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The Christmas Cove Craft Fair is crowded, and I grip my drink tightly as Charlotte and I wind our way through the throngs of people. The warmth is soothing on my hand, but the sugariness of my Grinch White Hot Chocolate—hold the peppermint extract, hold the peppermint schnapps—is making my stomach twist in knots.
Or maybe my stomach feeling all twisty has nothing to do with the sugar and everything to do with the fact that I just narrowly avoided having another very public meltdown because a horse-drawn wagon jingled by. It was like my brain froze, and all I could think of was how much fun Jake would have had. Not that I necessarily think that I could lure him away from snorkeling and surfing for a ride in a wagon. But the dreamer in me could imagine it clearly.
Charlotte managed to drag me away before I could say or do anything too crazy. It was under the guise of seeking out a hot beverage with less peppermint in it than the Candy Cane Steamers the rest of the ladies were getting excited over. But I can spot an intervention.
I shouldn’t be at a crowded craft fair. The smart thing would have been to stay at the cabin and nurse my latest hangover, but Kelsey was determined to get us started on her carefully curated Christmas activities list—which is almost as unattainable as Mia’s perfect husband criteria—and I didn’t want to wreck our first full day together in Christmas Cove. Even if I think her eagerness might be more related to guilt about tricking us into coming only to ditch us on the first night for a man than some deep-seated need to make this holiday perfect.
That is right. After Kelsey came breezing in late, she informed us that she couldn’t stay the night at the cabin with us, because she had promised Nolan she would stay with his family. It was all part of their Mistletoe Pact fake relationship thing. But she did show up bright and early to drag us to this craft fair.
I take another sip of my hot chocolate, tamping down on my thoughts before they can spiral out of control again. My stomach riots as the sugar hits it. This hangover is brutal.
I can’t quite remember everything we got up to last night—it gets a little foggy after we started a drinking game involving the movie Elf—which should probably worry me. Worse, I don’t even know if my drinking binge was about Simon kissing his ex-wife or because of Greg’s wedding.
Or which scenario is more pathetic.
What I do know is that I am definitely too old to be dealing with a second hangover like this. I might need the entire holiday to recover.
Charlotte and I find the rest of the gang where we left them. They are all clutching bright red mugs with what must be the Candy Cane Steamers they were raving about. By the way their heads whip around to look at us, it is obvious something has happened. My maternal instincts are tingling. And by the scrunched up, sucking-on-a-lemon look on Kelsey’s face, the latest emotional crisis involves her. I would bet a small fortune that it has something to do with Nolan Ascot. Maybe it is my own tangled feelings about Simon that have me on high-alert, but I am getting definite man-drama vibes.
As we approach, the conversation cuts off, and the group begins to move, gravitating towards the tables filled with handmade gifts that run the gamut from hand-sewn stockings to beeswax candles to baked goods—all with Christmas themes, labels and names, like the twelve scents of Christmas.
Everyone is acting awkwardly nonchalant, except for Marisol, who is grumbling under her breath as she tries to catch a strong enough cell signal to accomplish whatever work thing has her attention. I shoot a glance at Kelsey, trying to read her expression.
“It’s just a little scheduling drama.” Kelsey bumps her hip casually against mine, as if to say it’s no big deal.
Scheduling drama? I might be prone to overdramatizing things, but the vibe around me doesn’t feel like a glitch in planning. “This is a holiday.” A holiday without kids, which means we shouldn’t have any kind of schedule.
“Yeah, but there’s the whole Nolan complication.” Kelsey shrugs. “Our agreement involves multiple public appearances and family engagements.”
“Public engagements? Are you some kind of celebrity now?” This whole thing she has going on with Nolan is ridiculous. If the guy needs a date, he should just get a date and stop messing around with Kelsey.
Marisol snorts, still with her phone plastered to her ear. Fae raises her eyebrows at Jenna, who shrugs in response. Charlotte has a strange look on her face, which I suspect might be mirroring my own.
