Page 16 of My Ex for Christmas
I’m surprised when a text comes back almost immediately. Like he was sitting there with his phone in hand, waiting for me to reply. It’s silly—I know he wasn’t. But tell that to the aforementioned herd of butterflies.
Brooks
That shit is nasty.
It lets me be a functioning human. It can taste however it wants.
Brooks
I guess there’s no hope of me convincing you to take another day off?
A valiant effort, but no.
I head out to the living room to grab my bag, but I stop short just outside my bedroom. I usually keep my space neat, though things were in slight disarray when I went to sleep last night. Except you wouldn’t even be able to tell. Because Brookstidied.
And sitting on my small dining table is a bright red poinsettia. A plant which was, as far as I can recall, not there yesterday.
While my parents were never big on Christmas, my one set of grandparents used to be. When I was little, I’d go to their house one evening mid-November and help them decorate their tree. My grandmother always had a poinsettia sitting in the middle of her kitchen table.
He remembered.
My throat tightens, but I ignore it. It’s because of my cold, that’s all. Definitely not because I’m feeling emotional.
Thank you for the poinsettia.
And for yesterday. I’m still sorry I bothered you.
Brooks
You can call me anytime, Hads. You know that.
At one point, I had known that. Brooks had been my first call, my safe space. But it’s been years. Still, he genuinely means what he says, and that’s intimidating as hell. So I do the only thing I know how—deflect.
Where did you even find a poinsettia on such short notice?
Brooks
I went to the florist in Sugar Peak this morning.
It’s only 8:30. What time did you go?!
Brooks
Around 6. She was there unloading her delivery and took pity on me.
I shake my head, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.
You always have been able to charm your way into anything, huh?
Brooks
What can I say? It’s a gift.
And a beautifulcurse.
Despite feeling miserable, even with cold medication running through my veins, I thought today might turn out alright. Except yet another interview is a bust, and now I’m in a foul mood, made worse by the fact I can hardly breathe through my nose.
I groan, leaning back in my chair in the office. “Are we ever going to find someone?”
