Page 9 of Holiday Wishes and Tentacle Dreams

“I don’t need your money, Gram.” That was the last thing Jake wanted—for his grandmother to be impacted by his failures. She was in her sixties, and she deserved every cent she’d saved over the years. Her life had been hard for a long time, and he never wanted to cause her problems, especially now that she was living more comfortably.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m doing just fine. I can send you a couple hundred for food and gas.” Gram’s voice had taken on a strict timbre. When she made up her mind, it was useless arguing. She was a stubborn pain in the ass, and Jake adored her.

“Thanks, Gram. I love you.”

Miranda Priestly meowed and head-butted his hand before rubbing against him. Did she think he was talking to her?

“Love you too, sweetie. Happy Thanksgiving. Have some turkey if you can.”

With a click, she was gone, and Jake was alone. He wouldn’t be having any turkey. He couldn’t afford turkey. Half an order of leftover pad thai would be his Thanksgiving dinner.

He should clean up the mess all around him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would only take a few minutes to grab a trash bag and toss out all the containers, but…he just couldn’t. He was so tired.

Jake had to face facts. His depression had been getting worse for the last few days. It wasn’t unexpected. Yes, it was a medical condition, but it was a condition that could be triggered by life events. And he’d just had a big, sucky life event.

Phil leaving had kicked Jake’s mental illness into high gear. His sleep schedule was royally screwed. What few belongings he had left were strewn about the floor. He’d spent the last forty-eight hours holed up in their old apartment watching videos on his phone.

Which didn’t sound so bad right now. Trying to put the mess in the kitchen out of his mind, Jake headed to the bedroom, where another shameful situation confronted him. With nowhere to sleep, he’d piled up a mound of his clothes for a makeshift bed.

What choice did he have? As he sank down into his homemade nest and pulled out his phone to search for more cute cat videos, MP crawled in next to Jake, snuggling into his side. Watching cat videos with his cat was one of the few things keeping him sane.

He’d have to clean this all up in the next two days to get ready for the subletter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jake was so tired. He should text his therapist, but it wasThanksgiving. The guy was with his family.

So, cat videos it was. Jake knew himself. He’d scramble and pack everything up in the middle of the night right before the new tenants arrived. Until then, this was fine. And then…

Was he really moving to a beach house in Maine in the middle of winter?

Technically, it wasn’t winter yet, but it would be soon enough. He’d be stuck there during the worst part of the year, far from friends and family.

On the other hand, it’s not like he had any friends here now. It was better for him to be alone. Might as well be alone somewhere he didn’t have to pay rent.

The drive up to Maine was beautiful. Well, not the part from New York to Massachusetts. That was just empty highway. Leaving at four in the morning meant the few vehicles he saw were semis, their trailers dwarfing his tiny 2007 Miata as he passed them. They were lonely giants, barely reacting as he darted in between them. He was invisible. It wasn’t a new feeling.

When Jake hit Route 1, though, the landscape changed. He started catching glimpses of the ocean, the rising sun littering the surface of the water with yellow sparks. He made his way through Kittery, not bothering to stop at the outlets there, then passed through several adorable tourist towns—Ogunquit, Wells, Kennebunkport—before arriving at Linwood Falls.

The village was quiet. Jake had known it would be, considering the time of year, but it hadn’t struck him just howabandonedit would feel. Other than a market and a coffee shop, most of the stores were dark. Closed for the season.

He was soothed, however, by the wreaths hanging from the lampposts and the blood-red bursts of poinsettias in the shop windows. Christmas was his favorite, and he appreciated the commitment.

As he drove down Main Street, one white-haired old woman hobbled down the sidewalk to his right at a good clip. She was on a mission, a telescope tucked under her arm and a determined expression on her face. Other than that, he didn’t see another living soul.

At the prompting from his phone’s GPS, he veered right down a long road. Crossing several bridges over a series of tidal pools, nearly empty at low tide with the brown dirt of their banks showing, he turned again to travel alongside a line of houses nestled right up to the beach. All of them had nautical-themed signs with ridiculous names, like “The Nor’easter” and “The Johnson’s Mermaid Haven.” Clocking the street numbers, eventually he arrived at 373 Ocean Drive.

The plank of treated driftwood hanging above the door declared the house “The Sailor’s Solitude.” Pretentious, maybe, but it would be accurate, at least as long as Jake lived there. He pulled into the driveway as he took in the building.

Much like other houses in the neighborhood, the wooden siding was pale gray with white trim. There were only two tiny windows at this end, but there were more waiting on the sea-facing side, Jake was sure.

He dragged his large suitcase and backpack out of the backseat, and stopped for a moment to consider the trunk, which was stuffed full of his Christmas decorations. He’d thinned out his old clothes from the apartment, but he couldn’t bring himself to purge the holiday decor, so the back was packed with boxes and bags stuffed with ornaments.

Jake’s chest tightened as anxiety spiked within him. He would deal with the decorations later.

Coming around to the other side of the car, he opened the door to pick up Miranda Priestly’s carrier. The normally chill ragdoll cat wasnothappy, letting out a loud hiss followed by a wave of melancholy meows. Jake pushed aside the pang of guilt that sprang up in his stomach. MP would be fine once she adjusted to the new place.

Piling up the luggage by the door, he retrieved the key, hidden in a decorative lighthouse by the stairs, and opened the door to his home for the next six months.

It was…naval. Very naval. The first floor was open, with a kitchen and living room, and everything was decked out in white and navy blue. Blue-and-white striped throw pillows covered the couch. Navy curtains covered each window. Every inch of empty wall was covered with paintings of sailing ships.

Great-Uncle Charlie must have had a sailor fetish.