Page 135 of Holly Jolly July

Christmas can still be a great time of

year. I don’t know why your wife left

you, especially so close to Christmas,

but I do know that you have many

great years ahead, many more Christmas

memories to make with someone special.

If you choose to let them in.

James grips Annie’s shoulders, looking into her eyes.

JAMES

Annie, my wife didn’t leave me...

She died.

Chapter 23

Ellie

It turns out that lube is really hard to clean off a hardwood floor. We spend most of our time between that and the flour. By the time we’ve unstrung the lotion-covered condoms it’s getting close to midnight.

“I guess we should pack up the Christmas stuff now,” I say, reaching to unplug one of the strings of lights we’d used to entrap Matt.

Mariah lays a hand on my forearm. “Leave it until tomorrow.”

I give her a small smile. “One more night of Christmas?”

“One more night of Christmas,” she agrees.

“Speaking of Christmas, I almost forgot.” I set the lights down to grab a small box I’d hidden behind the tree. Its shiny silver paper is punctuated with a bright red bow almost as big as the box itself. I hand it to Mariah, and she turns it over in her hands as if she’s never seen a Christmas present before.

“For me?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

I clench my fists. “Yeah.”

Her brows furrow. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay.”

“But now I feel shitty.”

I can’t help the small giggle that bubbles in my chest. “A classic Christmas feeling, what I call Christmas Gift Reciprocation Guilt. Usually, I buy a bunch of boxes of chocolate and have them ready to go in case someone unexpectedly gives me something.”

“Wish I had a box of chocolates right now.”

“Open it!” I do a little jump, unable to wait any longer.

She gently peels away the paper like a practised grandmasaving it for next year. The plain black cardboard box opens to reveal two bracelets, one with anxand the other with ano.

Mariah presses a hand to her mouth but doesn’t move to pick them up. I do it for her, taking thexand clipping it around her wrist. She takes mine and does the same. We hold our wrists together, a matchingxando, the silver reflecting the twinkling green and red lights.

“Thank you,” she manages, her eyes glassy.

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