Page 28 of Love Letters to Christmas

“Yes, I know. Pretty fast marriage, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Okay. Do you have a terminal illness?”

“Only if chronically avoiding my own needs is terminal.”

My turn to hum as I sip my drink. “Yes, I think it is.”

“Ah well. We had a good run, didn’t we?”

“No,” I snap. “No, we didnot‘have a good run’.” Raking in air, I attempt to control my tone, my raging emotions, myeverything. Nothing stops the feeling that everything is falling apart. It’s like I’m standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, unable to move, as I watch chunks of dirt tumble from beneath my shoes. “In three years, this is the first time we’ve ever done anything together in person. In three years, I have seen you less than thirty-six times.”

“Fewer.”

“What?” I reach for a brown paper napkin, in case the tears I feel threatening to break free get any wild ideas to ruin my makeup.

“Fewer. The number of times we’ve seen each other is quantifiable, so you use fewer instead of less.”

If Taco Bell still had sporks, I think I might be inclined to stab her with one. “You are missing the point.”

“I’m…not. I’m just bad at letting people get close. It usually ends poorly, and I don’t want what we have to end.” She scrapes the bottom of an empty nacho cheese cup. “You’re the only person I invited to my wedding beyond my parents, the only friend I have who didn’t start as a client. You matter to me.”

“You matter to me, too. And I’m…I’m scared that if I no longer have things to fill the quiet with, we’ll die out.”

Unbidden, Ceres leans toward me and rests her head against the top of mine. “We won’t.”

My chest constricts, and I crumple my napkin. “How can you be so sure?”

“Neither of us has many friends. We’re kind of stuck with each other.”

I free a wet laugh. “You’ve got a whole husband now. Sooner or later, I’ll—” My voice breaks. “—become obsolete.” I’ve already felt the distance I’ve fought against widen with the addition of Mars. He makes Ceres happy in ways I’ve never been able to achieve.

And I know I’m not practiced where it concerns people. I know all I have going for me is my sunny attitude. But…still…very few things hurt more than seeing someone else—someone you care about—find everything you’ve ever wanted without you.

I am so, so happy that Ceres has found an uncanny love that matches her.

I guess I just wish I could have been more a part of thatjourney, like she’s been such a foundational part of mine.

I am sotiredof feeling utterly useless.

I want to be loved, cherished, and irreplaceable, too.

It’s so hard to not be selfish when I’m so scared.All. The. Time.

“I don’t talk that much,” Ceres says, as though I haven’t noticed, “but I will always be happy to sit with you in the silence.”

It hurts to swallow. “I don’t do well with silence. It always feels…angry. Somehow.”

Ceres waits several long moments before saying, “Does this feel angry somehow?”

Fair game music, countless voices, and endless laughter hardly counts assilence, I think. And it’s not even the anger that matters. It’s my response to it. It’s the fear.

Currently, I’m terrified.

That my parents will appear out of nowhere.

That my only friend will slip away.

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