All my breath comes back to me, but I don’t say anything, because after everything I’ve learned tonight, the whole week of him holding back is clearer. And I get why he thinks he can’t, even if I want him to find another pocket of bravery and step forward toward me. But I don’t want to push him; I don’t want to confuse him. Even after so many days spent together, I still have that same instinct I had from the first moment we met—I want to be the buffer for him from everything that’s hard. And I don’t want to do anything that makes things harder.
“It’s okay,” I say.
He ruffles his hair, frustrated, but his gaze never drifts. Until he takes my hand again and walks me back to my house, the quiet of our footsteps and the breeze once more serving as our background.
But before we go up the steps, he faces me again. “This part I’ve been playing with you, it’s been such a relief ... But it’s notreallyme. I never learned how to be a whole person, you know? I grew around her; I’m only half of one person, so I’m lopsided now. I like you too much to ... I’m not good for you, Miriam.”
He waves the sentiment away like he’s said all he needs to. And while I disagree, I understand. Because the way he’s trying to protect me is exactly what I was just thinking I was doing for him.
“You don’t have to come back in,” I say, but he shakes his head immediately.
“No, please let me still be that guy again for tonight, okay? I can’t stand the thought of missing the last night of Hanukkah.”
“Even if my dad had to finish making the latkes?”
He snorts a laugh, and I’m so glad to see the full force of his grin back. Maybe he doesn’t believe this is the real version of himself, but there’s never been a person more solid in front of me.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, and he takes my hand back to lead us inside.
Chapter 6
It’s pouring when I arrive on his doorstep for Christmas Eve two days later.
Maybe it’s fitting. After we went back to the house that night, we both bottled everything back in, and now I’m about to step into a deluge. The comfortable cadence of eight nights of Hanukkah is being replaced by a whole new scenario: Christmas on delicate eggshells.
At least I’m grateful I now know why it’s delicate.
Cal’s parents open the door—it’s so obvious who they are, cautious optimism lining their faces the way it does Cal’s. His mother is almost as tiny as I am, but his father has the same build as his son.
“You must be Miriam,” his mother says, holding her arms out, tentative. I move forward to give her a hug, and I can hear the relief in her breath. “I’m Judy, and this is Charles. It’s so lovely to have you here.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, stepping inside. Their house is immaculate. It’s not fussy, but it’s put together. There’s Christmas decor everywhere—wreaths on every door; a porcelain Santa village lining the entry table; poinsettias bursting from every pot.
Everything ispleasant. They take my coat, they offer me a drink; they’ve put out a little organized plate of cheese andcrackers. I clock that my favorite cheese is on the tray and smile, knowing who must’ve asked for it.
And as soon as I think of him, I hear Cal coming just from the creak of the stairs. These old houses never let anyone move with stealth.
“I’m sorry, no one told me you were here,” he says as he lumbers his way down. He’s in a red-and-green Christmas-patterned sweater, his hair up in a matching scrunchie, his expression nervous. He’s, frankly, adorable. And a sharp reminder of everything he said couldn’t happen the other night.
“No, it’s okay,” I assure him. “Your dad’s already working on a drink; I’m great.”
“Your socks and shoes are soaked!”
I look down. “It’s fine,” I say, waving him away. “Don’t worry about it.”
He shakes his head and walks toward the living room. I follow him in and am immediately captivated. There are lights across every inch of the space, and in the center is a giant Christmas tree, laden with more ornaments than I’ve ever seen. Cal leans down and rifles through the presents.
“I don’t know atonabout Christmas,” I say, “but I’m pretty sure you don’t just get to scam whatever presents you want on Christmas Eve.” He snickers and stands up, holding out a small wrapped gift. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Nothing, it’s just a little thing for you.”
“You said no—”
“It’s really not a big deal.” He motions for me to open it, and I don’t want to argue. I unwrap it, and inside are some cozy-looking socks with bells and candy canes on them and the wordsFleece Navidad. “My parents love Christmas socks,” Cal explains. “They’ll have them tomorrow, so I gotyou some and I figured ...” He looks down at my wet feet. “Seemed like tonight might be a better time to open them.”
I squeeze his shoulder, too worried that if I try to hug him, I might find myself leaning into him again, even though he made himselfextremelyclear the other night. “Thank you.”
His mom pops in to tell us dinner is ready, so we follow her to the dining room.
