Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances

two  separate  blankets,  spaced  several  feet  apart,  possibly  with  a  lightly  chained  wolf  between  you,”
because that’s what parents always mean. I got a feeling from Debbie that she was fine with the situation,
however  we  wanted  to  roll.  If  we  felt  the  need  to  sit  on  the  sofa  and  share  a  blanket  to  conserve  body
heat, she was not going to object. In fact, she was likely to turn down the heat and hide all the blankets but
one. She took the snowsuit and went off in search of Rachel.
It was so alarming, I temporarily forgot my trauma.
“You look spooked,” Stuart said when he returned. “Has my mom been scaring you?”
I laughed a little too hard and coughed on my cake, and Stuart gave me the same look that he’d given me
at the Waffle House the night before, when I was rambling on about tangential Swedishness and my bad
cell-phone reception. But, like last night, he didn’t comment on my behavior. He just got himself a cup of
coffee and watched me from the corner of his eye.
“She’s taking my sister out for a while,” he said. “So it’s just going to be us. What do you want to do?”
I put more cake in my mouth and fell silent.

---

Chapter Ten
F
ive minutes later, we were in the living room, the tiny Flobie Santa Village twinkling away. Stuart and I
sat  on  the  sofa,  but  not,  as  Debbie  had  probably  hoped,  snuggling  under  the  same  blanket.  We  had  two
separate ones, and I sat with my legs tucked up, forming a protective knee barrier. Upstairs, I could hear
the muffled cries of Rachel as she was shoved into a snowsuit.
I  watched  Stuart  carefully.  He  still  looked  handsome.  Not  in  the  same  way  as  Noah.  Noah  wasn’t
flawless. He had no single amazing feature. Instead, he had a confluence of agreeable aspects that were
accepted by one and all to add up to one very attractive whole, perfectly packaged in the right clothes. He
wasn’t  a  clothes  snob,  but  Noah  had  a  weird  way  of  predicting  what  was  coming  next.  Like  he’d  start
wearing his shirts with one side tucked in and one side loose, and then you’d get a catalog, and every guy
in it would have his shirt like that. He was always one step ahead.
There was nothing stylish about Stuart. He probably had only a slight interest in his clothes and, I was
guessing, absolutely no clue that there were options on how shirts and jeans were worn. He pulled off his
sweater, revealing a plain red T-shirt underneath. It would have been too generic for Noah, but there was
no self-consciousness in Stuart, so it looked right. And even though it was loose, I could see that he was
pretty muscular. Some guys surprise you like that.
If he had any knowledge whatsoever of what his mom was planning, he showed no sign of it. He was
making amusing comments about Rachel’s gifts, and I was smiling a stiff smile, pretending I was listening.
“Stuart!” Debbie called. “Can you come up here? Rachel’s stuck.”
“Be right back,” he said.
He took the steps two at a time, and I got off the sofa and went over and examined the Flobie pieces.
Maybe if I could talk to Debbie about their potential value, she would stop talking to me about Stuart. Of
course, that plan could backfire and make her like me more.
There  was  a  mumbled  family  conference  going  on  upstairs.  I  wasn’t  sure  what  had  happened  with
Rachel and the snowsuit, but it sounded pretty complex. Stuart was saying, “Maybe if we turn her upside
down . . . ”
Here was another question: Why hadn’t he mentioned this Chloe to me? Not that we were best friends
or anything, but we did seem to get along, and he had felt comfortable enough to grill me about Noah. Why
hadn’t he said something when I mentioned his girlfriend, especially, if Debbie was correct on this point,
if he told everyone about it?
Not  that  I  cared,  of  course.  It  was  none  of  my  business.  Stuart  had  just  wanted  to  keep  his  pain  to
himself—probably because he had no intention of trying to get anywhere with me. We were friends. New
friends, but friends. I, more than anyone, could not judge someone because his parent behaved in a strange
manner and got him into an awkward situation. Me, with my jailed parents and my midnight run through
the blizzard. If his mom had the creepy matchmaker gene, he could not be blamed for it.
When the three of them came down the stairs (Rachel in Stuart’s arms, as it didn’t appear that she could
move in the snowsuit), I felt a lot more relaxed about the whole situation. Stuart and I were both victims
of our parents’ behaviors. He was like a brother to me in this respect.
By the time Debbie bum-rushed the mummy-wrapped Rachel out into the wild, I had calmed myself. I
was going to have a cool and friendly hour or so with Stuart. I liked his company, and there was nothing to
worry about. As I turned to commence said cool and friendly hour, I noticed that Stuart was sitting down
with a clouded expression on his face. He regarded me cautiously.

