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I tense at the chimes of the video chat trying to connect. It echoes through the cabin, reminding me it is Christmas Eve, and I am completely alone. It has been hours since Charlotte and Marisol scooped me up off the beach and brought me back to the cabin. Where I have been hiding ever since.
I missed the Santa Parade and the Festival of Lights Sail Past down at the harbour, but I can’t bring myself to care. My heart is yearning for something that it can never have. Nothing I do satisfies the aching void that is consuming the centre of my being. Even my usual go to—chocolate—gives me zero relief. The sweetness only intensifies the persistent, low-level nausea that has settled in my stomach.
The rest of the gang left about an hour ago for the Coastal Light Tour on a converted 1912 tugboat. I was supposed to go, but I didn’t even have enough energy to get up off the couch, never mind actually lace up my shoes and put a smile on my face.
The only reason they agreed to go was because I insisted that I would be fine once I had a video chat with Jake or Lillian and Abigail. I just couldn’t face them watching me with sympathetic looks all evening.
What a crock that turned out to be.
I snap my laptop shut, cutting off the irritating sound. Three kids. I have three kids, and not even one is available to video chat with me.
I really shouldn’t be surprised. The whole thing was a long shot, a desperate attempt to reach out for something beyond the fist of pain gripping my chest. It is Christmas Eve, and they are all busy celebrating.
It was a stupid plan. I know that, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. It wasn’t like Jake was going to just randomly be in the lobby when I called. We have a chat scheduled for tomorrow morning, assuming Greg and Julia bother to take Jake to the lobby to say Merry Christmas to me. I ball my hands into tight fists, then release them, extending my fingers as hard as I can before balling them up again. I need to stop projecting. Just because Greg turned out to be a crappy husband doesn’t mean that he isn’t a good father. He will have Jake in the lobby at the appropriate time tomorrow.
I need him to.
As for my girls, who knows where they are. I lost track of their travel plans for the holidays shortly after I arrived in Christmas Cove. They are adults, and they don’t exactly give me regular updates. They are probably relaxing in the hot tub after a fabulous day of skiing. I could stalk them on their social media, but that would take energy that I don’t have.
And I don’t want to see the evidence of them having fun. Don’t get me wrong. I want them to have fun. I just don’t want to know about it at this moment.
Shivering, I pull my shawl up around my neck. The temperature has dropped significantly since this afternoon and the dampness has me chilled through. Instead of sitting here, wallowing in my misery, I should get up and stoke the fire. Or I should go in the hot tub—anything other than huddling on the couch next to our pathetic Christmas tree.
After the Amber drama, we never really finished decorating it properly, and our handmade decorations look pitiful rather than whimsical, or whatever look Kelsey was aiming for. Several of the pipe cleaner wreaths are misshapen, like a five-year-old made them instead of a grown woman, and Fae’s paper swirls are sagging.
It could be that this tree is the perfect metaphor for me.
A powerful gust of wind shakes the cabin, making the sensor lights on the porch flicker. I pull my shawl tighter around me. Aside from the faint crackle of the dying fire and the distant crash of the surf, the cabin is oppressively silent, amplifying every noise.
My eyes stray to the window as the cabin shutters under another stormy blast. The blackness makes me wrap my shawl even tighter. There isn’t a single star in the sky, which doesn’t bode well for the Coastal Light Tour. I can’t imagine that the ocean is particularly tranquil tonight. Maybe staying here was the right choice, rather than the weak one.
Guilt stabs me directly in the solar plexus. I can pretend that the incoming storm is proof that I made a good decision, but I know deep in my soul that refusing to go was selfish. My friends gave up their plans and left their families behind to ensure that I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas, and I have been less than grateful.
In fact, I have been downright miserable just because a sexy boy didn’t want me the way I wanted him.
I push myself to my feet and pad across the floor in my thick wool socks. I can’t put off stoking the fire any longer, and I can’t keep drowning in misery. Greg chose Julia, and I need to get over that. And Simon might have given me the best sex of my life, but that doesn’t mean there is anything substantial between us. Certainly nothing that should send me spiralling into the depths of a depression that even chocolate can’t cure.
I rake the coals into a neat pile and place a couple of extra logs on the fire. A nostalgic smile flits across my face as I remember Simon kneeling there on my first night. It was only six days ago, but it feels much longer. So much has changed. I have come full circle from the jaded woman with a bleeding heart, mooning over Greg choosing Julia, right back around to being a sad woman with a crushed heart, reminiscing about what I almost had.
Maybe it could have been different if I had been stronger or braver. Maybe if I hadn’t had so many pieces of my confidence chipped away by men who decided they liked someone else better, I would have been able to trust Simon more. Given us a chance.
Maybe I could have let things develop naturally, instead of forcing them into something more than they were. If I hadn’t been so focussed on finding a love to replace the one that I lost, I wouldn’t have strangled it before it even had a chance to sprout.
I shake my head. I could go on about maybe forever, and it wouldn’t change a single thing.
Besides, things really aren’t that bad. I need to quit whining and be grateful for what I have. It isn’t like I am spending Christmas alone. My friends will be back in a few hours. We will exchange our secret Santa gifts, drink Kelsey’s fancy Christmas cocktails, and watch cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies.
