Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances

you still suck, I said in my head, even though I knew she didn’t.
Dorrie squeezed my shoulder, then released me. “We probably should get going, huh, Tegan?”
“I guess,” Tegan said. She fooled with the hem of her T-shirt. “Only I don’t want us to end the night on a
bad note. I mean, it’s Christmas.”
“It’s already ending on a bad note,” I muttered.
“No, it’s not,” Dorrie said. “We made up. Right, Addie?”
“I wasn’t talking about that,” I said.
“Stop,” Tegan said. “I have something good to tell y’all—something that has nothing to do with sadness
or broken hearts or arguing.” She gave the two of us a pleading look. “Will you listen?”
“Of course,” I said. “Well, I will. Can’t speak for Grinch here.”
“I would love to hear something good,” Dorrie said. “Is it about Gabriel?”
“Gabriel? Who’s Gabriel?” I said. Then I remembered. “Oh! Gabriel!” I didn’t look at Dorrie, because
I didn’t want her using this as proof that I thought only about myself or whatever.
“I got the most amazing news right before we came over,” Tegan said. “I just didn’t want to bring it up
while we were still dealing with Addie’s crisis.”
“I think we’re done with Addie’s crisis,” Dorrie said. “Addie? Are we done with your crisis?”
We will never be done with my crisis, I thought.
I sat down on the floor and tugged Tegan to make her sit beside me. I even made room for Dorrie. “Tell
us your good news,” I said.
“My news is about Gabriel,” Tegan said. She smiled. “He’s coming home tomorrow!”

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Chapter Five
“I
 have  his  bed  all  set  up,”  Tegan  said.  “I  have  a  special  Piglet  stuffed  animal  to  make  him  feel
comfortable, and I have a ten-pack of grape Dubble Bubble.”
“Ah, yes, because Gabriel loves grape Dubble Bubble,” Dorrie said.
“Do pigs eat gum?” I said.
“They don’t eat it, they chew it,” Tegan said. “And I have a blanket for him to snuggle on, and a leash,
and a litter box. The only thing I don’t have is any mud for him to roll around in, but I figure he can roll in
the snow, right?”
I was still hung up on the gum bit, but I pulled myself out of it. “Why not?” I said. “Tegan, that is so
awesome!”
Her eyes were bright. “I’m going to have my own pig. I’m going to have my very own pig, and it’s all
thanks to y’all!”
I couldn’t help but smile. In addition to being impossibly endearing, there was something else that gave
Tegan her distinctive Tegan-ness.
She had a thing for pigs.
A really big thing for pigs, so I guess if she said pigs chewed gum, well, then pigs chewed gum. Tegan,
of all people, would know.
Tegan’s room was Pig Central, with porcelain pigs and china pigs and carved wooden pigs on every
surface. Every Christmas, Dorrie and I gave her a new pig for her collection. (Tegan and I gave Dorrie
Hanukkah  gifts,  too,  of  course.  This  year  we  ordered  her  a  T-shirt  from  this  cool  site  called  Rabbi’s
Daughters. It was white with black baby-doll sleeves, and it read,
GOT CHUTZPAH
?)
Tegan has wanted a real pig forever, but her parents always said no. Actually, because her dad fashions
himself a comedian, his standard response was to snort and say, “When pigs fly, Sugar Lump.”
Her mom was less annoying, but equally unyielding.
“Tegan,  that  cute  little  piglet  you’re  dreaming  about  is  going  to  grow  up  to  weigh  eight  hundred
pounds,” she said.
I could see her point. Eight hundred pounds—that was like eight  Tegans  all  balanced  on  top  of  each
other. It might not be such a good idea to have a pet that weighed eight times as much as you did.
But then Tegan discovered—drumroll, please!—the teacup pig. They are beyond cute. Tegan showed
Dorrie and me the Web site last month, and we oohed and ahed over the pictures of teensy-weensy piggies
that seriously fit inside a teacup. They grow to weigh a maximum of five pounds, which is a twentieth of
Tegan’s weight, and which is a much better proposition than an eight-hundred-pound porker.
So Tegan talked to the breeder, and then she made her parents talk to the breeder. While all that talking
was going on, Dorrie and I did some talking to the breeder of our own. By the time Tegan’s parents gave
their official okay, the deed was done: the last of the breeder’s teacup piglets was paid for and reserved.
“You  guys!”  Tegan  squealed  when  we  told  her.  “You’re  the  best  friends  ever!  But  .  .  .  what  if  my
parents had said no?”
“We had to risk it,” Dorrie said. “Those teacup pigs go quick.”
“It’s true,” I said. “They literally fly off the shelves.”
Dorrie groaned, which egged me on.
I flapped my wings and said, “Fly! Fly away home, little piggy!”
We’d fully assumed Gabriel would have flown home by now, so to speak. Last week, Tegan had gotten

