Page 58 of Christmas Crisis
Just after the mayor’s speech, I glanced over and saw Miranda’s phone light up with a FaceTime request from Stone. She ignored it and stuck the device in her pocket.
She did the same thing the following morning during breakfast, and again that afternoon while we were helping Marley and James put up more outdoor decorations.
I asked her about it as we were getting into bed Sunday night and she demurred, saying she’d been too busy in the moment to pick up. I wanted to press her on why she hadn’t tried to call him back—and I knew she hadn’t since we’d been together the whole evening—but I didn’t want to spoil the ending of what had been a near-perfect weekend.
Instead, I pulled her into my chest and threw my leg over her. She giggled as the mattress protested with a loud squeak.
“Is that another way you’re trying to sell the story, Bear?” she asked playfully before wiggling her midsection, causing evenmore noise from the mattress, not to mention a groan from the old bedframe. “Trying to fire James and Marley’s imaginations?”
“Such a troublemaker,” I admonished with a grin.
I wrapped my arms around her, calming her movements, but as she lay peacefully against me, I spared a thought for what my brother must be thinking.
Especially after our conversation this summer.
I could tell James wanted to ask more questions. About everything. I’d caught him staring at Miranda and me a few times, his features assessing and puzzled. But so far, he hadn’t asked me directly. I owed him an explanation, but I couldn’t talk to him about how things had changed with me without spilling the beans on the whole story.
On Monday, Miranda logged off an hour early and informed me that we were going on an adventure.
“I thought @theadventurousmiranda was hanging up her hat?”
She booped me on the nose. “This is a Coleman Creek brand adventure. No aesthetic edit required.”
Ten minutes after leaving the house, we pulled up in front of the bowling alley. I laughed. “You could have just said bowling.”
“We’re not bowling. I already told you why we’re here.”
I thought about it. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
We went inside, and Miranda waved to an elderly gentleman behind the desk before leading me to a far corner of the building, next to a bank of lockers. “There it is,” she announced.
In front of us was a gleaming steel pole with a large black phone box attached. A paper phone book with “1995-1996” printed on its spine sat on top of it.
“Pick up the handset and pretend to make a call,” Miranda instructed, holding up her phone. “And I’ll take your picture. Very meta.”
“I’ll do you one better.” I picked it up and produced a few coins from my pocket. After slotting the quarters into the massive box, I punched the buttons. A second later, Miranda’s phone buzzed in her hand.
“You have my number memorized? That’s hard-core, Bear.”
I rolled my eyes as she took my picture. “You do realize I grew up in a world where there were lots of these,” I said.
“Sure. But that wasyourchildhood. Totally different. I envy it.”
Without her needing to explain, I understood. The nine years I had on her meant she hadn’t had quite the analog childhood I had. But we both had an attachment to simple things.
“Maureen once told me she left Coleman Creek because it felt like the land that time forgot,” Miranda said wistfully. “And also that she came back for the same reason.”
I nodded. “Not gonna lie. It’s nice. The pace of things not being so quick to change. Like on Friday, when we were at The Landslide and I played a song on the jukebox. There was a diner in Seattle that had one when I was a kid, but I hadn’t seen another until I came here.”
“It’s the little things,” Miranda agreed. “The one-screen movie theater where you can’t choose your seat or buy tickets online. Stan at the hardware store, whose version of store credit is a spiral notebook reminding him who to bill at the end of the month. There’s a hobby shop in town that doesn’t accept credit cards at all, and there’s not a single parking lot or street in town where you need to pay to park. I don’t mind the city, obviously. I love living in Los Angeles. But if I had to choose, I’d say this is more my speed.”
Suddenly, her phone lit up with another FaceTime request from Stone. She frowned and declined it as I looked away. I’d noticed that he’d texted a few times since she got off work, andshe hadn’t responded to any of those either. Same as last night, I was curious but didn’t want to push her or make it weird.
“Will you ever move back here?” I asked, returning us to our conversation.
“I’m not sure,” she answered thoughtfully. “Both my sisters did, and knowing they’re here is a huge incentive. But I also feel like I’ve just begun a real life in Los Angeles. Having my job and shedding myOutdoor Barbieskin—I finally have some momentum there, like waking up from hibernation.”
