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Hannah
Iwake up, feeling particularly stupid for the way I acted—or rather, overreacted last night.
Mara texted me in the middle of the night to let me know that she was able to get me on a flight from Boise to Vegas this afternoon.
It’s for the best. Honestly, the longer I stayed, the harder it was going to be to leave at the end of the month anyway.
I call Uncle Bob and ask if he would please give me a ride to the airport.
He says he’ll pick me up in thirty minutes, and I take my bag and make my way downstairs.
Mom, Aunt Trixie, Alice, Norah, and Willa are all in the kitchen, waiting for me to appear.
“Good morning,” Willa greets.
“Look, guys, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I acted like a fool last night, and I’m sorry I’m cutting out before Christmas.”
Willa picks up a box from the island and brings it to me.
I tug at the bow and open the top.
Tucked inside is the emerald-green gown I purchased for the ball.
I sigh.
Then, I close the box and set it on the kitchen table.
“I can’t believe you’re going to miss it. After all the work and planning we did,” Willa says.
I bring my eyes to her. “It’s going to be magical. Every detail has been covered. I know it’s going to go off without a hitch. Send me lots of photos.”
She nods.
“Can you return that to Lydia for me? I know it can’t be refunded because she did alterations. Just tell her to try to resell it or use it as a sample.”
“Sure,” Norah says, and then she picks up another box and hands it off to me.
“What’s this one?” I ask.
“We have no idea. It was left on the stoop, and it has your name on it,” she says.
The box is much heavier than the dress box, so I set it down and proceed to open it.
I reach inside and pull out a beautiful snow globe. I wind the music box, and it starts to play “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Inside is a hand-carved tree house, a slice of pizza, and a box of popcorn. I pick it up and shake it and watch as the snow swirls.
“What are those?” Norah asks as she watches over my shoulder.
“Mistletoe berries,” I say.
Willa walks over and picks up a slip of paper from the floor. “This fell out,” she says as she hands it to me.
I unfold it and read the handwritten note.
Hannah,
I read somewhere that according to a study conducted by a neurologist at Syracuse University, it only takes one-fifth of a second to fall in love. The rest of the time before we admit it to ourselves is just our brains in denial, trying to fight it.
I don’t know if the study is accurate or not. All I know is that it took me exactly thirty-three kisses under the mistletoe to fall in love with you. I know that because I saved every single one.
