by M K Hardy
“Mm, yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I’d better get over to Angie’s. I’ll see you tomorrow. Ten, ten thirty at the latest, okay?”
“All right—give everybody my love.”
“Hi, honey—come in, come in.” Angie’s hair was in its usual state of disarray, her apron smudged with some sort of red substance. “It’s howling out there, just miserable. How was the drive?”
“Mercifully short.”
Angie led Holly and Maya through to their living room, where Maya was promptly mobbed by a gaggle of cousins.
“Mom, can I—?”
“Go on, sweetheart, be good. Leave the cookies.”
“Mo-ommmm—”
“Later. Go.”
Angie chuckled and ushered Holly into the kitchen, where she motioned for her to deposit her bags on the table. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
“…and then just like that, the next morning she said I could have three months.”
“Three months? Three months to what?”
“To find a buyer, find the funds to buy myself.”
“Really? But that’s wonderful! Not a lot of time, but still, it’s something.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely something. She’s coming to Christmas dinner, actually.” Did she sound casual enough? She was pretty sure she didn’t sound casual enough. “Brooke, I mean. She’s stuck here with the weather, so…”
Angie bobbed her head as she leaned over the bubbling pot of sauce. “That’s nice. Seems like she’s turning into a friend after a rocky start.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s been…intense, here and there. But good. I think.”
“You think?”
“Mm. Yeah.” Angie turned the heat down a little on the pot, and turned to survey Holly, eyebrows lifted.
Holly flinched internally. Isn’t this what you wanted? You didn’t need to bring her up at all. “Just…at first I hated her. She was so callous, all she cared about was selling up and getting out, and now… I dunno.”
“Well, she’s changed her mind and chosen kindness. That’s bound to change your opinion of someone.”
“Yeah. She had a tough time. As a kid. She saw a really different side of Karen than the rest of us.”
Angie frowned. “Now, children are always critical of their parents, that’s just how it is.”
Holly shook her head. “No, it was more than that. She was abusive. Manipulative. Intolerant. If you’d seen the way she looked when she talked about her… I believe her.”
“Hm. Well, it’s a shame she had to go through that. Still, she’s made something of herself, and we always have another chance to choose our family. Like you did,” Angie added with a warm smile. “And we’re so glad of it.”
“Mm. I mean, yeah.” Holly blinked. “Sorry, navel-gazing I guess.”
“Let’s get you that coffee.”
“Anyway, I’m sorry to have bothered you for all this on Christmas Eve.”
“No, no, not at all,” Greg said, lifting both hands to wave away Brooke’s apology. “Honestly, I’m just glad you’ve changed your mind.” He smiled. “I’m glad I came over.”
“Yeah, me too. So, you’ll be able to make the changes after New Year’s Day?”
“Absolutely. I could try between Christmas and New Year, but…”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Spend the time with your family, not working on this.” It was as if a switch had flipped—once she had decided to give Holly a chance it was easier to be relaxed about almost everything.
Except Holly herself.
She had tried to convince herself Holly’s reaction hadn’t bothered her, but a near-sleepless night had shown otherwise. Her experience hiding her real self for years before leaving home meant that in adult life, she made a point of coming out to people, early and often, and had come to recognise lots of different reactions. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Holly—surprise, perhaps, or even a little awkwardness given the bland way she’d told her, but in truth she hadn’t expected her to be particularly phased. Instead, Holly had been instantly and profoundly thrown for a loop. The discomfort had come off her in waves. Up to that moment, they’d felt so close, ensconced on the couch, fingers entwined, Brooke baring her soul, and then…
“—doing? Brooke?”
She snapped back to herself, shaking her head to clear it. “Sorry, didn’t sleep well last night. What were you saying?”
“I was just wondering what you were doing for Christmas,” Greg said. “Since the weather’s been so bad and all.”
“Oh, um… I don’t know. I had an invitation, but I might just stay here, catch up on work…”
“Oh, no, take up the invitation, get out, spend time with folks. I’d say come round to our place but my Uncle Merv is coming over and, well, he’s not a pleasant man to spend time with. But you shouldn’t be alone if you’ve got a better offer.”
Brooke gave a thin smile. “We’ll see. Anyway, thanks for coming over. I won’t keep you any longer. Have a good Christmas when it comes.”
Christmas Day
Sorry about my reaction the other night. It isn’t usual for me t|
Hi, hope you’re doing okay. I’ve been thinking of y|
Just to confirm timings for tod|
How did you know you wer|
As Holly was deleting her nth text to Brooke, her phone buzzed with an incoming message, nearly making her drop her phone.
Speak of the Devil…
Hey. Thanks for the invitation but I think I’m going to have to cancel. I’m sorry. I hope you have a good day.
The text blurred in front of her as her heart plummeted through her shoes. She fumbled with her phone and the notification bar slid back up out of view to once more reveal the text she’d been in the middle of backspacing.
Here’s the thing. I think I might have f|
You can’t just not reply. You two still need a working relationship, remember? Even if you don’t have any other kind.
She deleted the rest of the text and composed one she could actually send.
