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“Please call me when you get this.”

Another pause, then softer:

“I’m not going to let it end like this.”

There’s a beep from my phone as the recording finishes, and I hit the red end button before it can segue into the next one. It hurts too much to hear his voice.

The packs of cereal in front of me melt into each other, their primary colors shimmering as my eyes fill with tears.

He’s saying all the right things, but at the wrong time. Isn’t that the story of my life?

A cart bumps into my hip.

“Sorry,” a stressed mother with one child in the little seat, another in her arms says to me. Then she blinks, seeing my tear-filled eyes. “Are you okay?”

It’s Christmas Eve. I’m all alone. And I’m in love with a man who hurt me more than anyone. Including the father who never acknowledged me and the fiancé who dumped me for a social media guru, so no, I’m not okay.

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I just find the Frosted Lucky Charms leprechaun very moving.”

She pulls her baby closer like she’s trying to shield her from my crazy and gives me a very wide berth as she steers the cart around me.

I slip the phone back into my pocket and pick up my basket again.

But the memory of his words follow me down the aisle anyway.

27

THEO

My cab pulls up outside Georgia’s apartment building shortly before midnight.

Christmas lights glow in the windows of the brownstones lining the street, the moon hanging low in the sky. A couple walks past the cab, arm in arm, laughing as they hurry toward the subway entrance.

And I sit there for a moment, staring up at the building, trying to decide what to do next.

Seven hours on a plane. Two in a car on either end. And I still have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say to the one woman who has me questioning everything I thought I knew.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. “You getting out here or what, buddy?”

“Yes,” I say, tapping my phone against the card reader fixed behind the driver’s seat. “Sorry.”

When I step onto the sidewalk, the cold air hits my face hard enough to wake me up. I put my carry-on case on the ground and pull out my phone, checking her apartment number because the last thing I want is to wake up the wrong person late on Christmas Eve.

There are ten missed calls, thirty messages, and God only knows how many email notifications staring up at me. And none of them are from her. So instead of reading them, I swipe them all away.

When I press the buzzer it takes a minute before the speaker crackles to life.

“Hello?”

The second I hear Georgia’s voice, every word I practiced on the flight disappears. Her soft tone feels like a blanket and it shouldn’t. Because I hurt her. And I only have myself to blame.

“Georgia, It’s me,” I say, suddenly unable to find the right words.

I wait for her to reply, but she says nothing for the longest time. It’s only when I hear the creak of a window that I look up to see her staring down at me.

I wave and she disappears, the window closing with a thud.

“What do you want?” she asks, when she comes back to the intercom.