It will be enough.
My stomach growls, and I head to the kitchen to find some snacks. The nauseated feeling has eased enough that I could munch on some of the chips and chocolates Charlotte very thoughtfully stocked up on before they left.
I am not going to pretend that I am fine. There is still a dull ache in my chest, like too many tears are dammed up there, and the hollow feeling in my stomach has lessened only slightly, but the darkness is easing, and I am okay. A ghost of a smile curls my lips as I wander back into the living room with my snacks and a bottle of Marisol’s ice wine. The fire is blazing nicely, and it is time for me to find a sappy romance movie.
A hard blast of wind triggers the motion lights outside, and I gasp. Dropping the food on the coffee table, I dash to the window, kneeling on the couch to peer outside. It is snowing! Real snow with large, fluffy flakes, not the sleet we usually get. It is going to be a white Christmas.
My phone buzzes on the table. Lillian is calling me back. I almost dance around the room with excitement as I connect the video chat. “It’s snowing!”
“Hey Mom, we’re...” Lillian’s words are garbled, and her face freezes.
I plop down on the couch, fighting my frustration at the Wi-Fi, as I wait for the video to reconnect.
“Merry Christmas,” I say as soon as Lillian’s face reanimates.
“We’ll... Tomorrow...” Abigail peeks over her sister’s shoulder.
The connection is terrible, and I can only make out every other word that Abigail says. Then the video freezes again. I grip my phone tightly. Fighting the urge to chuck it. I just want a few minutes to connect with my daughters.
In a desperate attempt to squeeze the tiniest bit of Wi-Fi connection out of the air, I hold my phone up, waving it around like an idiot.
When the connection finally drops, I flop down on my couch, letting my phone fall. The pain in my chest deepens. The tears are no longer stuck there, instead they press at the back of my eyes. I stare up at the ceiling, refusing to succumb. I don’t need to cry. Everything is fine.
In a desperate attempt to stop the torrent of emotions threatening to erupt, I rip open a bag of chips, stuffing a few in my mouth before taking a swig directly from the wine bottle. I can watch a movie and bury my feelings with salt and wine. As I reach for the remote, my phone chimes again. Hope glimmers, and I scramble for it. Lillian and Abigail are texting me. If the Wi-Fi gods won’t let us video chat, then we can text. And the great thing about texting is that I won’t have to pretend that I am not stuffing my face with chips.
I swipe open my phone, and disappointment grips my stomach. It isn’t my daughters trying to connect with me. It is Charlotte. She must sense a shift in the ether.
CHARLOTTE: Are you seeing the snow?
My fingers feel thick, and I struggle to tap out my reply.
ME: It’s unbelievable! Kelsey must be jazzed about a white Christmas!
CHARLOTTE: Kelsey is hanging in
CHARLOTTE: How about you? Did you get a hold of your kids?
My phone clatters onto the table as my fingers go numb. I can’t answer that. I am barely holding on to my control. Speaking the truth will open the dam for sure, and I might just take my frustration out on our pathetic tree with its sagging decorations. I close my eyes, pressing my hand against my pounding heart. After a moment, I pick up the phone with a shaking hand. They will be waiting for an answer.
ME: Got a hold of the girls
It isn’t completely a lie.
CHARLOTTE: That’s great!
ME: How is the cruise?
CHARLOTTE: That’s the thing...
Dread grips me, making me shiver. Whatever Charlotte is typing is going to be bad.
CHARLOTTE: Because of the weather, the skipper says we can’t make it home tonight
No. No. No. I let the phone drop again. It clatters on the table, then slides to the floor. Hot tears burn my eyes as I swipe around for it. It chimes twice as I scoop it up.
CHARLOTTE: We’ll be home first thing in the morning
KELSEY: Secret Santas will happen!
Oh God! Who cares about the stupid secret Santas? I quickly type my response back to Kelsey and hit send before I can change my mind.
ME: Can’t wait
I follow my words up with a grimacing face emoji, hoping that she will recognize it as a joke. It might be enough to convince them that I am fine with spending Christmas alone, because I don’t need to wreck their Christmases anymore than I already have.
I need to wipe tears off my screen to keep typing. The fact that I am officially spending Christmas alone is hitting me right in the gut. I wasn’t excited about the secret Santa gift exchange. In fact, there is a not insignificant list of icky chores I would rather do, but now I want the secret Santa gift exchange to happen more than anything.
Selecting both Charlotte and Kelsey, I send a group text. For once, I am grateful that texts are terrible at projecting emotion. They can’t know how rattled I am. It would only ruin their night, and there is nothing they can do.
ME: I’ll see you in the morning
This time I set the phone carefully on the couch beside me. Wrapping my shawl tightly around me to ward off the chill in my heart as well as the room, I pull my knees up underneath me, then blindly grab the remote and poke at the buttons until the TV comes on. Without one thought for my muffin top, I rip into the bag of chips like I haven’t eaten in days.
After all the fussing and the planning, I am spending Christmas alone.