Page 7 of My Rival for Christmas

She smiles, gesturing to a cart I didn’t see next to her. A cart filled with hot chocolate.

Oh, thank God.The tension wanes from my chest.“I’d love a cup, thank you.”

She hands me one, the warm mug instantly seeping into my still-cold bones, and meanders away.

Looking down, I see a little festive gingerbread cookie done up to look like an elf, one arm hanging over the cup’s lip. Pinching the limb between my fingers, I bring the dessert to my mouth and bite the elf’s head off.

Humming at the spiced ginger mixed with the sugary sweetness of the icing. Delicious.

I might not like the holidays, but I sure do love their desserts.

I’m about to wash it down with some cocoa when something solid crashes into my side, almost knocking me over.

At first, I think the old lady has come back and rammed me with her cart, knowing about the contraband padding my pocket.

But then I realize it’s not hard metal knocking into my slightly numbed legs, but two arms wrapped tightly around my torso. Quickly chased by an excited, “You’re hereeee!”

A smile pulls at my lips at the familiar, bubbly voice.

Kylie.

“I’m here,” I echo back, enthusiasm I’m not entirely sure I feel coloring my tone, as I return her squeeze, careful of the hot chocolate in my hand, sinking into the comforting embrace I’ve wanted to feel since our call.

My best friend.

I don’t know who is holding on tighter. Kylie, because we haven’t seen each other in a few months, or me, because I just need the girl who’s always been my sister in all the ways but blood to be my strength for a few breaths.

I need someone to lean on. For just a moment. Then I can go back to being strong.

But not yet.

As Kylie rocks us back and forth, joy practically pouring out of her, I don’t have to be. And that is such a devastating relief, I almost buckle under the weight of that knowledge.

Tears prick my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep them at bay as we pull away, I muster my best, practiced smile.

It feels like a grimace.

And Kylie’s big brown eyes are orbs of concern as she looks at me. One look. That’s all it takes for me to really know why she didn’t tell me to fuck off when I invited myself on this trip.

She knows I’m on the verge of a breakdown.

I pull away, hugging the mug of cocoa to my chest. Miraculously, none of the sugary liquid spilled in our collision.

Good. I focus on the mug as I take a slow, meticulous sip. I try to convince myself it’s because I don’t want to burn my tongue with the scalding temperature and not because Kylie arches a perfectly waxed, sepia-shaded brow at me, knowing exactly what I’m doing in my deflection.

That’s the thing about knowing someone through all the phases of your life—they won’t let you hide from them.

I take another measured sip.

“Paige.” She shakes her head, and pieces of her wavy light brown hair get stuck in her lip gloss.

“Have you tried this hot cocoa? It’s amazing.” You’d be surprised how many places don’t do it right. Using water instead of milk, not including marshmallows… I’m not just saying that to distract from a conversation I’m not ready to have.

Not right now. Not ever.

I’d prefer to shove it in the box where all my regrets live, locked away in the recesses of my brain where I keep them buried, in the hopes one day they all will just suffocate and die.

Kylie plays along. “I haven’t, but where does it rank on your list?”

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