Page 21 of The Night Before Grumpmas
I let out an exaggerated sigh, my heels clicking on the pavement as I approach the front steps. “Yeah, I know. But still . . . it’s not exactly a confidence booster when your ex upgrades to your nineteen-year-old cousin.”
Val snorts through the phone. “Upgrade? More like downgrade. Please. Eleanor’s barely out of college—because they kicked her out—and she still thinks ‘adulting’ means remembering to put gas in her car. She’s still a child.”
I can’t help but crack a smile as I fumble with the key to the building’s front door. Val’s got a point. Eleanor is definitely a kid who’s not mature enough for . . . well, anything, not even marriage. My aunt should be looking into this bizarre relationship and me . . . well, I have to remember that I dodged a bullet.
Still, that little voice in my head—the one that’s really good at keeping me up at night—won’t stop whispering what-ifs. What if I hadn’t moved to New York for college? Would things have been different if I’d stayed local, closer to him? Could I have kept him interested? But I don’t even know how.
I push through the door and head toward my mailbox, my thoughts spiraling even deeper into the abyss of self-doubt. And then my brain pulls up that stupid podcast about how cheaters never change. What if he’d been cheating all along while I was at school? What’s wrong with me?
Val’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. “It’s not like you were planning on marrying him anytime soon. You wanted a long engagement, remember? Live, travel, enjoy life before settling down. Did you guys even go anywhere during that ‘long engagement’?”
I shrug, pulling out a stack of mail and sorting through it as I head toward the stairs. “He was always working,” I mutter, mimicking Chad’s lifeless tone whenever I suggested we do something fun.
“The family business needed more attention than usual,” I say, rolling my eyes at my own words.
Val huffs. “You always bought his excuses.”
Most of the mail is junk—flyers, bills, and more flyers—which I quickly toss into the recycle bin as I reach the staircase. Out of habit, I glance over my shoulder and, surprise, surprise—there he is. Grumpy McScowlyFace, lurking a few steps behind me, his expression as sour as ever.
Of course, he’s here. Why wouldn’t he be? Probably waiting for an excuse to complain about the hallway lights being too bright or how someone’s door wreath is “a fire hazard.” I resist the urge to groan and roll my eyes instead as I start my climb. It’s like he has a sixth sense for showing up at the exact moment my patience is running on fumes.
I pick up the pace, feeling his glare burning into the back of my head, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around.Nope, not today, Scrooge.I shake my head, focusing back on the phone call, realizing Val’s still waiting for me to say something coherent.
“They weren’t . . . okay, fine. Maybe they were excuses,” I admit, my voice softer now.
“When was the last time you went on an adventure, a vacation . . . anything?” Val asks.
“Iceland, with you,” I respond, pausing for a second as I remember the trip. I smile briefly before the memory sours. “Yeah, that was fun. Until I came back and found him screwing Eleanor.”
“Not your fault,” Val says firmly. “At least you weren’t living together.”
I keep climbing the stairs, but my pace slows. “He wanted his space,” I say, then suddenly, it hits me. “Oh my God, do you think it was so he could cheat? Ugh. Now there are so many things I’m grateful for.”
“Like what?” Val asks, curious.
I finally reach my floor and grin as I spot my Christmas wreath hanging on the door—bright red ribbons, glittery ornaments, and all. I glance around the hall, thinking about how I could make wreaths for the other three neighbors on my floor.After all, I agreed with the board to make this place a winter wonderland.
Mr. Grump Next Door will probably bitch about it, but I bet he’ll keep it in place. Deep down, I know he enjoys the holidays. I just need to figure out how to coax the holiday spirit out from wherever he locked it up.
“Did I lose you again?” Val’s voice snaps me back to reality, reminding me she’s still on the phone.
“Nope.” I shake my head, searching for my keys. “For starters, we never stopped using condoms. No STDs, thank God. And we never did oral—again, thank fuck, or I’d probably need antibiotics right now. I mean, it sucked because I really wanted him to, y’know, go down there, but . . . what can you do, right?”
Val bursts out laughing on the other end of the line, and for the first time in a while, I feel a little lighter. “Leave it to you to find the silver lining.”
“Hey, that’s me—the silver lining queen,” I say, rummaging through my purse for the apartment keys. I swear I had them just seconds ago. “I just won’t be sharing what I’m thankful for during Thanksgiving.”
“Can you imagine? ‘What are you thankful for, Noelle,’” she imitates Dad’s voice. “‘My cheating ex-fiancée didn’t give me syphilis, Daddy.’”
I burst into laughter, not sure if it’s her nonsense because it’s been years since I’ve called Dad Daddy, or the fact that . . . “Mom and Dad would lose their minds. Grandma Jane will probably disown me,” I say out loud.
“Dad would have a heart attack for sure. He still thinks I’m a virgin—even though I’m married,” Val laughs. Then, with a sudden shift in tone, she asks, “But seriously, is it true? He never went down on you?”
“Yep, he never did. He said oral was ‘icky.’”
Val gasps. “Was he at least a good kisser?”
“Not sure . . .” I reply, wondering about that part. “I mean, he’s the only guy I went out with since high school. I have nothing to compare him with.”
