The Holiday Trap Read Online Roan Parrish

Categories Genre: GLBT, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
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Sandwich in hand, Greta knocked softly on Carys’ door and was met with a bark.

“Hey,” she said softly, easing the door open and perching gently on the side of Carys’ mattress. “I made you an egg sandwich and some coffee.”

Carys made a disgusted sound and buried her face in the pillow.

“You’ve gotta eat, baby,” Greta said. “You’ll feel better.”

Carys made another no sound, and Greta put the plate on her bedside table.

“Well, okay, I’ll leave it here for you. Try and eat, okay?”

Carys didn’t respond. Greta rubbed her back for a minute, then left her alone.

***

Greta went to a cheesy action movie on Canal Street, browsed her favorite bookstore, then walked down to the river and sat on a bench, staring out at its brown waters. On a whim, she started to look into the cost of movers and was instantly horrified. How did anyone ever move? She looked at renting a small moving truck instead, and that was much more reasonable.

The truth was, she didn’t have very many possessions. She didn’t have a car. Most of her furniture had come with the house, so it was just her clothes, books, and, most importantly, her plants. She walked home watching TikToks about hacks for moving with plants and felt pretty optimistic by the time she neared home.

Her phone rang, and she smiled when she saw it was Carys.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she answered.

“Not great,” Carys said.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Yeah, if you’re free. I’d like to talk.”

Something lurched in Greta’s stomach at her words. “Talk? About what?”

“I’ll be around all evening, okay?”

“I can come now,” Greta said. “I’m right by your place anyway.”

Carys was installed on the couch, wrapped in a blanket when Greta arrived. She looked rough, and Greta was immediately in caretaking mode.

“God, babe, can I do anything for you?”

Carys shook her head and patted the couch. “Did you clean up in here?” she asked.

“Yeah. And the kitchen. It was no problem.”

“And you made me food.”

“Did you eat? Did it help?”

“Listen,” Carys said. She sounded very serious, her expression stony. “I know that you meant well. You always do. But I really don’t like that you didn’t listen to me.”

“Wait, sorry, what?”

“You offered to clean up and make me food, and I said I didn’t want that. I told you I just needed to sleep.”

“I know, I just thought…” Greta was confused. Was it bad that she’d cleaned up? “I didn’t want you to have to deal with a trashed place when you woke up. You were all hungover and you were so generous to throw the party.”

Carys shook her head. “We clean up together every year. It’s a tradition, and part of the tradition is complaining about how horrible we feel. I know it sounds silly, but it’s what we do.”

The sick feeling in Greta’s stomach intensified. She’d fucked up. Again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Her voice sounded choked.

“I know you didn’t know. That’s why I explicitly told you.”

Greta replayed their conversation in her head. Carys had told her explicitly not to. But that was what people always said.

“I guess I just thought you were being polite. But that anyone would want someone to clean up.”

Greta thought of her mom. If you asked her if she wanted you to clear the table, she would say no, but if you just did it, she really appreciated it. Her father would never ask for assistance, so you just had to pick up a box and start helping.

Carys shook her head. “I wasn’t being polite. I told you what I wanted, and you didn’t respect it. This wasn’t about what ‘anyone’ would’ve wanted. This was about what I wanted. I told you, and you did the opposite.”

“I…” Greta didn’t know what to say. “You’re upset because I cleaned up and made you food.”

She felt like her brain was glitching, because it came out sounding accusatory rather than clarifying.

Finally, Carys’ voice rose, and Greta realized that she’d been keeping a tight rein on her temper. It reminded her of the detached way she’d spoken to her mother the day before, which horrified her.

“No. I’m upset because I was really clear about something and you didn’t respect it. Listen, I understand that you were trying to do something sweet. Trying to take care of me. But it really bums me out that you didn’t listen. I want you to pay attention to me, to what I say I want. Not to just act on your interpretation of what you think I want. I can’t handle that shit. You know about my mom. This is a huge thing for me. I need to be able to say what I want and what I don’t want and have it heard and respected. If I had wanted food, I would’ve told you. If I had wanted you to clean, I would’ve accepted your generous offer. But what I said was that I needed to sleep and be left alone, and you didn’t respect it. You just did what you thought was best, and it wasn’t.”


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