My whole body is on fire. My training tells me to stop, drop, and roll, but that’s not going to help this particular situation.
I clear my throat and say possibly the dumbest thing ever, though it’s better than the dangerous things scrolling through my mind. “The couch and pajamas are cozy.”
“I’m really enjoying not having my phone, but maybe we should take a photo in our pajamas.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “If we don’t capture it, it didn’t happen,” I joke.
But it did. It is. This is real and as we scootch together with Pookie, I take a selfie and breathe in this moment because it’s certainly not one I’ll soon forget. We take a few shots of us smiling and goofing around, making silly faces, laughing all the while.
She climbs into bed and pulls the covers up to her chin. “Oh, and by the way, it’s Christmas Eve, so anything but cozy would be wrong.”
I worry that what we’re doing is wrong, but if that’s the case, I’m not sure I want to be right.
I can reach the light switch and flip it off, but a small, ceramic lamp shaped like a Christmas tree glows with colorful lights.
Rebecca and I lie there in our separate spaces, the room quiet except for Pookie’s soft snoring from her spot on the bed.
After a beat, when I should be counting sheep, Becca’s voice breaks the silence. “Remember when you and Brady tried to stay up all night to catch Santa?”
I smile at the ceiling. “We made it to nine thirty.”
“I was too afraid to get in trouble.”
“Your mom found us passed out on the couch with half-eaten cookies.”
She giggles again. “And a note for Santa that said ‘We’re watching you.’”
I chuckle. “You remember that?”
“I’m surprised he still left gifts.”
“In our defense, we were very committed to the stakeout.” I shift to look in her direction. “Your mom made everything special. Mine too. They were friends except when it came to fruitcake.”
Rebecca laughs. “She makes the worst fruitcake every year. And every year, people pretend it’s delicious.”
“My mom was honest about it,” I add, recalling the memory.
“Is any fruitcake good? It’s kind of like a dry brick rather than cake.”
I laugh. “I’ll have to add it to the list of things to try making at the bakery as a special seasonal Crush Cakes flavor.”
Rebecca, voice barely above a whisper, says, “Your mom would be proud of you.”
“I miss her, especially at Christmas,” I admit.
“I’m sorry, Reese. She was wonderful.”
We talk for a while longer about childhood Christmases, and I’m so relaxed that I almost miss it when Rebecca speaks again, her voice small. “I had such a crush on you.”
My brain takes a second to catch up. “What?” Did she say something about slush, like on the roads once the storm stops, or did she say something else?
“I had a crush on you for almost as long as I can remember. It was bad when I was sixteen, but the heart eyes hit a critical point this one Christmas ...”
“I’m not being modest, but this is news to me.”
“I’d been eighteen for barely a month, still a senior in high school when you and Brady came home from your academies for break. You’d both grown up and ... I had the worst crush.” She pulls the blanket higher, like she’s hiding. “You probably don’t even remember. I was just Brady’s annoying little sister who followed you around.”
Warmth radiates through me at her confession. “You weren’t annoying.” I should stop there. Leave it at that. But the words keep coming as a long-buried memory comes to the surface. “And I remember that day. Maybe a little.”
