“Was the star on top?”I asked.
They all nodded, bored.
“What about the costume contest?”I pressed.“Who won?”
“The mayor dressed as Santa,”Owen said flatly.“Like every year.”
“Isn’t that funny?”I laughed.“He wins every year.”
Owen shrugged, talking around a mouthful of food.“Seems pointless to have a contest, doesn’t it?”
I looked at him. Blinked.
“It’s not pointless,”I argued.“It’s tradition.”
They all started talking about something else.
But today? Today I knew I was dropping the kids off this morning only for them to get picked up by Ryan who would take them to the Christmas parade. I cried in the car line until the school resource officer tapped on my window to make sure I was okay to drive.
I told him everything; he told me I was stopping the flow of traffic.
Here’s the thing people don’t tell you about getting divorced: It’s humiliating. Humiliating to tell people you couldn’t hack it as a wife. Humiliating to tell people your husband stepped out on you because you clearly couldn’t keep him satisfied. Humiliating to know that the man you thought you’d love forever based the custody schedule on what would hurt you the most.
Aside from the humiliation, it just fucking sucks.
When I found myself pouring a glass of wine with lunch to drown out the pain of missing the first Christmas parade with my kids in my decade of motherhood, I knew I’d show up tonight. I had to. If for no other reason than to fill the Christmas tree–sized hole in my heart.
A slamming door turns my head.
Marv strolls toward us from his creepy box truck, his eyes pinging around the sky in earnest. He’s wearing sweatpants, a puffy coat, and sandals over socks.
On his head: a set of large headphones.
In his hands: a walkie-talkie and antenna.
He is a complete weirdo.
“Hello, Hollis,” he says with a too-loud voice as he approaches. “Brought my ham radio.” He climbs directly into the back of the wagon, raising his eyebrows as he gestures at me with his equipment. “Speak without censorship.”
I look back at Jay; his mustache twitches.
Knowing he wants to smile makes me fight one.
Where Ryan is a doctor and looks like one—sharp, clean, expensive—Jay is his polar opposite with a mustache and coat lined in frayed edges. Ryan is a polished fancy suit, Jay is a pair of blue jeans, worn to perfection.
I eye the antler-adorned hat on his head; Jay is as far from my ex-husband as it gets.
“Hollis?” Jay asks, smirk on his face as I blink. Twice. “I asked if you’re warm enough.”
“Right,” I say, cheeks scorching; I was staring. I pat my jacket as if to remind myself I’m wearing it. It’s late and the sun is setting. Even though it’s bone-deep cold, my nerves are buzzing; I doubt I’ll notice. “I’m fine.”
He helps me into the wagon where he and I sit on the bench at the front. With a slight slap of the reins, the horses lurch down the trail. The wheels moan as we move, and the muffled clip-clopof the hooves and Marv’s random mutters form a mismatched symphony. For the first few minutes, neither Jay nor I say anything.
“You have a wagon,” I finally say, breaking the silence. “And horses.”
He looks at me, reins loose in his hands. “I have afriendwith a wagon and horses. He runs rides out here every year. Lets me and Marv take it out before it all kicks off in mid-November.”
I eye his hat. “Does every Holiday Club meeting involve you wearing that hat?”