---

“Can I ask you a question?” he said.
“Um . . . ”
He interlaced his fingers nervously. “I don’t know how to put this. I need to ask. I was just talking to my
mom, and . . . ”
No. No, no, no, no.
“Your name is Jubilee?” he said. “Really?”
I crashed onto the sofa in relief, causing him to bounce a little. The conversation I usually dreaded . . .
now it was the most welcome, wonderful thing in the world. Jubilee was jubilant.
“Oh . . . right. Yeah. She heard that right. I’m named after Jubilee Hall.”
“Who’s Jubilee Hall?”
“Not who. What. It’s one of the Flobie pieces. You don’t have it. It’s okay. You can laugh. I know it’s
stupid.”
“I’m named after my dad,” he said. “Same first and middle name. That’s just as stupid.”
“It is?” I asked.
“At least you still have your village,” he said breezily. “My dad was never around much.”
Which was a good point, I had to admit. He didn’t sound particularly bitter about his dad. It sounded
like something that was long past and no longer relevant to his life.
“I don’t know any Stuarts,” I said. “Except for Stuart Little. And you.”
“Exactly. Who calls their kid Stuart?”
“Who calls their kid Jubilee? It’s not even a name. It’s not even a thing. What is a jubilee?”
“It’s a party, right?” he said. “You’re one big traveling party.”
“Oh, don’t I know it.”
“Here,” he said, getting up and reaching over for one of Rachel’s presents. It was a board game called
Mouse Trap. “Let’s play.”
“It’s your little sister’s,” I said.
“So? I’m going to have to play it with her anyway. Might as well learn. And it looks like it has a lot of
pieces. Looks like a good way to kill time.”
“I never just get to kill time,” I said. “I feel like I should be doing something.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . ”
I had no idea. I was just always on my way somewhere. Noah was not a fooler-arounder. For fun, we’d
update the council Web site.
“I realize,” Stuart said, holding up the Mouse Trap box and shaking off the lid, “that you probably lead
a fancy life in the big city. Wherever you’re from.”
“Richmond.”
“Fancy  Richmond.  But  here  in  Gracetown,  killing  time  is  an  art  form.  Now  .  .  .  what  color  do  you
want?”
I don’t know what Debbie and Rachel were doing, but they were out in that snow for a good two hours or
more—and Stuart and I played Mouse Trap the entire time. The first time we tried to do it correctly, but
Mouse  Trap  has  all  these  gizmos  and  things  that  swing  around  and  drop  a  marble.  It’s  weirdly
complicated for a kids’ game.
The second time we played, we made up entirely new rules, which we liked much better. Stuart was
really good company—so good that I didn’t even notice (that much) that it was taking Noah a while to call
me back. When the phone rang, I jumped.
Stuart answered it, because it was his house, and he passed it to me with a kind of strange expression,

