10 Ways to Survive Christmas with Your Ex: A 27 Ways Novella (27 Ways Series Book 3) Read online

  Ignoring her tone, I said, “Where’s your next class?”

  She turned toward me, yanking me to a stop as she reached for a zipper on her backpack. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and two granola bars. She opened the schedule with one hand and extended one of the granola bars to me with the other. She looked up when I didn’t take it and gave it a little wave. “Do you want it?”

  Slowly, half-nervous it was a trick, I took the bar from her.

  “Maybe I’ve already eaten,” I said, ripping open the wrapper.

  She scowled at her schedule and then scanned the hall, trying to get her bearings in the new school. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  Georgia looked back and gave me a wry smile, the first of many. It was like sunshine, and all it took was one hit, and I was addicted.

  I didn’t return her backpack until I’d walked her all the way to class. She ended up going to my game. A month later, I talked her into going to homecoming with me. The rest was history.

  And now we’re history. Or we were, until Georgia’s name lit up my phone out of the blue.

  “What are you doing?” Tad asks a few hours later.

  I’m currently staring into space instead of working on the ’72 Cutlass I need to have finished by Saturday, when Gary will close the shop for our Christmas vacation. I turn to Tad, still deep in thought, idly twirling a socket-wrench in my hand. I’m about to answer him when my phone rings again.

  Hoping it’s Georgia, I make a dive for it. Instead, it’s a number I don’t recognize.

  “Is this Isaac?” a woman says on the other end.

  I frown, wondering who it could be. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, good,” she says, her tone brightening. “This is Kristy, Georgia’s mother…”

  Five minutes later, I hang up, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

  “What was that about?” Tad asks.

  “I’m going to fly home for Christmas.”

  “I thought you were staying here this year? Weren’t you going to spend the holiday with your cousin’s family or something?”

  I glance at my phone, which sits on my workbench. “Plans have changed.”

  Smiling to myself, I get back to work on the Cutlass, planning to stay here all night if I must so I can finish up and catch a flight tomorrow.

  3

  “Calliope, you get out of that tree!” my mom hollers at the cat. The cat, being a cat, ignores her. The orange and white purebred American Curl stands on her hind legs, front paws held daintily in front of her, sniffing the lowest bough. She’s the prettiest thing imaginable, with silky fur and huge, sweet eyes. Her ears curl back, which is where the breed gets its name, and she has a fluffy tail that’s like a feather duster.

  She’s also a menace.

  According to my mother, Calliope has already knocked over the Christmas tree three times this year alone, shattering half the family’s collection of glass balls. Mom had the wild idea to pack away the rest of the fragile ornaments and replace them with candy canes, dried apples, rock-hard gingerbread stars, and cinnamon bundles. Now their six-month-old dog—a liver-colored lab/pointer/who-knows-what mix by the name of Poindexter—insists on stealing decorations and then hacking them up in random corners of the house.

  “We have to be at Shaylee’s program at six,” Mom says, talking to both my father and me. “Do you want to go out to dinner, or should I put a roast in the slow cooker?”

  Dad grunts from his laptop, where he’s looking up his morning sports stats. “I think they have a chance this year.”

  “Or I could roast a chicken,” she goes on. “I have a recipe I’ve been wanting to try.”

  “That new guy they traded for is pretty decent.”

  “Brian, are you listening to me?” Mom asks, though I don’t know why she bothers. Dad is obviously not listening. It’s a game the two of them play daily, and the familiarity of it makes me smile. She continues, “If you don’t want either of them, you need to tell me before I get started—Calliope, no!”

  From the corner of my eye, I see the tree sway back and forth. I leap up from the kitchen table and race into the living room. Somehow, I grab it just in time, getting a faceful of prickly needles in the process. When the tree stops swaying, I find myself eye to eye with the cat, who has somehow managed to climb halfway up the skinny trunk.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her, to which she answers with a disgruntled mew and leaps down.

  Poindexter, intrigued by the chaos, ends up chasing Calliope down the hall to a chorus of my parents’ shouts.