Kelsey ignores Marisol. “No. Nothing like that. We just really have to sell it. That’s why there’s the Mistletoe Pact.” My face must say exactly what I am thinking, because a blush spreads across Kelsey’s cheeks, and she waves her hand at me. “It isn’t anything weird. “Just intimacy rules to make things convincing without being awkward. It was Jenna’s idea.” Kelsey gives Jenna a significant look.
Jenna holds her hands up defensively. “Nothing about this is my idea. I merely suggested she needed to protect herself.”
Kelsey jumps in with a rambling explanation about how Nolan is sweet, and she doesn’t need to protect herself. She promises us that this trip is still about having an amazing Christmas with us, and that the Nolan thing is just a little distraction. But it’s a distraction that makes everything better, because his family has been coming to Christmas Cove since he was little, and he knows about all the things to do that only the locals know about.
Her explanation feels a little too frantic to be completely truthful. Not that I think she is lying, but it isn’t the whole truth. My maternal instincts scream that there is something going on, something much deeper.
We wander past a makeshift stage just as a band strikes up an upbeat tune. My heart squeezes at the medley of classic carols, and I can feel the knot of suppressed emotions unraveling. Carolling was one of the few activities that Greg really embraced. He didn’t actively avoid Christmassy things. He just didn’t seek them out. Except, he loved the carolling at his office’s annual Christmas party.
I swallow hard. His firm always puts on a good party, and I will never attend one again. Julia will go in my place. Suddenly, the crowd of people in their Christmas sweaters and Santa hats feels too close. The festive music feels like too much.
My heart stutters, then races as I catch a ghost of a sound. I try not to look, but my head swivels of its own accord. My eyes scan the edges of the square, my ears strain. The jingling of bells grows louder, even as my breathing speeds up. It wasn’t enough that I already almost melted down in the middle of the craft fair. The horse-drawn wagon full of laughing and singing families has to come around for another loop.
Watching is excruciating, yet I can’t pull my eyes away, like if I stare hard enough I will see Jake and Greg and my stepkids.
“I don’t know if we needed this much Christmas,” Fae murmurs under her breath. My head whips around to find her grimacing at a Santa Claus made from popsicle sticks dangling from her fingers.
Acid claws at the back of my throat and tears burn my eyes. I need to get out of this crowd pressing in on me, taking all my oxygen. There is a Santa Claus on our tree just like this one, only it was made by a six-year-old Jake. Images of Greg and I decorating the tree together, smiling at each other while the kids strung popcorn flash through my mind.
My eyes skitter away from the ornaments, searching for something that I won’t find, snagging on the pine bough garlands, the trees decorated with colourful lights, and the tables piled high with locally made gifts that scream festive cheer.
My breath catches, and I take another sip of my Grinch Hot Chocolate to cover the flare up of grief. My stomach protests, and I press my lips together, scrabbling for control over the tears suddenly pressing at my eyes. Even without snow, this place is a winter wonderland.
Jake would love this. Except the rational side of me, buried under the emotional wreck who is on the verge of sobbing at a Christmas craft fair, knows that he wouldn’t care.
I am completely overreacting. I know this on a cellular level, but I can’t seem to stop. It isn’t like this is the first time I have spent Christmas without my kids. Their dads have them every other year. Something just feels final about this one. Lillian and Abigail are adults, who knows how long it will be before they will always have conflicting plans for the holidays and stop coming home. And I am losing Jake to his dad. They just have more things in common. I don’t know the first thing about Lego, and Jake is obsessed. His dad gets him a new mom and takes him to Mexico.
“I shouldn’t be here.” It comes out as barely more than a whisper, but Charlotte reacts instantly, looping her arm through mine and spinning me away from the sight of families enjoying Christmas together.
My head swivels, finding the wagon again. Two enormous draft horses with giant Christmas bells on their harnesses plod along. The clip clop of their hooves pound in my head, mocking me with the thing that I want and can never have again.