---

like he was a little displeased.
“Who was that?” Noah asked, when I got on.
“That’s Stuart. I’m staying at his house.”
“I thought you said you were going to Florida?”
In the background, I could hear a lot of noise. Music, people talking. Christmas was going on as normal
at his house.
“My  train  got  stuck,”  I  said.  “We  crashed  into  a  drift.  I  ended  up  getting  off  and  walking  to  a  Waffle
House, and—”
“Why did you get off?”
“Because of the cheerleaders,” I said with a sigh.
“Cheerleaders?”
“Anyway, I ended up meeting Stuart, and I’m staying with his family. We fell in a frozen creek on the
way. I’m okay, but—”
“Wow,” Noah said. “This sounds really complicated.”
Finally. He was getting it.
“Listen,” he said. “We’re about to go over to see our neighbors. Let me call you back in about an hour
and you can tell me the whole story.”
I had to hold the phone away from my ear, so great was my shock. “Noah,” I said, clapping it back into
place. “Did you just hear me?”
“I did. You need to tell me all about it. We won’t be that long. Maybe an hour or two.”
And he was gone, again.
“That was quick,” Stuart said, coming into the kitchen and going to the stove. He switched on the kettle.
“He had to go somewhere,” I said, without much enthusiasm.
“So he just got off? That’s kind of stupid.”
“Why is that stupid?”
“I’m just saying. I would be worried. I’m a worrier.”
“You don’t seem like a worrier,” I grumbled. “You seem really happy.”
“You can be happy and worried. I definitely worry.”
“About what?”
“Well,  take  this  storm,”  he  said,  pointing  at  the  window.  “I  kind  of  worry  that  my  car  might  get
destroyed by a plow.”
“That’s very deep,” I said.
“What was I supposed to say?”
“You’re not supposed to say anything,” I answered. “But what about how this storm might be evidence
of climate change? Or what about people who get sick and can’t get to the hospital because of the snow?”
“Is that what Noah would say?”
This unexpected pop at my boyfriend was not welcome. Not that Stuart was wrong. Those are exactly
the things that Noah would have mentioned. It was kind of creepily accurate.
“You  asked  me  a  question,”  he  said,  “and  I  told  you  the  answer.  Can  I  tell  you  something  you  really
don’t want to hear?” he asked.
“No.”
“He’s going to break up with you.”
As soon as he said it, there was a physical bang in my stomach.
“I’m only trying to be helpful, and I’m sorry,” he went on, watching my face. “But he is going to break
up with you.”
Even  as  he  was  saying  it,  something  in  me  knew  that  Stuart  had  hit  upon  something  terrible,
something . . . possibly true. Noah was avoiding me like I was a chore—except Noah didn’t avoid chores.

---

He embraced them. I was the only thing he was walking away from. Beautiful, popular, fabulous-on-all-
levels Noah was pushing me aside. This realization burned. I hated Stuart for saying it, and I needed him
to know it.
“Are you just saying this because of Chloe?” I asked.
It  worked.  Stuart’s  head  snapped  back  a  little.  He  clicked  his  jaw  back  and  forth  a  few  times,  then
steadied himself.
“Let me guess,” he said. “My mom told you all about it.”
“She didn’t tell me all about it.”
“This has nothing to do with Chloe,” he said.
“Oh no?” I replied. I had no idea what happened between Stuart and Chloe, but I’d gotten the reaction I
wanted.
He stood up, and looked very tall from where I was.
“Chloe has nothing to do with it,” he said again. “Do you want to know how I know what’s going to
happen?”
No, actually. I didn’t. But Stuart was going to tell me anyway.
“First, he’s avoiding you on Christmas. Want to know who does that? People who are about to break up
with someone. You know why? Because big days make them panic. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries . . .
they feel guilty, and they can’t get into it with you.”
“He’s just busy,” I said weakly. “He has a lot to do.”
“Yeah, well, if I had a girlfriend, and her parents had been arrested on Christmas Eve, and she had to
take a long train ride through a storm . . . I’d have my phone in my hand all night. And I would answer it.
On the first ring. Every time. I’d be calling her to check on her.”
I was stunned silent. He was right. That’s exactly what Noah should have done.
“Plus, you just told him you fell into a frozen creek and you were trapped in a strange town. And he
hung up? I’d do something. I’d get down here, snow or no snow. Maybe that sounds stupid, but I would.
And if you want my advice? If he isn’t breaking up with you, you should dump his ass.”
Stuart said all of this in a big rush, as if the words were blown up by some emotional windstorm deep
inside.  But  there  was  a  gravity  to  it,  and  it  was  .  .  .  touching.  Because  he  clearly  meant  it.  He  said
everything that I had wished Noah would say. I think he felt bad, because he shifted back and forth silently
after that, waiting to see what damage he had caused. It was a minute or two before I could speak.
“I need a minute,” I finally said. “Is there somewhere . . . I can go?”
“My room,” he offered. “Second on the left. It’s kind of a mess, but . . . ”
I got up and left the table.

