

Weather forecast: Already snowing.

"Yes, it's still snowing." I turn my phone around to show Jayden outside my bedroom window.

"Oo girl, it looks so magical there!"

"But you have a glowing tan, so who's really winning?" I say enviously. "I should have picked Miami. How's the grandma?"

"Already criticizing my fashion choices," Jayden says, head shaking in disappointment. "The daily struggle."

"I know all about the struggle," I groan, inadvertently turning the focus back on me.

"Oo? Don't tell me you caved and texted Preston," Jayden frowns.

"No, no," I say, shaking my head.

"So, did you cave and find a new boy toy?" He winks.

"Hard no. There's no one I would even -I mean -NO." I say, forcing myself to stop thinking about Nik.

"That's a hard yes," Jules says.

She appears in the frame behind Jayden, holding two glasses of white wine.

"How dare you," I scowl.

"I know your tell." Jules shrugs.

"Tell? This isn't poker."

"HA! You always start stuttering about new boys, always," Jules says, laughing. "When you met Preston you couldn't talk in full sentences for two weeks."

"I have to go be not a part of this conversation," I say, blowing them both kisses goodbye.

"Bye bae." Jayden's glossy lips are the last thing I see before I toss my phone on the bed.

I flop down and sink into the snowflake blanket my mom put on my bed this morning. I think about calling Deja to complain about being a taxicab -getting roadblocked by deer -basically my life in general. then I remember it's the last Monday before Christmas and Deja has her big presentation this morning.

Go Kill it... Break both legs ;)

I text her a quick bit of encouragement before opening Instagram. It's getting easier to resist the urge (need), to watch Preston's stories, examine his posts, and just stalk him in general. His tiny little profile circle has sandy beaches in the background.

I exit out of his page before I start crying again.

Instead, I hit the search bar and simply type Nik and tree. That's it -that's all the information I have to work with. Luckily, I fancy myself a private investigator of sorts. Give me the person's freckle count and I'll tell you their birthday and mother's maiden name.

Still, my search is fruitless. This man does not exist in cyber space anywhere. What self-respecting millennial doesn't at least have what's left of an outdated Facebook profile?

...

"-Think it's good you're getting out. A break from moping around," my mom says from the kitchen table.

"Moping around?!" I ask incredulously. "I went to the market and Stella's, and I invited her over!"

"To knit ornaments with your mother -on a Saturday night," my mom chides.

I think she just insulted herself.

"What part of 'I just ended a 3-year relationship' is hard to grasp?" I pout.

"I know, I know. And it's the end of the world -I'm just saying it can't hurt to get back out there." My mom shakes her head.

"Is that what you call your trick last night?" I accuse. "With the truck and the deliveries and the -Nik."

"No, Noe. That's what I call manners," she says.

"I don't even know why we are arguing! I am going out to meet Stella now," I say. I pull my scarf from the coatrack and start wrapping it around my neck.

"Don't forget to be back by 5 PM sharp. I need your help for the table settings," my mom says without looking up from her angel ornament.

"5 PM." I nod. "And you just need the cranberry chutney from the market, right?"

My mom nods and I am off through the door.

I pass my dad chopping wood out front of the shed. He waves as the truck pulls away.

I do not mope.

I park right in front of the market this time to avoid walking on the unevenly plowed streets. Stella is already waiting outside, her face half burrowed in a scarf.

I walk in a wide semi-circle to avoid oncoming carolers that look like they stepped out of the Dickens-verse.

"You made it," Stella says, greeting me cheerfully.

"I did."

"Thanks again for this -You're a gem. Dani got called in again this morning. All the accidents in the snow," Stella says.

"It's fine, I don't mind. Anything that gets me out of the house," I say. "I have to grab cranberry sauce for my mom anyway. Big dinner party tonight."

"Ah, I missed the invite."

"You're welcome," I say, sarcastic.

Stella and I collect all the trays of prepared food and load them into her trunk and my dad's truck. I instantly smell like meatballs.

We drive the food over to the church and start unloading the trays one by one. A group of Christmas carolers has set up camp at the bottom of the stairs. Of course, they're singing Mele Kalikimaka. I tune them out the best I can.

Stella sets everything up in the hall, as the priest thanks her profusely.

"Just let it settle. It's still pretty warm, so we'll just need to heat up around 4 PM," Stella tells him.

He nods.

"Well, that's it," Stella says, clapping her hands together. "Logan is still at school. Do you have time? We could grab a drink?"

"At Maple's?" I ask, my brows raising. It's the only bar in town, or at least it used to be.

"Actually," Stella says, looping her hand through mine. "I know this great pop-up."

The carolers are almost blocking our way when we exit the church. I follow Stella up one block to the edge of the park where a canopied stand has been erected right on the sidewalk.

The town square park is overflowing with last-minute holiday shoppers, a few ambitious joggers, and young children building off-kilter snowmen.

Another horde of passive aggressive carolers has gathered beside the iron gates. At least these ones aren't singing Hawaiian Christmas songs that remind me of Preston.