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“She died on Christmas morning?” Ellie asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. But we didn’t find out until three days later.”

I glance up at Ellie, whose mouth is frozen open in an expression of sheer horror.

I take a deep breath. “Shortly after that picture was taken we went and opened presents. She gifted me a makeup set. My first one. I was twelve years old.”

Ellie gives me a small smile. “She introduced you toAlienand your first makeup set, too? She really inspired you.”

“Yeah, she did. In a lot of ways. Mom said I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup yet, but Aunt Cindy told them to lighten up. She took me into the bathroom and we did my makeup together. I remember looking in the mirror and feeling so pretty, and being so proud of it, and feeling like... I don’t know. Like I didn’t have to be me. I could be anyone. I could be one person one day, and a different person the next, like makeup could transform more than my looks, actually change who I was as a person. I didn’t like who I was back then. I felt like I didn’t fit in my skin, like it belonged to someone else, and it was itchy and I just wanted to take it off and run away. I guess, in the end, I did...” I trail off for a moment, gathering my thoughts whileEllie waits patiently, elbows rested on the counter between us. “We went to the living room to show my family how I looked. I was so excited—I thought they’d all love it. But my grandpa took one look at me and told me I looked like a cheap whore.”

Ellie gasps.

“Right? Who says that to a twelve-year-old?” I give my head a shake. “Aunt Cindy started yelling. Then my mom started yelling. I was crying. They told me to go wash that ‘trash’ off my face. Mom threw my makeup in the garbage. I heard them shouting about how they didn’t want me to end up like my aunt, and my aunt was screaming back that she’d never want to be like them. This went on for a while, but by the time I’d washed it all off and came out my aunt was gone. I never saw her again.”

Ellie is silent, taking this all in.

I push on. “She passed away two years later. Fentanyl overdose. She was all alone on Christmas morning, using drugs. She took too much and it all ended right there. She didn’t have anyone to be with. She didn’t have anyone checking up on her. She had nothing. And—” The tears that have evaded me up until this point finally find their way to my ducts, threatening to spill. I blink a few times, then let them fall, having learned a long time ago that emotions are not meant to be bottled up, and knowing with every cell in my body that Ellie would be the last person in the world to judge a person for crying. “In a way,” I continue, my voice thick, “I always felt like we were so similar. We don’t fit in. We’re the black sheep. And every Christmas I think about her. I think about me. I can’t help but wonder—will that be me someday? Will I end up like her? All alone on Christmas morning, trying to mask my pain for just a little while, with no one to notice when I’m gone.”

Interstitial

Int. James’s Apartment - Evening

Annie and James are decorating cookies at the table. Their legs are crossed toward each other, nearly touching.

Christmas music plays quietly in the background.

ANNIE

When did you get so good at this?

Mine looks like I’m in kindergarten.

JAMES

I used to do this every year.

ANNIE

(glancing at him)

Oh?

JAMES

It’s been a while, but I guess icing

cookies is like riding a bike. A few

Christmases ago I even entered a contest

and won first place for it. This is the

first time I’ve decorated cookies since...

ANNIE

(beat) Since?