  After a few moments, the house falls silent, and Mom turns back to Dad. “Well? Chicken or roast?”

  He reluctantly pulls his gaze from the computer. “You haven’t made spaghetti in a while.”

  Mom rolls her eyes and pulls various ingredients from the cupboards and fridge, prepping the sauce early so it can simmer all day.

  After I finish my bowl of cereal, I wander back into my room. Calliope sneaks in before I close the door and hops onto the foot of my bed, grooming her paw like she’s a perfect angel kitty.

  Ignoring her, I look around the space, taking it all in.

  I left for college just after I turned eighteen, saying goodbye to Colorado and heading for sunny Arizona to take ASU’S interior design program. Initially, I planned to move back, but I ended up loving Phoenix as much as I hoped I would.

  My brother and sister’s rooms have been converted into a guest room and an office, but mine remains untouched. If I brought it up, Mom would probably tell me it’s because I’m the only one who lives out of town, that she likes to keep a special place for me when I visit. She’d never admit it’s because she and Dad worry I won’t make it on my own. (No clue where they would get an idea like that.)

  Mom must have recently washed all the bedding because the room smells like the laundry detergent she’s used forever. At some point over the years, she made a few small changes. My old hot pink and black comforter has been replaced with a creamy white quilt, and she tucked away random posters I’d tacked to the walls as a teen and replaced them with a large mirror with a sturdy wooden frame and a bookshelf that holds exactly three ancient books, a jar candle, and a miniature Christmas tree.

  Everything else is the same as it was ten years ago—the same white wooden blinds on the window, the same four-poster princess bed that I begged my parents to buy when I was nine, the same full-length mirror on the closet door. There are still various awards and knick-knacks on the dresser, along with about a hundred old photos fixed to the mirror. The room is so comfortable, it hurts.

  I cross the room, finally working up the nerve to look at the pictures. I don’t know why I’ve kept them all this time. Isaac smiles at me from more than half of them. I trace my finger over one of us on a camping trip, and our brief phone conversation drifts back to me. His voice was deeper than I remembered it, a little older…but still unmistakably Isaac.

  I pull out my phone and bring up the message I got from him late last night.

  Isaac: Did you make it home okay?

  Georgia: Yes, thank you for sending help. You didn’t have to do that.

  More like shouldn’t have done that.

  Isaac: Anytime. Then a few seconds later, he’d added, You know that.

  Unfortunately, I do know that. He’s always been that person who can fix things—cars, jammed lockers, anything. And me. He could always fix me.

  It was late when we were talking, after one in the morning. That’s probably why I slipped up and said what I was thinking instead of ending the conversation.

  Georgia: I miss you sometimes.

  He answered almost immediately.

  Isaac: I miss you a lot of times.

  I’d panicked after that, shoved my phone under my pillow and refused to reply.

  A knock at my door makes me jump, and I hide my phone and whirl around like I was caught with my hand in a forbidden candy jar. Mom cracks open the door and sticks he
r head in. “How about you and I do some Christmas shopping when you’re ready for the day? We’ll get coffee, maybe drop by the grocery store and buy ingredients for fudge?”

  I feel silly about my embarrassment. It’s not like she’s a mind reader—there’s no way she could know I was thinking about Isaac.

  “That sounds great,” I tell her.

  With a smile, she shuts the door. I glance back at the photos and shake my head. What is wrong with me?

  I stand with my parents just inside the elementary school, waiting for the rest of my family. I haven’t set foot in this building for years, but it smells exactly as I remember it—faintly of school glue and cafeteria macaroni and cheese. My older sister is already here somewhere, checking Shaylee in with the teacher.

  “Georgia!” Clara exclaims when she sees me, hurrying down the hall. She hands off Dayton, my eleven-month-old nephew, to my brother-in-law and wraps me in a hug. “How are you?” she whispers.

  She’s the only one who knows just how crappy this last week has been, and I made her swear she wouldn’t tell Mom and Dad.

