Page 129 of Holiday Romance
Christian grimaces, eyes darting between me and the road. “Alright,” he says, and I can tell by his tone he’s trying to lighten the mood. “So, how are you at long-distance?”
I clear my throat, covering my phone with my hand. I don’t know if I should be the one to tell him this, but I feel like he’s not going to let it drop. “It doesn’t matter. Andrew said he’s decided to stay in Chicago.”
“What? Since when?”
I feel a little justified hearing the bewilderment in his voice. “Since now, I guess. Because of me.”
“Huh. Okay.” A myriad of expressions cross his face as he works through that little update. “And you don’t like that?” he asks eventually.
“I don’t not… It’s a big thing,” I say. “A big choice. For him to decide to stay just because it’s where I am? That feels like a lot.”
“And you think you’re not worth it, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What, then?” There’s a frown on his face like he’s trying to figure me out. “Scared he’s going to change his mind?”
“It’s not a completely unrealistic outcome. This whole thing has happened way too quickly. Usually, you meet a guy, you hit it off and you try each other on for a while. See if you fit. This feels like we were moving along at this snail’s pace for ten years and suddenly, bam.”
“Bam? Did someone step on the snail?”
“No, the snail… No, I meant now it’s going too fast.”
He gives me a confused look. “Okay.”
I try again. “What I mean is he’s spent the last three days trying to get home to you guys. And watching you all together… He loves you. He loves this place. He’s always said that. And now he’s just going to throw that away for me?”
“See, now I think you’re giving yourselftoomuch credit,” he says. “It’s a difficult balance, I’ll give you that.”
“Christian—”
“He likes Chicago,” he interrupts. “He’s spent all his adult life there, just like you. And just like you, he moved there before he knew you even existed. I’m sure sitting next to you on an airplane once a year was thrilling, but I’m also going to take a wild guess that he didn’t stay there because of that. He has a life over there. He has friends, he has memories, he has his roommate's dog that he won’t stop sending pictures of to the family group chat. To be clear, the easiest option is for him to stay. And as to your weird snail analogy…” He stares out at the road, exasperated. “Yeah, fine, if you two just met three days ago, but you didn’t. You’ve known the guy for ten years. And I think he’s been a bit in love with you for ten years and he was just too stupid to see it. Why would you want to take it slow? I wouldn’t take it slow.”
“Being in a romantic relationship is not the same as being in a friendship. It could ruin a friendship.”
“So what?” he exclaims. “Get a new friend! What else are you going to do? Pretend you don’t know each other? Set him a series of tasks to prove himself?”
“No, I—”
“Because it sounds like you’re so worried about losing him that you’re not even going to try for something better with him and if I’d known talking to you this morning would have sent you into this spiral then I wouldn’t have done it. I would have kept my mouth shut, flirted with you to piss him off, and stolen some money from his wallet on the way out.”
I blink. “Flirted with me?”
“I’ve been threatening to flirt with you for years,” he says with a smirk. “Because I knew it would rile him up. Becauseyourile him up. I’m telling you, Molly, you’ve been it for him for a very long time. And I think he’s been the same for you.”
Has he been? My hands grow clammy as my brain does what it’s been doing ever since the mistletoe kiss and starts to filter through each and every moment when Andrew and I could have been more than friends.
“Okay,” Christian continues when I stay silent. “That’s a lie, I don’t know if he’s been the same for you. I barely know you. But Andrew’s—”
“It is,” I interrupt. “It is the same for me.”
Christian starts to nod when he catches sight of my face. “Are you…” He trails off, horrified. “Are you crying?”
“No,” I lie, pressing my hands to my cheeks.
“Ah here, Andrew’s going to kill me if you tell him I made you cry.”
“It’s not you,” I explain. “This happens a lot.”
