Mere was already there. She'd abandoned her own chair and crouched beside her twin, hand wrapped tight around Fifi's, rubbing slow, even circles into her palm. She talked low and steady, but I was too far to hear the words.
Huey had stationed himself directly ontop of Fifi's feet, anchoring her in place. She dug her fingers into his fur, white-knuckled and desperate. His little reindeer antlers wobbled every time her legs jumped.
My heart cracked. The parade, the food, my excitement, all of it dropped to the back burner. I beelined for them, barely noticing the way the tray bucked in my hands.
I settled the food on the blanket and dropped to my knees beside Fifi. "Hey, sweetie. You okay?"
She didn't look up, just pressed her forehead to her phone and shook. "Can't… can't stop. Too many people. Too loud. I know we're outside, but it's in my head, and it's not working."
I put my arm around her, careful not to crowd her. "That's all right. You're not stuck. If you want to leave, we'll leave."
Mere squeezed her hand tighter. "You're doing so good. Just keep breathing, like when we watched the creek."
It hurt so much seeing her like this.
I glanced at Mere, who nodded and mouthed, "It started five minutes ago."
I nodded back, then turned my attention to Fifi. "You remember this morning? With the hellbenders? Just try to breathe how the creek was moving. Slow, steady. See if that helps."
She clenched her jaw. "I'm trying. I promise."
Huey licked her hand, a slobbery, sticky mess, but it loosened her grip on the phone for half a second.
Mere kept up the slow circles, and I kept my arm around Fifi's shoulders. Together, it pushed the worst of the panic back a notch.
The parade music blasted from the nearest speaker, sharp and way too cheerful. The crowd around us laughed and jostled, oblivious. It was like living in two worlds. The party outside and the storm inside our little circle.
Fifi started blinking, breath stuttering in and out like a broken metronome. I counted her breaths in my head, willing her to match the rhythm. The flush had faded from her cheeks, replaced by something gray and stretched thin.
"Is it better if we walk away, or stay put?" I asked carefully. "You tell me."
She swallowed. "Leave. Please."
Mere was already folding her camp chair when I helped Fifi up slowly, keeping one hand on her back. Huey pressed against my leg.
In a few minutes, the chairs were in their containers, the food in our basket, and the drinks in our hands as we headed out. We skirted the edge of the crowd, using a quieter side street to get to the parking lot.
Fifi's breathing finally evened out. Not perfect, but not a total collapse, either. That was a victory in my book. When we got to the car, and she sat down, Huey climbed up instantly and laid across her lap, all twenty-two pounds of anxiety buffer. Fifi let him, her hands buried deep in his fur.
For a long minute, she just sat. Then she mumbled, "Sorry. I thought I could do it."
I shook my head. "You did do it. You stayed as long as you wanted, and you told us when enough was enough. That's huge, Fifi. I'm proud of you."
She went quiet again, watching people drift past through the window. The parade was in full swing now. We could still hear the music, but it was manageable from this distance.
Mere rifled through the bag of food. "Ooh! Chili cheese dog for me! You get the bacon biscuit."
Fifi made a shaky-laugh sound. "You're so weird."
But she took the biscuit from her sister, taking the smallest bite.
We sat for a while, watching glimpses of the parade, then headed home.
Chance
Townsend,Tennessee gave its heart and soul to the Christmas parade. The main street was barricaded off, tents jammed every inch of sidewalk, and kids in thrift-store holiday gear ran wild between folding chairs and blankets. Smells hit first. Popcorn, hot cider, the dizzy, unpleasant punch of peppermint, everything blasting from trays of cookies and cocoa bombs. Whoever made mint part of the season deserved a beating.
I'd agreed after an expert guilt trip from Maeve to staff the Sweet Dragon sample table for the first shift. "Smile and let people grab what they want. Don't scare the teens," she'd warned me, straightening my borrowed red apron. "Be friendly, even if it hurts."
