The streets are crowded, and it’s making me feel squirmy. I did as Cricket suggested and talked to my doctor to get some meds. I do feel like it’s helping a bit. It’s taking the edge off, although the doctor said I would still have to find some coping mechanisms.
I pull my jacket tighter around me. It’s the one Cricket borrowed, and it still smells like her. It’s making my insides flutter.
River points across the street. “We should go look at the Bellagio Conservatory. I heard they have an amazing Christmas display up right now.”
My stomach rolls. Christmas displays. Of course. I force a smile because they’re both looking at me expectantly, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin the evening, even though Christmas displays make me think of my mother… and the last thing I said to her before she died. I shake it off like I always do.
“Sure,” I say. “That sounds great.”
But Cricket is watching me closely, and I can tell she’s picked up on my hesitation. She always could read me too well. Her eyes soften with understanding, even though she doesn’t know the real reason I don’t like Christmas. I’ve never told her.
“The displays are supposed to be incredible this year,” River continues. “All these elaborate scenes with thousands of lights.”
“Sounds beautiful,” Cricket says, though she’s still watching me.
We start walking toward the Bellagio’s entrance. I’m doing my best to psych myself up for this. It’s just a Christmas display. It’s been eleven years since my parents died. It’s no big deal.
River pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns at the screen.
“Oh no,” he says, stopping in his tracks. “This is my agent. I really need to take this.”
Cricket stares at him. “Your agent? Why would he be calling?”
He holds up a finger and answers the call. “Hi, Jerry… What? No, that can’t be right…” River turns to us, covering the phone with his hand. “I’m so sorry. This might take a while. You guys go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”
He walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
Cricket shrugs at me. “That’s weird.”
Honestly, I’m relieved. Dealing with Christmas decorations will be easier with just Cricket because she understands.
Cricket slips her hand into mine. “Are you sure you’re okay going to look at the Christmas display?”
I know Cricket loves this kind of stuff, so I take a deep breath. Just the two of us. Somehow, that makes it feel less overwhelming. “Sure.”
The Bellagio Conservatory takes my breath away. It’s absolutely stunning. The entire space has been transformed into a winter wonderland, with towering trees covered in thousands of white lights, elaborate floral arrangements in reds and golds, and delicate glass ornaments hanging from the ceiling.
Cricket gasps beside me. “Oh, Micah. This is incredible.”
She’s right. It’s like stepping into a fairy tale. Despite mycomplicated feelings about Christmas, I can’t help but be awed by the artistry. Families are wandering through, taking photos, kids pointing excitedly at the various displays.
“Look at that tree,” Cricket says, pulling me toward a massive evergreen covered in red and gold decorations. “It must be twenty feet tall.”
We walk slowly through the displays, Cricket pointing out details I might have missed—the way the lights reflect off the glass ceiling, the intricate beadwork on some of the ornaments, the subtle way the white flowers are arranged to look like snow drifts. She takes a million photos with her phone.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly as we pass a nativity scene.
“Yeah,” I say, and I’m surprised to realize I mean it. “It’s beautiful.”
The crowds thin as we move deeper into the conservatory, and I notice a large structure up ahead.
“What’s that?” Cricket asks.
We step forward and find ourselves standing under an archway covered in white roses and holly, with a large sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above us. My heart starts racing, but it has nothing to do with Christmas anxiety this time.
Cricket looks up at the mistletoe then at me, her cheeks flushing pink. “Um, I think we’re standing under…”
Time slows for me as I gape up at the little sprig hanging above us. It would be so easy for me to press my lips to hers right now—to take her into my arms and pretend she’s mine. It’s socially acceptable. She’s actually looking at me as if she’s waiting for me to do it.
