Hugs were exchanged, warm bodies huddling together against the chill, and I stepped back slightly, letting Maren, Adrian, and Miles approach. They wrapped her up, murmuring reassurances, brushing snow from her hair, letting her feel safe.
I stood aside and watched them engulf her with warmth, while I fought back tears. This was the outcome I’d been hoping for, but it still felt pretty surreal standing there. Knowing she was safe.
My eyes found Maren, who’d also taken a step back to catch a breath, center herself. The ache of the evening… all the fear, the guilt, all of it hit me like a fresh blast, and I realized how muchI’d let my panic dictate my actions. Miles was right. I’d been a total dick to her.
I crossed the small distance, hands ready but hesitant, unsure if she’d let me, unsure what she’d say after my outburst.
“Maren,” I said softly, meeting her eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was panicking. Afraid something might’ve happened to her. I— I shouldn’t have said those things.”
She said nothing. My stomach twisted. I wanted her to tell me it was okay, touch her hand to my face and thaw the block of tension icing over in me. But she just stood there and looked at me. No, not at me. Not really. It felt more like she was looking through me.
I tried again. “Maren? I said I was sorry.”
She cleared her throat and stood a little straighter. The look in her eyes was hard enough to strike me down at the knees. “I’m glad your niece is okay. And also, I quit.”
Nobody noticed her turn and walk away, her boots beating a steady path down the sidewalk. Just me, standing in the echo of my own stupidity.
23
Maren
It felt like I’d stepped into a memory where the details were a little fuzzy, and everything felt off. Like it was mine, but also not.
Liv’s holiday party used to be my favorite night of the year. Simple, intimate, always too much fun crammed into only a few hours. It was the perfect way to kick off the season. Or it used to be.
Laughter rippled through the room, easy and familiar, a sound that usually settled right into my bones. Not tonight, though. I’d been standing here for who knew how long, trying to absorb the merriment by osmosis, but it wasn’t working.
“Don’t tell me I forgot to clean the glue from that spot on the floor.” That third glass of chardonnay had tinged Liv’s cheeks bright red to match the shimmer of tinsel pinned in her hair. “That’ll be so embarrassing, honestly.”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she said with a quirk of her eyebrow. “This is a party. Parties generally involve milling about, talking and drinking. And if you’re feeling a little racy, dancing too. Is it the music?”
I shook my head. If she only knew. I’d been crashing on her and Jonathan’s couch for over a week and in true Liv fashion, she never once pushed to find out why I was suddenly homeless. Just made sure I was eating and hydrating the regular amount.
“You can tell me,” she went on. “Jonathan was feeling left out of the planning, and I told him he could make the playlist. Is it bad? Do you want me to change it? I don’t mind, and it’ll only hurt his feelings a little.”
“Liv, stop.” I laughed softly. “The music’s great. There’s no need for anyone’s feelings to get hurt.”
“Okay fine, he can keep his stupid playlist.” She rolled her eyes. “So tell me why you haven’t moved in the past half hour.”
I gestured haplessly, searching for the right thing to say. It was the same December ritual, the same people. Different music, but it wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. Jonathan’s taste was always a little left of center. Everyone was having a good time, regardless. And up til now, I thought I’d at least given the impression that I was too.
“It’s the blinis, isn’t it?”
I heaved an internal sigh of relief, thankful for the easy out she’d given me. “Can you blame me? Every year you invite these savages, and every year they decimate your cranberry and brie blinis before I get to have one.”
Her laugh tinkled over one of Celine Dion’s more upbeat Christmas carols. “Have a drink with me. They pair great with—” She squinted at her glass. “What am I drinking, again?”
“Chardonnay,” Jonathan and I said at the same time. He’d breezed by with a snack refill for the coffee table, pausing long enough to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “And a glass for the wallflower.”
He was sweet. Attentive. So good for her.
Something twinged in my chest, but I fought it back with a tight smile and took the drink. “Thanks.”
She hooked her arm through mine and dragged me over to the Christmas tree, where a few of our friends were in the middle of a heated debate about breakfast cereal, which didn’t surprise me at all, knowing this group.
“I’m just saying… They’re always bragging about iron, and protein, and all that good shit. If it’s healthy in the morning, what makes it unhealthy at night?”
