Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“The ride,” we say at the same time.
She nods. “So although he may have believed you weren’t ready, maybe he’s realized you’re not the only person he should be visiting. Maybe he’s learned with you that it takes two people to make a relationship work, not one.” Tears wet her eyes when she says, “You didn’t want to help Kelsey overcome her heartache, Zane. You wanted her to help you get over yours.” When I can’t deny her claim—because it’s true—she smiles faintly. “She can’t do that if you stop believing. It is the magic of Christmas bringing you together.”
My heart thuds in my ears when a familiar jingle quickly follows her statement. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
Santa’s chant this time around is fainter than the first. It sounds distant, like it is about to fade into oblivion.
Even Casey reaches the same conclusion as me. “Go. I’ll fetch our parents and catch up.”
“Are you sure?” My heart has already left the alleyway, but my feet won’t budge without some reassurance that I’m not about to make a fool out of myself.
Who over the age of ten still believes in Santa?
“Just go already!” Casey demands, pushing me out of the alley.
As she races for our parents, screaming that Kelsey is back, I sprint in the direction the Christmas chant came from.
I run and run and run until Santa’s greeting pierces my ears for the fifth time tonight.
At the top of the grueling St. Thomas Street hill, I spin in a circle, seeking a feisty Spaniard amongst the tourists who flood this region of Ravenshoe every day of the year.
“Where is she?” I beg when I drink in hundreds of faces but fail to find a familiar one. “I promise I won’t fuck this up. I’ll make things right. I just need you to believe in me like I believe in you. I need you to give me a chance.”
My head cranks to the left when a distinct “Ho, ho, ho” fills my ears.
The Santa I’m seeking doesn’t present in person. He’s on a computer monitor in the office of a local travel agency. His red velvet threads have been switched for a Hawaiian print shirt, but he isn’t promoting a Hawaiian getaway. The ad is for a small coastal community on the Austrian coast.
For a village called Lastres.
18
KELSEY
“Boils. Menstruation cups. Anal fissures.” I speak clearly and precisely into my phone speaker so there’s no chance the social media ad gods will miss my suggestions. “I’ll even take dating sites if that’s all you're willing to offer.”
I startle when my father enters the living room of my childhood home. I had no intention of running home when my confusion was piqued at a never-before-reached level, but somehow, the email I wrote to my parents about the dissolution of my engagement ended up in the outbox of my email provider instead of the draft folder.
My parents were halfway home before I stumbled on the free-for-all at Zane’s apartment. Since my apartment held more memories from my week with Zane than it did from my almost three years with Peter, I accepted my mother’s offer to bunk in my childhood room until I figured out my next move.
“Did you just google anal fissures?” my father asks with a raised brow.
“No. But that’s not a bad idea. Thanks.”
My father is lost as to why I’m praising him, but my mother has a better understanding. She knows me better than anyone and has been my rock the past week.
No. I haven’t moped in my pajamas for a week. I gave the real estate agent the go-ahead to clear out my apartment, put it on the market, filed for an LLC, and commenced trading under my name for the first time.
I also cried while eating chocolate ice cream sprinkled with candy cane dust, but we will save that confession for a day that is mine to tarnish.
Today is Christmas Eve, and I refuse to let anything dampen the magic.
“Let her be,” my mother whispers before pulling my father down to sit next to her so they can share a fresh batch of hot chocolate.
It should hurt to see how in love they are. I was slightly bitter about it when I trudged past their room for the first time and saw the raunchy Mrs. Claus outfit my father had laid out for my mother, but then I realized they didn’t get where they are without the ups and downs every relationship faces.
My grandfather hated my father on sight. He did everything in his power to keep them apart.
But at the end of the day, love won, and I was born nine months later.
We won’t mention that my birthday is September twenty-fourth, or you’ll do the math I wish I never calculated.
Once my mother has my father’s focus solely on her, she gives me a nod of approval to continue altering the trajectory of my universe.