  “I’m glad to be home.” I sag in her arms, taking every ounce of comfort she wants to give.

  Clara is four years older than I am and the sweetest person I know. I miss her horribly.

  Maybe I should just move back, I can’t help but think.

  I’m sure Mom and Dad would let me use my old room for a few months while I look for a new job. It’s not like there’s anything keeping me in Phoenix now.

  I’d feel like a failure, but where else am I supposed to go? I have some money in savings, but I’ll go through that fast if I have to live off it and put deposit money down on a new place—and I don’t even want to think about my car. Who knows what’s wrong with it? It could be a tiny fix, or it might cost me thousands of dollars. I don’t even think it’s worth that much.

  I pull out of my sister’s embrace and take in her heels, black dress, and pearls. “I didn’t realize kindergarten programs had become formal affairs.”

  She brushes a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear. “Jeremiah’s company party is tonight. Jason and Nita are taking the kids after this, and we’re going to catch the last few hours.”

  Dayton stretches out his arms, reaching for his mother. His bottom lip trembles, and his face scrunches with displeasure.

  “He doesn’t want me,” Jeremiah says to Clara with a sigh, handing Dayton back.

  She rubs the baby’s back, and he burrows his head into her shoulder. “He’s been fussy all day. I think he’s getting another tooth.”

  “Poor guy.”

  My nephew turns to look at me and gives me a halfhearted smile.

  Holding out my arms, I say, “Do you want to come see me?”

  As expected, he turns away.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Clara says with a laugh when she sees the look on my face. “He’s in a phase.”

  “I’m your aunt,” I say to him. “You have to love me.”

  Jason shows up, along with his wife, Nita. She’s six months pregnant with their first, and she’s barely showing. Apparently, she’s sensitive about it, and Clara already warned me over the phone that I shouldn’t mention how tiny she is.

  “Baby sister,” Jason says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Long time no see.”

  Sadly, he’s right. It’s only a ten-hour drive from Phoenix, but I haven’t made it back since last Christmas, and they’ve been busy buying a new fixer-upper and getting it prepped for the arrival of my niece.

  “You look great,” I tell Nita, leaning in to give her a hug.

  I don’t know her as well as I know Clara’s husband. She and Jason started dating when I was in college, but she seems nice.

  If I moved home, I’d get to see everyone a lot more often.

  “It started snowing,” Jason says to the group. “Apparently, they were right about that storm.”

  Mom’s face pinches with worry. “I hope it won’t be as bad as they said. You don’t think it will affect the flights, do you?”

  Isaac’s parents are supposed to arrive tomorrow evening.

  Our families didn’t even know each other until Isaac and I started dating, but our parents immediately hit it off. I think they took our breakup harder than anyone. In a way, I’m glad they kept in touch.

  In another way…it’s just weird to spend the holidays with your ex’s parents.

  “It should be fine by tomorrow evening,” Clara assures my mom.

  “Oh, well…” Mom flashes me a guilty look that immediately sets me on edge. “Actually, I called Isaac yesterday. It seemed like such a shame he wasn’t going to be with his parents for Christmas, and I wanted to invite him personally so he’d know he’s welcome. His flight arrives tonight.”

  “Mom,” Clara exclaims. Even Jason and Jeremiah look shocked.

  Mom holds up her hands. “I know, all right? You don’t need to lecture me.” She turns to me, giving me a soft frown, and sets her hands on my shoulders. “But it’s Christmas, Georgia, and the two of you were such good friends. Don’t you think you can put the past behind you for a few days?”

  “They weren’t just friends,” Clara says, getting so agitated Dayton starts to fuss. She softens her tone to a nice, gentle hiss. “They dated for four years!”

  “Who’s Isaac?” Nita asks Jason, looking wary. My family is what you would call excitable. She rubs her barely-there bump as if hoping to sooth the oblivious baby inside.

  “Georgia’s ex-boyfriend,” Jason says. “She dumped him before she left for college.”

