“I saw you across the road on Christmas morning,” she adds gently. “Your lights looked lovely.”
I nod, because that’s easier than saying anything else. She doesn’t push. She never has.
Instead she brightens. “Which actually brings me to something.”
Oh God. That tone. “That sounds ominous,” I say carefully.
“Not ominous sweetheart,” she corrects. “Arthur and I were thinking… since Christmas Day was a bit disjointed this year, what with Theo being away and Isla being here and everything slightly upside down… we thought we’d have a little ‘Frory’ dinner this weekend.”
I blink. “A what?”
She smiles like she’s very pleased with herself. “Frory. Freya and Rory. It’s been our thing since you were little. Don’t pretend you don’t remember.”
I do remember. Second Christmases when one of our parents was working. Pancake mornings that turned into roast dinners. Maggie making it feel like we hadn’t missed anything at all.
“You don’t have to,” she adds quickly. “But we’d love you and Theo to come. Do it properly. Crackers. Bad paper hats. The whole thing.”
For a second my brain goes unhelpfully blank. I haven’t seen Rory since the pub. Since the almost kiss and the handshake and agreeing to be sensible.
“Rory said you didn’t fancy coming over on the day,” Maggie continues gently. “And I understood that. Completely. But this wouldn’t be Christmas Day. Just… dinner. Family.”
Family. The word feels complicated. I think about being ten and Maggie showing up at the school gates when my mum didn’t. About her bringing extra sandwiches to football matches because she always packed too many “by accident.” About the way she sat beside me at Dads funeral and squeezed my hand so tightly I thought our bones might fuse. She has never made me feel like an extra.
I swallow. “That’s really kind,” I say slowly. And if I’m honest, a part of me wants to go. Not because of Rory. I tell myself thatfirmly. But because of Maggie. Because of Arthur. Because of the way their house always feels like home and love. Because with them I feel like I’m part of something bigger, the type of family I have always longed for.
I glance back at Maggie. She’s watching me carefully now, not pushing, just waiting.
“We’d love to,” I say finally.
Maggie’s relief is almost invisible, but I see it. “Saturday then. Six. And Freya?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear removable layers. Arthur insists on lighting the fire even when it’s not strictly necessary.” She rolls her eyes.
I smile properly this time. “Some things never change.”
“No,” she says softly. “They don’t.”
I hug Maggie goodbye and step outside into the cool winter air. I feel something unfamiliar that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s been weeks of awkwardness and heat and history with Rory but maybe this is what it feels like when things settle. Maybe friendsispossible. Maybe sitting across from Rory at a table full of family and fairy lights won’t feel like standing on the edge of something. If we’re going to be friends… This is probably where it starts.
I tell myself all afternoon that it’s just dinner.Just dinner.Just dinner.Just dinner.
Theo has changed his jumper three times by five o’clock because he wants to “look cool but also festive,” which apparently means a football hoodie and a reindeer antler headband. I don’t argue. I’m too busy standing in front of my wardrobe pretending I don’t care what I wear. Friends don’t overthink outfits. Friends don’t stare at a green knit dress and wonder if it looks like they’re trying too hard.
Freya, pull yourself together woman!
I settle on something safe. Soft cream jumper, dark jeans, boots. Hair down but not styled. Enough effort to feel human. Not enough to look like I’m trying too hard.
“You look pretty,” Theo says, already at the door.
“Thank you,” I reply lightly. “You look… festive.”
He grins and drags me out before I can second-guess myself.
The Bennetts’ house glows the way it always has in December. Fairy lights in the window. Wreath slightly lopsided because Arthur refuses to measure anything. The front door swings open before we even knock. Maggie wraps Theo up first, then me.
“There she is,” she says warmly, squeezing my hands. “Christmas, take two.”
