Page 45 of Christmas Coffee

“So,” she cocks her head to the side and laces her fingers together, before tucking them under her chin, “you wouldn’t care if that slutty brunette was hanging all over him?”

I straighten in my chair and lean forward. In a clipped tone, I ask, “How do you know about her?”

“I’ve seen her talking to him, Nova. She hangs around trying to get him to ask her out.”

I look at the floor. “She’s his age.”

Tinselly kicks me under the table. “You’re his type.”

“Oww, Tinselly. Quit it.” I rub my shin.

“No, I won’t. Listen to me, Nova.” She reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist. “You only have a limited number of chances, Nova. Don’t let your shot at happiness pass you by because he’s not exactly the same age as you.”

I glare at her. “He’s older than you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I counter, “He’s thirty-five.”

Her head jerks back. “Really?”

“Tinselly, see?” I sigh and pull out of her grip. “It wouldn’t work.”

Tinselly bobs her head side to side as she waves a finger at me. “Uh, you’re the one that says age is just a number created by corporations to classify people like livestock.”

I snort. “I said that when I was fourteen.”

Tinselly touches my shoulder gently. “Yeah, but you still believe it. If he’s the guy, who cares how old he is.” She sees the worry on my face. There’s so much she doesn’t know.

“I’ll think about it.”

She drops her hand and gives me a look. “Fourteen-year-old Nova didn’t think about things.”

Her words pick an old wound open. She doesn’t have any idea she did it, but I can’t rein it in. Whatever broken pieces remain inside of me spark to life and rear up. I slam my hands on the table and stand abruptly. “Fourteen-year-old Nova is gone. This is what’s left, Tinselly. This is what I am now. Take it or leave it, but don’t become nostalgic about a past that didn’t exist. I need to grab my dinner and head back to the Hut.”

Tinselly watches me from the little table as I get in line at Nathan’s. She’s rooted everything out, except the one thing I thought she’d notice first. My car. My coat is in there, so is my blanket, and my sheets, and all of my clothes. I’ve had them neatly packed in the trunk for over a week now. There are a few frightful hours at night that I close my eyes and hope a deranged hobo doesn’t light my car on fire, or worse. When I walked away from Ben, I lost everything. It’s been hard, but I’d rather get hypothermia than go home to Mom. I can’t step inside that house again. I won’t do it.