Page 14 of Snowed In
“How long’s a while?”
“Since forever,” she says, and it takes me a second to understand her words.
“You’re joking? Since the wedding?”
“Didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms with everyone.”
“But that was years ago.”
“I remember,” she says testily, and I fall quiet as I try to recall what happened after she left. Not much if I’m honest. I was hungover enough on the day as it was, and I just remember a lot of people standing around whispering. Beyond my enjoyment of something happening to liven things up a bit, I never gave it much thought except for…
Well.
My eyes drift back to Megan as she jabs the button to cross the road, the image of her in that wedding dress suddenly as clear in my mind as if it had happened yesterday. I swear even now I can still feel the heat from that afternoon, the rigidness of my suit. I’d slipped away from the church to get a few minutes to myself and that’s all I thought I wanted until she came bursting through those doors like an unstoppable storm.
A storm in stilettoes, but a storm nonetheless.
It was the moment she went from being someone I barely thought about to one of the most interesting people in my life. And then she disappeared.
“I promised Mam I’d go back this year,” she says, dragging me back to the present. “But between the possibility of bumping into Isaac and seeing everyone else, I keep thinking of excuses not to.”
Isaac. The ex. Another kid at the front of the class. This one not as cute, though.
“He still hanging around?”
“As far as I know,” she says. “Our parents are still friends.”
“Can’t you stealth it or something? Sneak in in the dead of night and out again.”
“Maybe. And yeah, if Aidan wasn’t coming back. But he is, and Mam wants to make a big thing of it and…” She sighs. “You’re right. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s been years, but I’m just worried that I’ll go back, and it will seem like five minutes. And my therapist wouldnotbe happy if I regressed. He said I made great progress, and it’s incredibly important to me that I’m his favorite patient.”
“A normal thing,” I agree. “Well, hey. I’m not one to talk. I’m thinking about not going home either.”
“For Christmas? How come?”
“Just…” I try to think of an explanation that doesn’t head into pity party territory. “Family.”
She waits for me to continue, only to nod sagely when I don’t. “Family can be hard.”
“Yeah.”
A beat of silence. “Not as hard as my thing, though.”
“No.” I fight back a smile. “Runaway bride definitely wins.”
“We should have Christmas together. Be each other’s excuse.”
“Excuse?”
“Yeah. ‘My friend wants me to stay in Dublin’ and so on and so forth. We could have takeout. Watch some movies. Get wine-drunk.” She sounds wistful. “No showboating. No fake smiles.”
“No questions about life choices—”
“Or life partners,” she adds. “Just all the good stuff and none of the bad stuff. A black sheep Christmas.”
“Is that what we are?”
“I’ll buy us an ice-cream cake,” is all she says, and leads me across the road.
