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MAGGIE
A few weeks have lessened the sting of Tyler’s disappearance.
The ache is still there, a burning hole in my chest that hasn’t yet scabbed over, but I know from experience that’ll take a while to heal. And when it does, it won’t disappear entirely. It’ll scab over, a pink little scar over the place where my unreturned love for Tyler is destined to live locked away safely behind my wound.
“Mom!” Mila shrieks from her room. “Mom, can you come here?”
I pull myself to my feet, setting the magazine down as my eyes flick toward Emily. “Barbie Mayday or Ken disaster?”
Emily snorts with laughter. She reaches for a cookie and flips through a second magazine as her fingernails dry. “Both?”
It feels good to laugh again, to sit around and eat cookies, flip through pictures of celebrities, and pop on a movie while I’m in my sweatpants. Emily has been good about being around a lot, keeping my mind free from the loneliness that creeps in at night. The times when I’m in my bed alone, feeling the cold other half that once had the potential to be so warm, are the worst.
That loneliness isn’t new, but it’s harsher. It’s a steel blade, battling back sleep and bringing forth memories. The memories are the worst. Tyler’s hands on me, his mouth at my ear, his words whispered so carefully it’s as if he’s next to me.
When I open the door to Mila’s room and see Jess’s wide eyes staring back at me—there are memories there, too. Sweet ones, happy ones, and there’s a pang of longing every time Mila and Jess get together to play—quite often, for which I’m glad—but something is missing still. The four of us have turned into the three musketeers. And though the three musketeers are great, there are supposed to be four pieces to this puzzle, and we’re making do with what’s left behind.
“Mom,” Mila says again, drawing my mind back to the present. “Jess’s mom was supposed to visit her for Thanksgiving, but she’s not coming.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” I say. I’m not all that sorry about Anastasia—having met her, I can’t say I’m all too impressed with her personality—but I feel for Jess. To hope for something and be let down sucks. “Are your grandma and grandpa having something?”
“A quiet meal,” she says, likely parroting back what her grandmother has told her. “They weren’t planning anything because they thought I’d be with my mom, but—”
“Can she come to ours? Please?” Mila begs. “Pretty please? It’s awesome,” she says, turning to Jess. “We have like, three tables piled with food. The whole dining room is decorated, and we get to drink apple cider and bubbly grape juice at night. Then we light a fire and decorate the Christmas tree once the grown-ups are done eating.”
Jess’s eyes widen. “Really?”
I find myself nodding, the memories, the promise of a family gathering warming the coldness that’s been shivering along my spine these past few weeks. It’s the distraction, the moment of good cheer that I need. To remind me I’m lucky—I have so much when others have so little. Before I know it, I’m joining Mila with the promises of a wonderful holiday.
“If you’re interested,” I tell Jess, “I can talk to your grandparents and invite them. I know Mila would like someone to play with—it’s boring if she’s stuck around adults all day. Plus, we invite the guests of the inn, so it’s like a big party. It’s warm, and we roast marshmallows over the fire. We have every kind of dessert you can imagine, and...” I stop, feeling embarrassed. “Of course, if you’d prefer to keep it just your family, I’d understand.”
She shakes her head. “Maybe you can talk to them?”
“Of course,” I tell her, backing out of the bedroom as the girls continue to play. “I’ll call them right now. We’d love to have you.”
As I return to the living room, I’m left with the nagging thought that Tyler would love the party. He’d love the laughs, the cozy evening as we flick on Christmas music and set to decorating the tree. The past three years, we’ve gotten lucky with the first snowfall landing sometime post turkey dinner and pre-Christmas tree decoration.
He’d love the finished product—the moment when we shut off all the lights except the tree and sit together as a little family, admiring the twinkle and glow while Bing Crosby croons in the background.
We’d put the girls to bed after that, and we’d share a glass of wine, I imagine.
We’d retire to our own bed where we’d make love until the moon rises high in the sky, and we’re both breathless with exhaustion.
Then, we’d fall asleep in one another’s arms and rest, peaceful, until the morning sun returns.
That’s what would happen...if Tyler loved me.
But, he doesn’t, I think, shaking off the daydream.
Though I’m lucky in many things, love isn’t one of them.
This Christmas, I’ll be spending another holiday climbing into bed at night, alone.