I’m sorry to hear that. You’re still very welcome if you change your mind. Happy holidays.
It was so generic, so polite that her lip curled in distaste as she hit send.
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssss!”
Maya threw herself at her grandparents as they arrived, creating a tangle of pyjama-clad limbs and bags of foodstuffs and bottles.
“Well, someone’s excited.”
“Someone is me!”
Holly chuckled, diving into the fray to rescue some bags. “Maya is desperate to open something other than stocking gifts. We agreed to wait for you.”
“Okay, okay, let’s go see what lies in store for us.” Holly’s father chuckled. “Any coal in your stocking, sweet pea?”
“Nope! Just loom bands and chocolate and an impossible puzzle and nail polish! Can I have some chocolate now, pleeeease?”
“Okay, okay, c’mon, let’s start with getting out of the doorway, huh?”
Holly kept checking her phone. There’d been nothing since her reply to Brooke this morning, and she had no reason to expect there would be anything, but she kept checking it anyway, all through the morning while Maya (well, everyone, but mostly Maya) opened gifts. By the time she and her mother were returning to the kitchen, the sky had darkened and the snow was coming down thick and fast, and if Brooke hadn’t already cancelled Holly would have begun to wonder if she was going to be able to make it over, even from Lakeview.
“Look at that,” Pat remarked, looking out the window. “Brooke had better get a move on if she doesn’t want to be a snowman.”
“Oh, shit, I forgot to say—she can’t make it.” Holly tried to sound unbothered. Truthfully, she hadn’t forgotten at all. She just didn’t quite trust herself to tell her mother Brooke wasn’t coming without cracking and spilling her guts
.
“Language,” her mother said with a sharp look. “That’s a shame. I hope she’s not spending the day alone.”
“Mm. No idea,” Holly said, turning her back to give her attention to the carrots, and to blink. The next time her mother left the room, she pulled her phone back out. No messages. She pulled up the composer, and quickly entered one of the messages she’d been too cowardly to send that morning.
Thinking about you.
After a moment, she appended:
Wishing you were here.
She didn’t even pause to read it over before hitting send. Whatever happened, even if she and Brooke couldn’t be friends, never mind anything else, nobody deserved to be completely alone, today of all days. If Brooke was, at least she now knew she was on Holly’s mind. At least she would know she was wanted.
If only she knew how much.
Brooke couldn’t believe she had given away all her bourbon. Realising the bottle had been left at Holly’s had been like salt in an already-stinging wound; how was she supposed to have a pity party without some hard liquor to drown her sorrows in?
She was in the unenviable position of being completely alone at the B and B. The other guests were all with friends and family in town, and even Janet had gone to spend the day with her son, leaving Brooke with apologies and copies of keys, any security worries she might have entirely overridden by her commitment to her plans for the day. Being stuck in such an overtly festive home had not improved her mood.
Sadly, no feast waited to complement the decorations; the fridge held some lunchmeat and yogurt, which was what Brooke was wrangling into a meal when her phone chirped an alert at her.
Thinking about you. Wishing you were here.
What in the name of Christmas…?
Holly’s previous text had been polite, almost cold. Brooke hadn’t expected her cancellation to go down well, but it was still better than trying to navigate the day with a woman made so profoundly uncomfortable by her very existence. She’d spent enough holidays like that with her mother to want to do it again. But this text…
She’d just about convinced herself to move on and try to put the whole “Holly Thing”, as she was now thinking of it, behind her. She didn’t regret giving Holly time and a chance with the bakery: as soon as she had, she’d known it was the right thing to do, and had felt better for it. As hard as it would be to navigate their business relationship after an abruptly terminated friendship, she’d been through more difficult times.
There was, of course, the nagging concern that Holly’s reaction stemmed from a worry that Brooke was harbouring feelings for her. This, such a stereotypical response from uncomfortable straight women, had been a bitter pill to swallow, but then, it also had the distinction of being true. If Holly had in that moment looked back at every glance, every touch, and discerned an attraction, she was right to—Brooke had certainly felt it. She might have hoped for a less horrified reaction to the idea, but she couldn’t say it was imagined.
But now…Holly was many things, but she wasn’t manipulative. She wouldn’t have sent a message like this unless it was heartfelt.
But what the hell does it mean?
Maybe she had gotten over her discomfort. Maybe she hadn’t but was still a decent enough person to try to reach out. Whatever the case, as soon as she saw the text Brooke knew she couldn’t just ignore it. The problem was, she didn’t know what to say in reply.
Me too. More than I can adm|
It hurt when you pulled your hand away, I thought mayb|
I dreamed about you last ni|
No. Absolutely not. Whatever had prompted Holly to send that message she didn’t need Brooke’s overly candid—and lonely—ramblings.
I’m sorry. I don’t do Christmas well. I wouldn’t want to ruin yours.
There was no immediate reply. Brooke imagined Holly and Maya and Holly’s parents opening presents together around the tree in the corner of the living room, Maya’s delighted expression at every gift, Christmas music playing in the background no doubt. Perhaps later, after food, they’d gather together to watch a movie, or maybe play a game.
