Festive. That’s one word for it. I walk deeper into the room, my throat tightening. A week ago, this would have been my dream—an explosion of Christmas spirit everywhere, no empty spaces. But now, all I can do is compare it to the King’s house. Their decorations had been warm, elegant, alive with memories. This feels more like a theme park—loud and hollow.
“Well, it’s something,” Mirna says, abandoning her suitcase near the door and heading into the kitchen. I follow, still holding Maybelle’s carrier, the garish holiday cheer pressing in on me.
The kitchen’s no better. A round table for four is in the breakfast nook, a two-foot ceramic snowman with multiple smaller snowmen crowded around him sits in the center. A painting of Santa outside a snow-drenched building hangs on the wall next to a picture of a Hanukkah menorah. Even the dish towels are imprinted with holiday sayings like Santa, I Was Framed and My Bells Don’t Jingle Without Coffee.
It’s everything I thought I wanted. So why does it feel so wrong without Alex?
We poke our heads into a bedroom off the kitchen—a king-sized bed, dresser, and bathroom—every square inch smothered in Christmas cheer.
Upstairs, tucked into the attic, we find another bedroom with a full-size bed and the tiniest ensuite bathroom I’ve ever seen. Corner sink, cramped toilet, and a shower that looks only slightly bigger than a waterslide tube. The decorations up here are toned down, with a red and green quilt on the bed, and a throw pillow that says, Ho Ho Snow.
“Well, obviously, Finley gets this room,” Barb says.
“No way,” I say. “There are only two bedrooms. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Neither one of us wants to climb these stairs,” Mirna says sensibly. “There’s a king-size bed downstairs. We’ll share.”
I don’t argue, not when my throat feels raw from holding back tears. I set the carrier down, then perch on the edge of the bed, still in shock that they’re actually here, that they came all this way because I couldn’t handle staying.
“We still need to rustle up food for Christmas dinner,” Mirna says briskly, standing by the door. “Which means we need to find an open market.”
The thought of pushing through a crowded store makes me want to collapse. “Don’t do that. Let’s go out to eat. My treat.”
“You’re not paying,” Barb says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Alex will pay me everything we agreed to. I can afford it.” My voice cracks on his name. I have no doubt he’ll follow through, even if we hadn’t had a contract.
The two women exchange a glance that feels heavy with unspoken things, then Barb softens. “Alright. Do you want to get settled for now?”
My gaze falls to the pet carrier. Maybelle’s quieted down, but she’s been in there for hours. “I need to get Maybelle some food and water.”
“Already taken care of,” Mirna says. “We brought some food with us. It’s in my bag. But we don’t have any litter or a pan.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll get her some litter soon, but for now, I’ll just keep her in here with me.” I grimace. “Do you mind if I stay up here for a little while?” My guilt is back in full force. They flew all this way to rescue me, and here I am asking for space. “I need to take a minute to…”
“Process,” Mirna finishes gently.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Her eyes soften. “We’re here for you, Finley. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, grateful and empty all at once.
Mirna goes downstairs then comes back with the Ziploc bag of food and two bowls. After they both study me for a long moment, they leave the room, shutting the door behind them.
I take a deep breath, glancing around. A dormer window overlooks the square and drawers are built into the sloped walls beside the bed. It’s small, but cozy. And unlike the rest of the house, tasteful. Still my gaze keeps drifting to the empty corner where Alex’s tree should be. Will he remember to water it? Will he even want to?
I let Maybelle out of her carrier, and she struts around the room, sniffing like she owns the place, as if deciding whether it meets her standards. After I fill her food and water bowls, I sink into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. My chest is so heavy it feels like I could sink through the mattress, through the floor, all the way into the earth.
How could something that felt so perfect fall apart so fast?
I curl up on my side, and there’s a soft thud as Maybelle hops up beside me. She presses against my stomach, her warmth seeping into me. My hand slides over her fur, and her steady purr vibrates against my palm. For such a moody cat, she always seems to know when I need her.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper.
She doesn’t need to say anything. I already know the answer I don’t want.
Alex will come back to Atlanta in a week. Maybe he’ll pretend the last few days never happened. Or maybe he’ll stop coming into the shop altogether, so he doesn’t have to see me and remember the mistake of bringing me home.
