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"What's up?"

"It's dumb."

"Great. Dumb is always funny. Go."

"I can't stop thinking about the cabin. Did I tell you PJ showed up and I just—I handled it so badly, Mackie. The way I left it with Hale. I keep running it back and it gets worse every time."

So it isn't the cabin she can't stop thinking about. It's the mountain man and the loser ex, PJ, who drove all that way to remind her he exists.

"Okay. What did you do about it?"

"I sent him an email."

"Who, Hale? When?"

"Yes, Hale. The other day."

"And?"

"Nothing." Her voice goes tight and careful, the way people talk when they're standing on something that might give. "Which is fine. It's totally fine. He doesn't owe me a—it's fine."

"You've said fine three times. That's the flat tire sound."

"I mean it, though. If he's not answering, that's my answer."

"No." I don't soften it. "It's Christmas Eve, Shipley. The man is somewhere with his people. Nobody checks email on Christmas Eve. Silence tonight isn't a verdict."

She doesn't say anything.

"The email was right. You told him what you needed to say instead of sitting on it for another year. That's the hard part, and you already did it. You don't get to decide it was a mistake because a server didn't ding you back in forty-eight hours."

"You think it was right?"

"Yes. Now go enjoy your family's damn party. Your mom looks forward to this all year long."

She laughs. "Geez. You're so bossy."

"Someone has to keep you straight."

"Okay." Steadier. The panic's drained out of her. "I didn't even ask if it was a good time. I'm sorry if I pulled you away from something."

"Girl, I'm great. It's always a good time for my Shipley."

"Love you, boo. Let me go Navidad with the crew."

"Merry Christmas, weirdo."

I hang up before she can say anything back and sit there one more second with the AC units and the bird.

Then I pocket the phone and go back through the doors into the noise. The knife is right where I left it, standing in the frosting. I pick it up and cut into the sheet cake, one clean square, then another.

When I look up, rodeo man is watching me from across the room. He's been at it long enough that I catch him doing it. He looks away first, casual about it, like he was checking the clock behind my head.

Just as well. There's no reason to be all googly-eyed at the old folks' home. But I do decide I need to show him off, kind of like how men have to show their fish off, or else it means they didn't really catch them.

I take my phone to the corner where they dragged the snowman in from the front walk for the party. He's drooping worse today than the other day. I hit the top name in my recents and press the video button.

Shipley’s face fills the screen, hair down, a lamp burning behind her.