Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances

plotz.”
Dorrie loved saying “I’m going to plotz.” It was her catchphrase; it meant she was going to explode.
She  also  loved  Cheerwine,  bagels,  and  pretending  she  was  from  the  Old  Country,  which  was  where
Jewish people lived before they came to America, I guess. Dorrie was big into her Jewishness, going so
far as to call her awesome curly hair a “Jew fro.” Which shocked me the first time she said it, and then
made me laugh. Which was pretty much Dorrie in a nutshell.
Tegan came in behind Dorrie with flushed cheeks. “Omigosh, I’m totally sweating,” she said, peeling
off the flannel button-down she wore over her T-shirt. “Getting here about killed me.”
“You’re telling me,” Dorrie said. “Five thousand miles I trudged to get from my house to yours!”
“And by that you mean . . . twenty feet?” Tegan said. She turned to me. “Think that’s about right, twenty
feet from Dorrie’s house to mine?”
I gave her a steely-eyed look. We were not here to discuss the foot-by-foot boringness of how far apart
their houses were.

---

“So what’s with the headdress?” Dorrie asked, dropping down beside me.
“Nothing,” I said, because it turned out I didn’t want to discuss that, either. “I’m cold.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” She yanked the blanket from my head, then made a sound of strangled horror. “Oy. What
have you done?”
“Gee, thanks,” I said sourly. “You’re as bad as my mom.”
“Whoa,” Tegan said. “I mean . . . whoa.”
“I’m assuming this is your crisis?” Dorrie said.
“Actually, no.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dorrie.” Tegan swatted her. “It’s . . . cute, Addie. It’s very brave.”
Dorrie snorted. “Okay, if someone says your hairstyle is brave? You pretty much want to go back and
demand a refund.”
“Go away,” I said. I pushed at her with my feet.
“Hey!”
“You are being mean to me in my time of need, so you’re no longer allowed on the bed.” I put some
muscle into it, and off she thunked.
“I think you broke my tailbone,” she complained.
“If your tailbone’s broken, you’ll have to sit on an inflatable doughnut.”
“I’m not sitting on an inflatable doughnut.”
“I’m just saying.”
“I’m not being mean to you in your time of need,” Tegan interrupted. She nodded at the bed. “May I?”
“I suppose.”
Tegan took Dorrie’s original spot, and I stretched out and put my head in her lap. She stroked my hair,
gingerly at first, and then with more assurance.
“So . . . what’s going on?” she said.
I didn’t speak. I wanted to tell them, but at the same time I didn’t. Forget my hair—the true crisis was
so much worse that I didn’t know how to get the words out without bursting into tears.
“Oh, no,” Dorrie said. Her face mirrored what she must have seen on mine. “Oh, bubbellah.”
Tegan’s hand stilled. “Did something happen with Jeb?”
I nodded.
“Did you see him?” Dorrie asked.
I shook my head.
“Did you talk to him?”
I shook my head again.
Dorrie’s  gaze  shifted  upward,  and  I  felt  something  pass  between  her  and  Tegan.  Tegan  nudged  my
shoulder to make me sit up.
“Addie, just tell us,” she said.
“I’m so stupid,” I whispered.
Tegan put her hand on my thigh to say, We’re here. It’s okay. Dorrie leaned over, resting her chin on my
knee.
“Once upon a time . . . ” she prodded.
“Once upon a time Jeb and I were still together,” I said miserably. “And I loved him, and he loved me.
And then I screwed up big-time.”
“The Charlie Thing,” Dorrie said.
“We know,” Tegan said, giving me several comforting pats. “But that happened a week ago. What’s the
new crisis?”
“Other than your hair,” Dorrie said.

---

They waited for me to reply.
They waited some more.
“I wrote Jeb an e-mail,” I confessed.