---

Chapter Eleven
S
tuart’s room was messy. He wasn’t kidding. This was the opposite of Noah’s room. The only thing that
was completely upright was a framed copy of the picture I had seen in his wallet sitting on his bureau. I
went over and had a look at it. Chloe was a stunner, no kidding. Long, deep brown hair. Eyelashes you
could clean a floor with. A big, bright smile, a natural tan, a splash of freckles. She had pretty right down
to the bone.
I sat on his unmade bed and tried to think, but there was just a low hum in my head. From downstairs, I
heard the sound of a piano being played, really well. Stuart was running through Christmas songs. He had
real style—not just like one of those people who play by rote. He could have been playing in a restaurant
or a hotel lobby. Probably somewhere better than that, even, but those were the only places I’d seen piano
players,  really.  Outside  the  window,  two  little  birds  huddled  together  on  a  branch,  shaking  snow  off
themselves.
There was a phone on Stuart’s floor. I picked it up and dialed. Noah sounded just the tiniest bit annoyed
when he answered.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up? We’re about to go, and—”
“In the last twenty-four hours,” I said, cutting him off, “my parents have been arrested. I got put on a
train, which got stuck in a blizzard. I’ve walked miles in deep snow with bags on my head. I fell into a
stream, and I’m stuck in a strange town with people I don’t know. And your excuse for not being able to
talk is . . . what, exactly? That it’s Christmas?”
That shut him up. Which wasn’t really what I was aiming for, but I was glad to see he had some sense
of shame.
“Do you still want to go out with me?” I asked. “Be honest with me, Noah.”
The other end of the line went silent for a long time. Too long for the answer to be “Yes. You are the
love of my life.”
“Lee,” Noah said, his voice sounding low and strained. “We shouldn’t talk about this now.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s Christmas.”
“Isn’t that really more reason to talk?”
“You know how it is here.”
“Well,” I said, hearing anger spring into my voice. “You have to talk to me, because I am breaking up
with you.”
I  could  barely  believe  what  was  coming  out  of  my  mouth.  The  words  seemed  to  come  from  a  place
deep inside me, far beyond the place where I stored them, past the ideas . . . from some room in the back
that I didn’t even know was there.
There was a long silence.
“Okay,” he said. It was impossible to tell what tone was in his voice. It may have been sadness. It may
have been relief. He didn’t beg me to take it back. He didn’t cry. He just did nothing.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you even going to say anything?”
“I’ve kind of known for a while,” he said. “I was thinking about it, too. And if this is what you want,
you know, I guess it’s for the best, and . . . ”