Brooke’s childhood Christmases had been cold wars: every gift scrutinised for quality, price, thoughtfulness; nothing given without an expectation of a commensurate level of gratitude even when she was too young to be expected to buy gifts herself. Santa Claus had never visited Highfield, only Karen Hawkins did, and nobody was ever loving or appreciative enough for her “Nice” list.
True, Brooke wasn’t very good at Christmas. But the other night, for the first time, sitting round a dining table with Holly and Maya, she’d very much wanted to try.
About an hour later, her phone buzzed.
There are some presents here for you. I’d like to bring them round before the snow gets too much worse, if you would be okay with that.
Would a visit from Holly be better or worse than the quiet, empty house? Even if it risked more awkwardness Brooke knew she couldn’t say no.
As long as it’s safe to drive. Be careful.
It was almost half an hour before the doorbell rang, and so Brooke had a sinking feeling as she opened the door, confirmed by the sight that greeted her. Holly was fully bundled up in her outdoor gear, shoulders and hat heavily dusted with snow, face rosy from exertion.
“Oh my God, you walked? You must be freezing,” she exclaimed, opening the door wider. “Hurry, come in.”
“I, uh… The car was already snowed in, and I figured it isn’t far…” Holly’s tone was cheery enough, but her voice was breathy, and she certainly wasted no time in coming inside, stamping her feet on the hallway mat, and putting down the bag she’d brought.
“I should get you something hot. Janet’s got one of those machines… Coffee? A latte? Something else?”
“Oh, um, actually…” Holly pulled her hat off and stuffed it into a pocket before stooping to open the bag. She pulled out the object at the top: a half-full bottle of whiskey.
“Your bourbon’s gone, I’m afraid, but…” She held it out to Brooke. “Maybe a toddy?”
That’s a terrible idea.
“Great idea.”
The alcohol didn’t worry Brooke so much—after all, she knew they could both hold their liquor well enough from the other night, and one drink, well diluted in boiling water, was hardly going to hurt. No, it was the fact it meant bringing Holly through to the kitchen at the back of the house, waiting for water to boil, sourcing the honey, cutting up the lemon, moving around the unfamiliar room in search of the relevant ingredients. It would all take time—more time than she was sure she could spend with Holly right now. Holly had shed her coat (though not her scarf) and stood over the stove warming her hands on its residual heat. She was either oblivious to Brooke’s discomfort, or too preoccupied herself to remark on it.
“I hope Maya has had a good day,” she remarked. “And you, of course.”
“Uh, yeah, she got a new bike, so she’s beside herself,” Holly said with a glance and a nod. “Plus, she’ll be spoiling her dinner with chocolate right about now—she had to be bribed not to throw a fit over me leaving out to see you without her.”
“Yeah. Um, I’m sorry about that—letting her down, I mean. She’s a really good kid.” Brooke frowned down at the lemon she was cutting. “I guess I just…felt it might be awkward.”
“Yeah. But that’s my fault, not yours.” Holly turned. Brooke didn’t look up, but she could see the movement in her periphery. “Brooke, if you don’t want to talk about this, we don’t have to, but… The other night, the way I behaved…it wasn’t okay. I know it wasn’t. But I want you to know it wasn’t about you. Or at least…not the way you might think.”
“It’s fine,” she said, chopping faster. “I sprung it on you. I shouldn’t have just…dropped it on you like that.”
“No, no, you had no idea I’d freak out.” There was movement at the edge of
Brooke’s vision as Holly stepped closer, her hand coming into view as she reached out across the bench, but she stopped short of covering Brooke’s, instead bringing it to rest just by the chopping board. Brooke heard a quiet sigh—barely more than an audible exhalation. “I wasn’t afraid of…who you are,” she said quietly. “I was afraid of how I felt. Feel. About you.”
Brooke’s knife slowed, then stopped. She looked at Holly, hope warring with surety that she was mistaken. “And how do you feel?” she asked, her voice low, throaty.
Holly pulled her lower lip between her teeth. For a moment she said nothing. Then, “I wasn’t sure,” she murmured. “I mean, I had no idea. And when you told me, it was like a bunch of stuff clicked into place. Everything I’d been feeling these past few days, it all made sense, except it doesn’t make sense, because I’ve never felt like that about a woman—about almost anybody, really. And I panicked. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Brooke blinked. The little ball of hope began to grow, to glow brighter inside her as she looked into Holly’s eyes. She could see the worry there, the apology, but also something reflecting the glow she felt inside. “Don’t be sorry. I think it just hit me hard because…I’ve felt something too.”
The butterflies in Holly’s stomach took flight all at once. It wasn’t exactly a movie moment, this quiet exchange of information. There was no string section swelling in a crescendo, nobody was swept off their feet and carried into the sunset. And yet it felt no less remarkable for any of its domestic mundanity. After all, what were the chances? Despite the high emotional stakes of their mutual confessions, or perhaps because of them, Holly realised she was grinning. She was gazing right up into Brooke’s eyes and grinning ear to ear.