  I wince at his word choice, but it’s not like he’s wrong.

  “He’s coming?” I finally manage.

  Mom nods. “He was able to book a last-minute flight. Your dad and I are going to pick him up after the program.”

  I think I take the news rather calmly—with grace and a sort of resigned dignity.

  “Are you breathing?” Clara asks, gently poking me in the side. “Why do you keep nodding like that?”

  Slowly, hoping to not be obvious about it, I let out my held breath. “I’m fine.”

  So fine, I’m beginning to see little black dots.

  “Maybe we should find seats.” With Dayton on her hip, Clara grasps my arm and pulls me toward the gymnasium.

  I end up squished between her and Nita in a metal folding chair, feeling like a loser. They’re happily married, with kids (or almost), and I’m single. Jobless. Homeless. Dogless. Probably even carless.

  Last week I was proud of what I’d accomplished. I had a good job, even if my new boss was a harpy and treated me like her coffee-girl. I liked my house and my neighbors, and Rock was always there to greet me when I came home. I even dated a little, though I haven’t been serious about anyone since Isaac.

  Isaac.

  I’m going to see him. Tonight. I’m going to talk to him and coexist with him under the same roof and—

  Wait.

  “Where is he going to sleep?” I randomly blurt out, not asking anyone in particular.

  Mom leans forward, talking to me across Jason and Nita. “We’re going to set up a cot for him in the office.”

  But the office is Clara’s old room—it shares a bathroom with mine.

  “What about the guest room?”

  Mom frowns like she’s worried about my sanity. “Glen and Charline will be in there.”

  Right. She’d obviously give Isaac’s parents the bed.

  “What about the couch?” I ask, grasping at straws.

  My mother rolls her eyes and sits back in her seat.

  “What about the shed?” I say, raising my voice to make sure she hears me.

  Nita turns to me and whispers, “Is he awful?”

  I sigh, sitting back. “No. He’s…great.”

  “Then why did you break up?”

  “I was leaving.” I shrug. “And who actually ends up with their high school boyfriend? I didn’t want to do the long-distance thing.”

  �
�Why did you go to Arizona if you liked him so much? You could have attended CSU or CMU. Both are only a few hours away.”

  I don’t think she and I have ever had a conversation this long before.

  “I hate cold winters. Snow is great this time of year, but after Christmas, I’m pretty much done with it. Besides, Isaac was leaving for a tech school in Wyoming. Our lives weren’t heading in the same direction.”

  Satisfied with that answer, Nita nods and turns toward the front.

  The program should begin soon. The chairs are full of families, and too many children climb over the backs and run through the makeshift aisles. A little girl with lopsided pigtails has turned around in her seat and is staring at me like I’m an alien creature. I give her a hesitant smile, and she scowls.

  I look away from the girl, trying to ignore her. It’s strange to be back. Everything looks so tiny. The stage is off to the side, separated from the gym by a truly hideous velvet curtain that’s usually closed, as it is right now. Occasionally, the fabric flutters, betraying the fact that people are moving about on the other side.

  Finally, a teacher in a sparkly green vest walks onto the stage. “Welcome, families,” she says. “We have such a special show for you tonight—”

  She’s interrupted by the high-pitched shriek of her microphone. The sound startles Dayton, who begins to scream. It’s okay because he’s not alone. At least three other babies in attendance holler right along with him.

  Clara rocks her son back and forth, cooing comforting words. Eventually, he quiets, and a helpful man in the front leaps up to help his fellow teacher with her microphone.

  “Let’s try that again!” the woman says with a patient laugh. “I would like to welcome you to the combined kindergarten class’s musical extravaganza, which we’ve titled, A Walk Through the Snow! Enjoy!”

  Five minutes in and Dayton’s crying again. His sister is on the stage, looking adorable in her white sweater and snowflake headband, singing her heart out to a jazzy, horrifyingly off-key, rendition of “Frosty the Snowman.” I believe there’s some kind of choreography going on, but the kids are pretty much up there doing their own thing.