“Did you commit his entire breakup speech to memory, by any chance?”
“Maybe. Now he wants to be ‘friends.’ Legitimately. We went to the movies last weekend and got dinner after.”
“Wow, no, do not be friends with him.”
“We’re being ‘mature.’ ” He stabbed three stacked squares of pancake.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. He asked if I still wanted to exchange presents because he’d already bought me mine, and he thought I would ‘really like it.’ ”
“Please tell me you shot that down.”
He smiled savagely. “I said sure! Because we’re being civil. But I hadn’t actually bought him anything yet, so Iwent out and bought him a presentso we could exchange presentsas friends.”
“I hate all of this. Stop.”
“I can’t. I’m still in love with him. How do you stop being in love?”
“I think you stop seeing the person.”
“I’m not that strong. Not if he still wants to see me.”
“Ugh, I’m sorry. That sucks so much. He’s an idiot.”
“An idiot with a GPA of three point nine and a full ride toYale.” David put his fork down so forcefully it spun off the table, clattering to the floor. “Fuck.”
“Still an idiot,” I said loyally, picking up the fork. “And IQ is different than EQ. He’s a fool to let you go. You’re amazing.”
David pinched his nose. “That’s true. I’m a fucking catch.”
David’s brothers wandered in, both in their pajamas: Ethan, tall and sleepy, Oliver, dreamy-eyed as always. “Morning, beauties,” Ethan said, ruffling both David’s and my hair.
I pulled away. “You’ll mess up my curls.”
He clasped his hand to his chest and staggered backward. “The horror!”
I couldn’t quite suppress a smile as I shook my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously... amazing? Handsome? Smart?” He paused briefly, then decided he had more good things to say about himself. “Adventurous? Sexy? Inspiring? A real leader among men?”
David, Oliver, and I stared at him.
“Ridiculously confident.” I pushed my plate away and stood up. “Anyway, I’m off to see Olivia. Try not to have too much fun without me.”
Nantucket often looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. In the summer, tourists and locals alike marveled over the sandy beaches and quaint shops, the cobblestone streets and ice creamparlors. The island excelled at summer, all snapping American flags and sailboats and balmy breezes.
The off-season, on the other hand, could be desolate. The tourists rolled out and the fog rolled in, wind dashed waves against the shores, and slashing rain compounded the cold and gray. My grandparents swore they loved all seasons on Nantucket, but as David once remarked, parents also said they loved all their children equally.
On a day like today, though, Nantucket winter was at its best.
My breath formed merry puffs as I walked through town, dropped off by Aunt Liz on her way to Stop & Shop. Cotton-like clouds dotted the blue sky, and Christmas trees lined the streets. Merriment filled the air as people bustled about, bundled in scarves and bright coats. Parents tugged along their kids, groups of friends laughed and yelled. A child walked by me, hand in hand with her father, matching antlers sprouting from their hats.
One would think most people wouldn’t want to visit a far-flung island during the darkest days of the year—and one would be, for the most part, right—but people occasionally came to Nantucket. Not just for the Stroll in early December, when carolers dressed up in Dickensian costumes and Santa arrived with the coast guard to hang the giant wreath on the lighthouse at Brant Point, but for the holiday, too. I understood why. Nantucket felt like a fairy tale, and as I walked through town, I peered at eachwindow display, admiring the tiny figures of Santa and Mrs. Claus, the fake snow and elaborate dangling snowflakes, the tiny trains and nutcrackers and wintry jewelry.
Every so often, I’d see a menorah or dreidel, and they lifted my heart like a hug, calmed me like the sun after days of rain. I liked Christmas; I loved the happiness it brought to so many people. But it could feel overwhelming: the ceaseless music, the way people acted like I must be as excited about Hanukkah, a minor holiday, as they were about Christmas, but never noticed Passover or the High Holidays.
Turning off Main Street, I entered one of my favorite cafés. Inside, golden lights twinkled and two small trees stood in corners. The scent of chocolate perfumed the air, rich and decadent, with hints of vanilla and cinnamon and cherry. Olivia sat at an elegant round table with gold siding. The whole café was elegant, all gold and celadon green like a Parisian macaron shop. Olivia had slung her favorite blue peacoat over the back of her chair and was now finger-combing her sleek bob. We’d known each other since we were six, and despite not seeing each other for months at a time, our friendship always fell back into place as easily as a door snicking shut.
