Page 37 of The Kiss Class

“Thanks, Anna and Ilsa,” I murmur to their backs as we make a slow approach to where they jump up and down and point to a Frasier Fir.

“They care about you. I do, too and want to see you happy whether that means finishing school and starting your career, getting married someday and having a family, or a combination of the two.”

I tip my head toward my father’s shoulder in this rare showing of his softer side. “Thanks for saying that.”

“Just not with the Frenchman,” Dadaszek adds, voice low in warning.

With a frigid swallow despite my hot cocoa, I answer, “Of course not.”

After we cut down the tree and put it in Dad’s truck, the guys ride with him to head home and get it in the stand while Ilsa and Anna insist we make a stop at the Christmas Market.

Every year, Cobbiton’s town green transforms into a winter wonderland complete with pop-up shops selling handmade chocolates, cheese, and chips—though not all at once. There are soaps, knit socks, and customizable Christmas stockings. Plus, local creations that mostly involve our town’s main commodity: corn. You’ll find corn husk wreaths, dolls, and trivets. Kettle corn, herbed corn, and candy cane corn. Christmas treecornaments—not to be confused with the 4thon 4thcontest—corn-themed nutcrackers and snow globes, and so much more.

Some vendors make Lebkuchen—Ilsa’s favorite. Giant salted pretzels—Anna’s fave. As for me, I like thekartofell,the tornado potato spiral on a stick. Also, thebaumstriezelis really good. That’s a cinnamon chimney cake. I’d never pass upschneeballenwhich is a snowball pastry traditionally covered in powdered sugar or chocolate.

But our claim to fame is the living Christmas advent calendar countdown. On one side of the town square is a massive structure with little windows and doors, each designated with a number. Starting December first, each day one opens to reveal a quaint Christmas scene created by a Cobbiton resident or sponsored by a community group. For instance, when I was a kid, our Junior Explorers club created a penguin scene for day number seven.

Ilsa frowns. “Mrs. Gormely said this is the last year for thecountdown and possibly the market. The Cobbiton Community Activities Commission doesn’t have the funds to continue.”

“That’s so sad,” I say, feeling deeply, strangely carved out by this news.

Even though I haven’t lived at home since leaving for college, knowing that everything is the same here in Cobbiton brings me comfort when I’m not sure what my future is going to look like.

“So sad,” Anna adds.

I sigh. “If only we could save it.”

“Times change,” Ilsa says.

Isn’t that the truth? Even though my sisters and I are still very close, they’re married now. Their husbands are a central focus, and rightly so, but that also means the dynamic of our relationships is different. They no longer text our chat with the latest news. Calvin and Jack hear it first. The four of them are going to a tropical island while Dadaszek and I are headed to the frozen tundra of Colorado.

Not only do I feel slightly left behind, but a certain kind of loneliness presses against me from inside even though I’m surrounded by holly jolly festivity. A country band called “Cowboy Kringle” performs, people two-step, and others clap along.

I see how easily I could get lost in the past or cling to it. But I don’t want to have a blue Christmas.

I lift my elbows, and Badaszek One and Two link arms with me and we enter the market, prompting us to reminisce about coming here over the years and when we participated in the Christmas pageant as children.

“I can’t wait to bring our little one here someday,” Ilsa says.

We all go still. “Your little one?” Anna asks.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” I ask. Perhapsmy sister isn’t so much focused on the past as she is on the future.

“Oh, look! It’s your Knight in Ugly Christmas Sweater Armor.” Ilsa points at a man with brown wind-ruffled hair.

He pays for an ornament at the Dala Horse shop and glances our way. I catch his gaze and his smile chases his dimple.

Slotted between my two sisters, I try to make an about-face to avoid Pierre, but they resist my attempt to turn us around by stopping short. Their gazes land in the exact place I refuse to look. They lock on him and march me forward. I drag my feet, issuing protests from between clenched teeth.

“Guys, this isn’t a good idea.”

If Anna or Ilsa see me interact with him, they’ll get suspicious. This is why I suggested that I pretend to hate him. My stomach drops directly to the center of the earth.

“I want to see what the big fuss is about,” Ilsa says.

“And why you kept him from us,” Anna adds.

I gaze up at the sky and groan.

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