“It’s not Christmas without my kids.” The words are ripped from my throat. This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, waiting for my family.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d stayed,” Charlotte says. She attempts to pull me away, but my feet are stuck to the cobblestones, and I refuse to budge.
“You would’ve just spent Christmas alone,” Jenna adds. “You’ve got us here. And fancy beverages.” She holds her mug up with a wry smile.
I want to scream that it isn’t enough, but the words are frozen in my throat, choking me. When the wagon finally disappears around the corner, I re-animate, turning to face my friends. “I hate peppermint, and everything here has peppermint in it.” My voice is reaching a hysterical pitch, and I am beyond caring who can hear me.
I suck in a shuddering breath, grasping at my control. Marisol has put her phone away and is advancing on me.
“And if I’d stayed, maybe I could’ve done something.” The truth bursts out of me. The problem isn’t that I am surrounded by mint flavoured drinks and happy families. The problem is that I didn’t do anything to stop the wedding. I fled here, instead of trying to take back control of my life.
“Done what?” Marisol plants a hand on her hip and locks her gaze with mine.
Jenna might be the logical one of our group, but Marisol is the practical one. Normally, it’s a nice counterbalance to my own maternal need to make everyone feel better. Today it is pushing me closer to the edge.
“I don’t know.” Clenching my fists, I turn away from them. I know what I should have done, but I don’t want to say it to them, because even I know it borders on crazy. “Crash his honeymoon. They said it was a family one. And I’m fam—”
“Let’s do secret Santas,” Kelsey blurts out. “We’re all struggling this year, and it would be so much fun.”
I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. All the reasons why I should be on the honeymoon are swept from my mind. The last thing that this situation needs is secret Santa gifts. I don’t have time to focus on finding a last-minute gift. I need to figure out how to stop a wedding that has already happened.
“We can draw names...” Kelsey's voice trails off.
“I can make names for us to draw.” Jenna’s voice is overly perky as she rummages in her purse, pulling out a notebook and pen.
I groan. “Don’t encourage her.” This is really happening. We are going to do secret Santa gifts, and just like with Greg’s wedding, there is nothing I can do to stop it.
“Come on,” Jenna says encouragingly. “We’re supposed to be having fun, and this is fun.” She tears off little pieces of paper with our names on them.
“And nothing says fun like adding a gift to our list,” Fae says half sarcastically. “Besides, you need something to focus on other than Greg getting a tan, Ruby.”
I glance at Charlotte to see how she is reacting. Fae has a point. I swallow the bitterness clogging the back of my throat. Maybe it is me who is looking at this all wrong. Maybe I need to stop fighting everything and just let the Christmas spirit of this place consume me.
An emotional flare up threatens to choke me, and I desperately gulp down my drink. My stomach protests but I shove it down along with my thoughts. I am focussing on the wrong things, and it is turning me into a crazy person.
Around me, the preparations for the secret Santa exchange continue, and I plaster a smile on my face.
Jenna uses the cup from her Candy Cane Steamer to put the names in. “If you pull your own name, just drop it back in and pick another.”
Kelsey goes first. “Alright, let the shopping begin.” She smiles brightly.
When it is my turn to pull a name, I get Charlotte. Which is good. I work with Charlotte, so I know her the best. I can just get her something that will go along with the gift waiting in my suitcase for her.
Just as we all split up to look for our secret Santa presents, Kelsey blurts out, “It has to be something sexy.”
There is a collective groan, which I completely sympathize with. Kelsey is famous for coming up with the wildest ideas. An image of us modelling our “something sexy” pops in my head, causing me to add my own groan to the general consensus.
I open my mouth to protest—my body just doesn’t do sexy anymore—then I snap it shut. An intervention involving six middle-aged women strutting their stuff in skimpy lace concoctions might be a little extreme but stuffing my muffin-top into lingerie is infinitely better than making a fool of myself on a Mexican beach—and not just because my body doesn’t fit into my bikini like it used to.