---

“Merry Christmas,” I said. I hung up. My hand was shaking. My whole body was, practically. I sat on
Stuart’s bed and wrapped my arms around myself. Downstairs, the music stopped, and the house filled up
with a drowning kind of quiet.
Stuart appeared at the door, pushing it open cautiously. “Just checking to make sure you were okay,” he
said.
“I did it,” I replied. “I just picked up the phone and did it.”
Stuart came and sat down. He didn’t put his arm around me, just sat next to me, kind of close, but with a
little space between us.
“He didn’t seem surprised,” I said.
“Assholes never are. What did he say?”
“Something about how he’s known it for a while, how it’s probably for the best.”
For some reason, this made me hiccup. We sat in silence for a while. My head was spinning.
“Chloe was like Noah,” he finally said. “Really . . . perfect. Beautiful. Good grades. She sang, she did
charity work, and she was a . . . you’ll like this . . . a cheerleader.”
“She sounds like a prize,” I said grimly.
“I never knew why she went out with me. I was just some guy, and she was Chloe Newland. We dated
for fourteen months. We were really happy, as far as I knew. At least, I was. The only problem was that
she was always busy, and then she got busier and busier. Too busy to stop by my locker or the house, to
call, to e-mail. So I would stop by her house. And call her. And e-mail her.”
It was all so horribly familiar.
“One  night,”  he  went  on,  “we  were  supposed  to  study  together,  and  she  just  didn’t  show  up.  I  drove
over  to  her  house,  but  her  mom  said  she  wasn’t  there.  And  then  I  started  to  get  kinda  worried,  because
usually she would at least text me if she needed to cancel. So I started driving around, looking for her car
—I mean, there are only so many places you can go in Gracetown. I found it in front of Starbucks, which
made sense. We study there a lot because . . . what other option does society give us, right? It’s Starbucks
or death, sometimes.”
He was wringing his hands furiously now, pulling on his fingers.
“What  I  figured,”  he  said  pointedly,  “is  that  I  just  made  a  mistake  and  that  I  was  supposed  to  be
studying with her at Starbucks all along, and I’d just forgotten. Chloe didn’t really like coming here to the
house very much. Sometimes she got a little freaked out by my mom, if you can believe that.”
He looked up, as if waiting for a laugh from me. I managed a little smile.
“I was so relieved when I saw her car there. I’d been getting more and more upset driving around. I felt
like a moron. Of course she was waiting for me at Starbucks. I went inside, but she wasn’t at any of the
tables. One of my friends, Addie, works the counter. I asked her if she’d seen Chloe, since her car was
there.”
Stuart ran his hands through his hair until it got kind of huge. I resisted the urge to pat it down. I kind of
liked it that way, anyway. Something about his really big hair made me feel better—took away some of the
burn I felt in my chest.
“Addie,  she  just  got  this  very  sad  look  on  her  face  and  she  said,  ‘I  think  she’s  in  the  bathroom.’  I
couldn’t figure out what was so incredibly sad about being in the bathroom. So I bought myself a drink,
and I got one for Chloe, and I sat down and waited. There’s only one bathroom in our Starbucks, so she
had  to  come  out  eventually.  I  didn’t  have  my  computer  or  any  books  with  me,  so  I  was  just  generally
staring at the wall mural where the bathroom door is. I was thinking about how stupid I was to get upset
with her and how I’d kept her waiting, and then I realized that she’d been in the bathroom for a really long
time and that Addie was still looking at me, really sadly. Addie went over and knocked on the door, and
Chloe came out. So did Todd, the Cougar.”
“Todd, the Cougar?”

---

“It’s  not  a  nickname.  He’s  literally  the  Cougar.  He’s  our  mascot.  He  wears  the  cougar  costume  and
does the cougar dances and everything. For a minute, my brain was trying to put it all together . . . trying to
figure out why Chloe and Todd the Cougar were in a Starbucks bathroom. I guess my first hope was that it
couldn’t  be  anything  bad  because  everyone  seemed  to  know  they  were  in  there.  But  from  the  look  on
Addie’s face, and the look on Chloe’s face—I didn’t look at Todd—it finally clicked. I still don’t know if
they  went  in  there  because  they  saw  me  coming,  or  if  they’d  been  in  there  for  a  while.  If  you’re  hiding
from your boyfriend in the bathroom with the Cougar . . . the details kind of don’t matter.”
I momentarily forgot all about my phone call. I was in that Starbucks with Stuart, seeing a cheerleader I
didn’t  know  emerge  from  a  bathroom  with  Todd  the  Cougar.  Except  in  my  vision,  he  was  wearing  the
cougar outfit, which probably wasn’t how it really went down.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.  I  just  stood  there,  thinking  I  was  going  to  be  sick  on  the  spot.  But  Chloe  got  furious.  With
me.”
“How does that work?” I said, furious on his behalf.
“I think she was freaked out by the fact that she’d been caught, and it was the only way she could think
to react. She accused me of spying on her. She called me possessive. She said I put too much pressure on
her. I think she meant emotionally—I guess—but it came out sounding so bad. So on top of it all, she made
me sound like a letch in front of everyone in Starbucks, which might as well be everyone in town because
nothing stays quiet here. I wanted to say, ‘You’re making out with the Cougar in the Starbucks bathroom. I