I raise an eyebrow. “She did?”
“Yeah,” she says with a crooked grin. “I know you’re not big on the whole family holiday thing, but… I thought I’d swing by and keep you company.”
“You remembered?”
“Of course I did. No need for explanations.” She smiles reassuringly.
There’s a beat of silence as I digest her words. Her presence here feels like a strange comfort, filling a space I didn’t realize was so empty.
“Guess I should thank you for saving me from my tragic lack of holiday spirit,” I say, half-joking.
“You’re welcome,” she replies, dropping onto the couch and kicking her boots off. Her legs fold beneath her as she sinks back, settling in. “Aren’t you gonna open your present?”
I glance at the gift bag and pull it closer. “What is it? A self-help book for surviving Christmas?”
“Close,” she teases. “Open it and you’ll see.”
I open the bag, finding a pair of cozy-looking socks with little footballs on them. Below the socks, a small card reads:For the wide receiver who’s always running.
I hold them up, fighting a grin. “Football socks? How festive.”
“And practical.”
“They’re perfect. Thank you.”
She laughs, and I can’t help but laugh too. It just happens—hers is the kind of laugh you’d recognize in a packed room, even ten years from now.
“They’ll keep your feet warm when you’re dodging your fan club.”
“Gonna be honest”—I raise my arms in surrender—“they might just come in handy this winter. You really put some thought into this, didn’t you?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, her smile warming the room in a way the socks never could. “You look like you could use some fun socks to brighten your days.”
I look her in the eyes, and I can feel my face turning cherry red. “Thanks.”
She smiles and reaches to squeeze my leg, then glances around the room.
“So, Serena wasn’t kidding when she said you were all alone at home.”
“Dad and Lina took the twins downtown to see Santa,” I explain, leaning back against the couch, letting out a slow breath. It’s not the conversation that’s making me nervous. It’s just how damn easy it feels to be here with Alli.
Her eyebrows lift in mocking disbelief. “You didn’t want to go?”
“Eh, not really my thing. No offense to Santa, but… not my idea of fun.”
Alli tilts her head, like she’s trying to understand me better. “Let me guess. Too many screaming kids? Or is sitting on Santa’s lap just a no-go for you?”
I let out a quiet chuckle and rub the back of my neck, trying to play it off. “Neither. Holiday stuff’s just not really my thing. Kinda hard to fake the whole ‘everything’s great’ vibe when it’s not, you know?”
The silence hangs heavy between us. It’s not awkward, but… it’s genuine. And then the words spill out of me before I even mean for them to.
“My mom reached out again last week.”
Alli’s brow furrows. “Oh…?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. They let her out on some rehab program since she’s doing better. She’s got her own place now. Ajob. And she still wants to meet up.” I run a hand over my face. “Maybe grab coffee… talk things through.”
“Do you believe her?” Alli asks, her voice gentle but direct. She’s not pitying me, just trying to understand.
