Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances

“No,” Dorrie said. She bashed her forehead against my knee, bam-bam-bam.
“I  thought  you  were  giving  him  space  to  heal,”  Tegan  said.  “You  said  the  kindest  thing  you  could  do
was stay away, even if it was super-hard. Remember?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“And not to be a downer, but I thought Jeb was hanging out with Brenna now,” Dorrie said.
I glared at her.
“I mean, no, of course he isn’t,” she amended. “After all, it’s only been a week. But she’s going after
him, right? And as far as we know, he’s not exactly pushing her away.”
“Bad Brenna,” I said. “Hate Brenna.”
“I thought Brenna got back together with Charlie,” Tegan said.
“Of  course  we  hate  Brenna,”  Dorrie  said  to  me.  “That’s  not  the  issue.”  She  turned  to  Tegan.  “We
wanted her to get back with Charlie, but it didn’t take.”
“Oh,” Tegan said. She still looked confused.
I sighed. “Remember how braggy Brenna was the day before winter break? How she was going on and
on about how she was going to see Jeb during vacation?”
“I thought we thought she was just trying to make Charlie jealous,” Tegan said.
“We did,” Dorrie said, “but still. If there were actual plans involved . . . ”
“Ahh,” Tegan said. “Got it. Jeb’s not a ‘plan’ kind of guy, not unless he means it.”
“I  don’t  want  Jeb  having  plans  with  anyone—especially  Brenna.”  I  scowled.  “Fake  white-girl
dreadlocks.”
Dorrie exhaled through her nose. “Addie, can I tell you something you’re not going to want to hear?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“She’s going to anyway,” Tegan said.
“I realize that,” I replied. “I’m just saying I’d rather she didn’t.”
“It’s the holidays,” Dorrie said. “Holidays make people lonely.”
“I’m not lonely because of that!” I protested.
“Yes,  you  are.  Holidays  bring  out  neediness  like  nothing  else—and  for  you  it’s  a  double  whammy,
because this would have been your and Jeb’s one-year anniversary. Am I right?”
“Yesterday,” I admitted. “On Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, Addie,” Tegan said.
“Do you think couples all over the world get together on Christmas Eve?” I said, wondering this for the
first time. “Because it’s all . . . Christmasy and magical, only then it’s not, and everything sucks?”
“So  the  e-mail  you  sent  him,”  Dorrie  said  in  a  let’s-not-get-distracted  tone.  “Was  it  a  ‘Merry
Christmas’ kind of thing?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what did it say?”
I shook my head. “Too painful.”
“Just tell us,” Addie urged.
I got off the bed. “Nope, nuh-uh. But I’ll pull it up. You can read it yourselves.”

---

Chapter Three
T
hey  followed  me  to  my  desk,  where  my  white  MacBook  waited  cheerfully,  pretending  it  wasn’t  a
participant in my disgrace. Puffy Chococat stickers decorated its surface, which I should have scraped off
after Jeb and I broke up, since Jeb was the one who gave them to me. But I couldn’t bear to.
I flipped the computer open and clicked on Firefox. I went to Hotmail, pulled up my “Saved” folder,
and dragged the cursor to the e-mail of shame. My stomach knotted. Mocha lattes? read the subject line.
Dorrie slid into the computer chair and squished over to make room for Tegan. She pressed the mouse-
bar thingie, and the e-mail I wrote two days ago popped onto the screen, dated December 23:
Hey Jeb. I’m sitting here scared, typing these words. Which is crazy. How can I be scared talking to YOU? I’ve written so
many versions of this, and deleted them all, and I’m just sick of myself in my own brain. No more deleting.
Although there is something I wish I *could* delete—and you know what it is. Kissing Charlie was the biggest mistake of my
life. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I know I’ve told you that again and again, but I could keep telling you forever and it wouldn’t be
enough.
You know how in movies, when someone does something really stupid like fooling around behind his girlfriend’s back? And
then he says, “It was nothing! She was nothing!” Well, what I did to you wasn’t nothing. I hurt you, and there’s no excuse for
what I did.
But Charlie *is* nothing. I don’t even want to talk about him. He came on to me, and it was like . . . this rush, that’s all. And
you and I, we’d had that stupid fight, and I was feeling needy or whatever, or maybe just pissed, and it felt good, all that attention.
And I didn’t think about you. I just thought about me.
It’s really not fun saying all of this.
It makes me feel like crap.
But what I want to tell you is this: I screwed up big-time, but I learned my lesson.
I’ve changed, Jeb.
I miss you. I love you. If you give me another chance, I’ll give you my whole heart. I know that sounds corny, but it’s true.
Do you remember last Christmas Eve? Never mind. I know you do. Well, I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About us.
Come have a Christmas Eve mocha with me, Jeb. Three o’clock at Starbucks, just like last year. Tomorrow’s my day off, but
I’ll be there, waiting in one of the big purple chairs. We can talk . . . and hopefully more.
I know I deserve nothing, but if you want me, I’m yours.
xoxo,
me
I could tell when Dorrie finished reading, because she turned and looked at me, biting her lip. As for
Tegan, she made a sad ohhhh sound, got up out of the chair, and hugged me tight. Which made me cry, only
it wasn’t crying so much as a spasm of weeping that took me totally by surprise.
“Honey!” Tegan cried.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. I took a heaving breath.
“Okay,” I said, giving them a watery smile. “I’m better.”
“No, you’re not,” Tegan said.
“No,  I’m  not,”  I  agreed,  and  lost  it  all  over  again.  My  tears  were  hot  and  salty,  and  I  imagined  them
melting my heart. They didn’t. They just made it mushy around the edges.
Big breath.
Big breath.
Big, trembly breath.
“Did he write back?” Tegan asked.
“At midnight,” I said. “Not last night’s midnight, but the midnight before Christmas Eve.” I swallowed
and  blinked  and  swiped  again  at  my  nose.  “I  checked  my  e-mail,  like,  every  hour  after  I  sent  him  the
message—and nothing. So I was like, Give it up. You suck, and of course he didn’t write back. But then I

---

decided to check one last time, you know?”
They nodded. Every girl on the planet was familiar with one-last-time e-mail checks.
“And?” Dorrie said.
I leaned over them and tapped on the keyboard. Jeb’s reply came up.