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word  from  the  breeder  that  Gabriel  was  weaned,  and  Tegan  and  Dorrie  made  plans  to  drive  to  Fancy
Nancy’s Pig Farm to pick him up. The pig farm was in Maggie Valley, about two hundred miles away, but
they could easily get there and back in a day.
Then came the storm. Bye-bye plan.
“But Nancy called tonight, and guess what?” Tegan said. “The roads in Maggie Valley aren’t so bad, so
she decided to drive on up to Asheville. She’s spending New Year’s there. And since Gracetown’s on the
way, she’s going to swing by and drop Gabriel off at Pet World. I can get him tomorrow!”
“The Pet World across from Starbucks?” I said.
“Why there?” Dorrie said. “Couldn’t she bring him straight to your house?”
“No,  because  the  back  roads  haven’t  been  cleared,”  Tegan  said.  “Nancy’s  buddies  with  the  guy  who
owns Pet World, and he’s going to leave a key for her. Nancy said she’d put a note on Gabriel’s carrier
that says, Do Not Adopt This Pig Out Except To Tegan Shepherd!”
“‘Adopt this pig out’?” I said.
“That’s pet-store-speak for ‘sell,’” Dorrie said. “And thank goodness for Nancy’s note, since no doubt
there’ll be thousands of people storming the pet store, desperate to buy a teacup piglet.”
“Shut up,” Tegan said. “I’ll drive into town and get him the very second the snowplow comes through.”
She made praying hands. “Please, please, please let them get to our neighborhood early!”
“Dream on,” Dorrie said.
“Hey,” I said, struck by an idea. “I’m opening tomorrow, so Dad’s letting me take the Explorer.”
Dorrie made muscle arms. “Addie has Explorer! Addie no need snowplow!”
“You’re darn straight,” I said. “Unlike—ahem—the wimpy Civic.”
“Don’t be mean to the Civic!” Tegan protested.
“Ooh, sweetie, we kind of have to be mean to the Civic,” Dorrie said.
“Anyway,” I interrupted, “I would be happy to pick up Gabriel if you want.”
“Really?” Tegan said.
“Is Starbucks even going to be open?” Dorrie asked.
“Dude,” I said. “Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor hail shall close the doors of the mighty Starbucks.”
“Dude,” Dorrie shot back, “that’s the mailman, not Star-bucks.”
“But unlike the mailman, Starbucks actually means it. They’ll be open, I guarantee it.”
“Addie, there are nine-foot drifts out there.”
“Christina said we’ll be open, so we’ll be open.” I turned to Tegan. “So yes, Tegan, I will be driving
into town far too early tomorrow morning, and yes, I can pick up Gabriel.”
“Yay!” Tegan said.
“Hold on,” Dorrie said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I wrinkled my forehead.
“Nathan Krugle?” she said. “Works at Pet World, hates your guts?”
My  stomach  plunged.  In  all  the  talk  of  pigs,  I’d  forgotten  entirely  about  Nathan.  How  could  I  have
forgotten about Nathan?
I  lifted  my  chin.  “You  are  so  negative.  I  can  totally  handle  Nathan—if  he’s  even  working  tomorrow,
which he probably won’t be, since he’s probably off at a Star Trek convention or something.”
“Already you’re making excuses?” Dorrie said.
“Nooo.  Already  I’m  demonstrating  my  complete  and  utter  lack  of  self-absorption.  Even  if  Nathan  is
there, this is about Tegan.”
Dorrie looked dubious.
I  turned  to  Tegan.  “I’ll  take  my  break  at  nine  and  I’ll  be  the  first  person  through  Pet  World’s  doors,
’kay?” I strode to my desk, ripped off a Hello Kitty sticky note, and scrawled, Do Not Forget Pig! on it
with my purple pen. I marched to my bureau, pulled out tomorrow’s shirt, and slapped the sticky note on

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it.
“Happy?” I said, holding up the shirt for Tegan and Dorrie to see.
“Happy,” Tegan said, smiling.
“Thank  you,  Tegan,”  I  said  grandly,  suggesting  with  my  tone  that  Dorrie  could  stand  to  learn  a  little
lesson from such a trusting friend. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

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Chapter Six
T
egan and Dorrie bade their farewells, and for about two minutes I forgot my heartbreak in the midst of
our good-byes and hugs. But as soon as they were gone, my shoulders slumped. Hi, said my sadness. I’m