Christina tilts her head, her eyes softening. She shifts on the couch, her feet coming up to sit cross-legged next to me. “That’s a load of crap and you know it.” She pokes me in theribs with a playful grin. “You just don’t want to admit it because you got burned. But I’ve seen you—hell, we’ve both been in those sappy rom-coms where everything feels like it could be magic. You’ve felt that before, Dove. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t.” She pauses, her expression growing a little more serious. “Yeah, it hurts like hell. But that doesn’t mean you throw it all away because one guy messed it up.”
I look at her, really look at her, and for a brief moment, I wonder if she’s right. My lips twitch, but the sadness that lingers in my chest stops me from responding the way I want to. I bite my lip, trying to keep the tears back, because right now, I’m not sure what’s left of me.
Christina’s eyes soften with that familiar, sisterly concern. She leans in, nudging me with her shoulder. “I know you’re hurt, Dove. But you’re not the only one who’s been broken. And you know what? You’re still here. Still fighting. So stop pretending you’re not capable of love. You’re just scared.”
I try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out weak. “Scared? Me?” I shake my head, biting back the bitterness. “Maybe. Maybe I’m just not stupid enough to believe in it anymore.” My voice cracks at the end, betraying me in a way I didn’t want.
Christina grins, her eyes twinkling with that familiar spark of mischief. “Aha! That’s the real Dove talking. You do care. I knew it.” She’s about to say something else, but she’s interrupted by the most obnoxious honk from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable smell of burnt cookies.
I look over, watching her roll her eyes dramatically. “Dammit, I told you I’d watch them for two more minutes!” she mutters under her breath before bolting up from the couch. “Stay here, Dove. I’m getting the cookies before they turn into charcoal and I have to throw them at your face to get your attention.”
I chuckle despite myself, watching as she rushes to thekitchen, the sound of her fumbling and cursing adding to the absurdity of it all. She’s always been the clumsy one, the one who turns everything into a comedy. I’m grateful for it tonight.
When she returns, holding a tray of slightly burnt but still edible cookies, she plops back down on the couch, passing me one with a wink. “Here. You’ll need the sugar to get through this cheesy mess. Besides, you can’t tell me that you didn’t fall in love at least once with one of these stupid Christmas movies.” She smirks, nudging my elbow as she takes a bite.
I raise an eyebrow but can’t help but smile. “Fine. I’ll admit it. Maybe just once.” I grab a cookie and take a bite, the sweetness flooding my senses, giving me a brief sense of comfort.
Christina beams, her eyes sparkling. “See? Told you we’re a sucker for love.”
We settle back in, the smell of cookies still in the air, the laughter from the TV blending into the warmth of the room. And for a moment, just a moment, I feel lighter—like maybe, just maybe, there’s hope in this messed-up world after all.
The warmth of the cookies in my hand feels grounding, a small comfort in the midst of all the swirling chaos in my mind. I take another bite, savoring the sweetness as Christina leans back, eyes glued to the screen, pretending to care about the fake romance unfolding. But I know her. She’s watching me more than the movie, waiting for me to crack, to finally let down the walls I’ve built around myself.
And she’s right. I’ve been fighting it for days, but tonight, with the soft glow of the tree lights reflecting off the window, the scent of cinnamon still lingering in the air, it’s too much. Too much to keep pretending I’m fine when I’m not.
The characters on the screen share a kiss, and I can’t help but scoff under my breath. “You know,” I mutter, staring at the screen but not really seeing it, “they don’t even have to try. It’slike the world just hands them everything they want. And the worst part? They never have to suffer.”
Christina looks at me, her eyes softening. “You’re not them, Dove,” she says quietly, placing a hand on mine. “You’ve had to fight for everything. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the good stuff, too.”
I pull my hand away and shake my head, the hurt I’ve been trying so hard to suppress bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, well, I had my shot at the ‘good stuff.’ And look how that turned out.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I swallow hard to stop the tears from breaking through.
Christina’s expression shifts, the teasing gone, replaced by something more sincere, more understanding. She leans in, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Dove, I’m not saying it’s easy. But you’ve got to stop blaming yourself. You’re not the reason everything fell apart.” Her hand reaches for mine again, and this time, I let her hold it. “And you will find someone who won’t break you. Maybe not now. Maybe not even tomorrow. But you will.”
I shake my head again, the weight of everything crushing me. “I don’t even know who I am without him, Christina. He was everything. And now I’m just… empty. Like he took all of me with him when he walked away.”
Christina doesn’t say anything for a moment, just squeezes my hand, and I can feel her own sorrow, her own understanding of the depth of my pain. She’s been my friend long enough to know that when I say something like that, I’m not exaggerating. I mean it.
“I know,” she finally says, her voice thick with emotion. “I know, babe. But you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You always have been.”
I chuckle dryly, but it’s more of a rasp than a real laugh. “Yeah, sure. If you say so.”
Christina smirks, nudging me with her shoulder. “I do say so. And I’ve seen you survive worse.”
I stare at her for a moment, my heart aching with the loss, with the heaviness that’s settled in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t even know how to move on, Christina. It hurts so damn much. Every single second.”
She’s quiet for a beat, and then, as if to lighten the mood, she grabs another cookie, breaking off a piece and tossing it to me. “You start with the cookies, obviously,” she says, with a grin. “And then we figure the rest out. One day at a time, right?”
I stare at her, watching her work her way through her own cookie, and for the first time today, I feel something other than despair. A tiny spark of something. Maybe hope. Or maybe it’s just the sweetness of the damn cookie.
“One day at a time,” I repeat softly, and I can almost convince myself I believe it.
27
DOVE
The sun hangs low in the sky, casting golden hues over the town of Hollow Hills.
The smell of burning wood from the chimneys mingles with the crisp scent of fallen leaves, and there’s a slight chill in the air that makes my skin prickle.
