Page 132 of Play With Me

Still no response.

“Dad?” Cap asks. He was asking me something. Guilt rockets through me. I shove my phone away.

“Sorry, buddy. I’m here.”

It’s been three weeks. I need to give it up.

CHAPTER33

Nora

I’m in the kitchen making myself a cup of coffee on my first Christmas morning ever on my own when my phone buzzes.

I thought it would be Sasha. She’s with her family at some seaside cottage in Norwich. Or at least, her sister and parents are. Her brothers are dealing with whatever crisis is going on back at home, apparently trying their best to shield her parents from it.

Sasha won’t elaborate, but I can tell it is bad. She hasn’t been sleeping well, and I even saw her wearing pajama pants out to the shop one day before they left, which was unheard of for a woman who never leaves her apartment without lipstick.

On the radio in the living room, the BBC is talking about the royal address that will be happening later today, and my little Christmas tree is twinkling. It will be a nice quiet day. Never mind that it will be lonely.

My phone buzzes a second time as I pick it up.

JUDE: Merry Christmas, Nora.

JUDE: Miss you.

I freeze.How am I supposed to respond to this?Then I silence my phone, set it down, and go back to finish making my coffee, my heart churning. I have to write him back. We’ve only texted a few times over the past several weeks, and it has mostly been perfunctory.

I’m just heading back to the living room with my coffee when I get my second surprise of the morning: a knock on the door.

My heart flies up to my throat. I actually consider, for the briefest second, that it could be Jude. The only other person who might be knocking first thing Christmas morning is Sasha. Or—

I pull open the door, my heart sinking when I see who is here.

“Merry Christmas,” Murray says.

I’m supposed to be getting over Jude. Iamgetting over Jude—which is a feat considering I’ve spent the past couple of weeks working with film footage of the man. I decided after hitting submit on my proposal for theLove and Losscontest, which I’ve calledFinding Eleanor, that whether or not I get in, I’m going to make Eleanor Cleary my thesis project. It is perfect, and hard, and feels right.

Murray thrusts out a little package at me.

“Oh!” I take it, too surprised not to. “I didn’t get you anything, Murray.”

“It’s fine,” he says in the kind of tone that indicates he’s used to it. “It’s just a mousetrap.”

I pinch my lips. “How thoughtful!”

“We’ve got a mouse problem, as you know.”

I nod, then think frantically about what I can give Murray. “Hang on,” I say. Then I dash into the kitchen and grab the box of hot cross buns I bought yesterday to have for breakfast. It’s fine, I’m just being sentimental. I prefer corn flakes anyway.

Murray looks like I’ve given him a new car. “Gosh, thank you, Nora!”

“You’re welcome. Why aren’t you home with family right now?”

To my great surprise, Murray smiles, revealing his extremely crooked teeth. “Can’t. My girlfriend’s expecting me.”

“Girlfriend!” I say, trying not to sound shocked.

“She doesn’t celebrate Christmas,” he explains. “So anyway, I’ve gotta run. We’re going to see Braindead Zombie Invasion down at the Bijou.”

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