The exact picture of the life I thought I wanted once.
The exact picture that scares the shit out of me now.
After we eat, we sit by the little tree.
The lights blink slow and lazy.
The fire cracks.
Some old Christmas special plays on mute.
The room feels… warm.
Too warm.
Like a memory instead of real life.
She finally says it.
“So… what are we doing?”
Not accusing.
Not sharp.
Just tired.
My stomach drops.
There it is.
Impact.
I’ve known this conversation was coming for weeks.
I just kept pretending if I moved slow enough, we’d never reach it.
I rub my hands together, buying time.
“I’m heading out after Christmas,” I say.
She goes still.
“Out where?”
“West for a bit. Maybe Colorado. Maybe farther. Just… go. Clear my head.”
The words sound colder out loud than they did in my head.
She nods slowly.
Processing.
“And… your mom?” she asks quietly. “You said she wanted you home for Christmas.”
“Yeah.”
A beat.
