Page 67 of Holly Jolly July

Ellie

I should have asked Mariah to help me get the Christmas tree out. Despite its small size, it’s not as easy to manoeuvre as

I’d assumed. It’s prickly and hard to grab on to, and I’m making a mess on the floor with needles that I’ll have to clean

up. I’m already running late, and the last thing I need is yet another mess. Maybe I should just leave it; something tells

me that Matt won’t be giving me a good star rating on Airbnb no matter how clean the cabin is.

The tree is stuck halfway out the door and I’m trying to jam it through when I hear knuckles rapping on the door frame. Startled,

I glance up.

Well, speak of the devil.

Matt wears jeans and a tight black T-shirt, his hair tied back in a knot, and he’s doing the boyfriend lean against the door. What once would have turned me into horny goop now has no effect, aside from causing mild irritation.

“Hey, sorry, am I late? I thought my checkout time was eleven.” I drop the tree, sending a slew of needles tinkling onto the

floor, and take a step back to eye the time on the stove.

“No, you’re not late. I came early, hoping I’d catch you.” He gives me a guarded smile.

I fidget, uneasy. “Oh. Great.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes hold of the tree, easily yanking it through the door. He carries it with one hand and tosses

it like a twig into the woods.

“Thanks,” I say, only a little jealous of his strength. “Why are you here?”

He dusts off his hands on his pants. “I had to come make sure the place is back in order.”

“I have a bit of sweeping to do.” I gesture at the needles. “Otherwise it’s back to normal.”

“May I?” Matt asks, looking past me into the cabin.

I step back and nod, allowing him entrance. While he pokes his head around the space, I grab the broom and dustbin from the

pantry cupboard and start sweeping.

He comes back into the living room and, after watching me sweep for a few seconds, holds out his hand for the dustbin. I hand

it over, and Matt crouches down to hold it while I sweep up the tree detritus.

“Mariah isn’t here, hey?” he asks after a few moments of silence.

“Nope. She’s at work. We both head back to Vancouver after this.”

“You two headed back together?”

“Why, you going to track us down and plot your revenge?”

“Maybe.” He looks up at me and grins.

I sigh, wishing he’d have let me leave the cabin in peace. “No, we’re not going back together. I’m not sure if we’ll ever

see each other again, to be honest. She’s going to LA following a job lead.”

My heart aches just thinking about how close we came to true happiness, and how quickly it was ripped away from us. I finish

sweeping the needles and Matt stands, towering over me once more. He discards the needles outside while I do one last check

to make sure I have everything before stepping outside and locking the door.

Matt approaches, holding out his hand. I set the key into his palm and his fingers enclose mine, holding me there. I look

up into his eyes to see his expression has turned serious, and gulp. My heart beats a little faster, suddenly realizing I’m

alone in the woods with a man who has every reason to be angry with me.

“I had another reason for coming here,” he says, his voice low.

“Wh-what’s that?”

His expression softens. “To apologize.”

I grit my teeth; this is the last thing I need right now.

“I’m not going to alleviate any guilt you feel about what happened between the three of us, Jax.

We both said what we needed to say last night.

Now, if you’re truly sorry, then you need to do the work and lead the type of life that reflects it. ”

He releases my hand and I push past him, stepping into the morning light.

Matt locks the door behind us and we part ways, gravel crunching beneath our shoes as we walk to our respective vehicles.

I grab the handle of my door and stop—there is one thing I need from Matt. This is my only chance to ask. Before I can think

on it any further, I turn back to face him. “Wait.”

Matt pauses and looks back at me, one foot inside his little purple truck.

I try not to say what I’m about to say, but I can’t help myself. Something deep down within me needs to know. I take a steadying

breath, and then ask, “If you had to choose one of us. Which one?”

My heart thuds in my ears as I watch his face shift, eyes lifting to the sky. After several moments, they meet mine again,

apologetic and sheepish.

I purse my lips. Still coming in second. “It’s okay. I’d choose her, too.”

He gives me a half shrug, then climbs into his truck and shuts the door, his elbow jutting out the open window. “Take care

of yourself, Ellie.”

I watch as he drives away.

I can’t believe, for a very short period of time, I’d imagined my whole life with him—right down to the picket fence, chicken coop, and gaggle of children running around.

And now, watching him drive down the road and out of my life forever, he’s a stranger—a lost soul travelling through space and time, struggling with his basic concept of self.

And I feel sorry for him. This big, strong, handsome guy, with a phone full of contacts who don’t really know who he is, with no clue where he’s going or why he’s here, with opportunities at his feet and no direction to go—I pity him.

Because I know who I am, and I know who I love.

Even if she didn’t choose me in the end.

Our relationship may not have withstood the test of time, it may faded faster than a star shooting across the sky, but it

was raw and real and honest.

Pressure forms behind my eyes, a tear threatening to spill over and run down my cheek. I begin to sniffle it back up, to blink

it away, to force my breath to even out, and bury everything until I forget about it, but something stops me.

Mariah’s voice echoes in the back of my mind.

It’s okay to be sad.

So I take a deep breath, and... I let myself be.

I let the tears fall down my cheeks. I allow the sobs to rack my body. The sadness grows until it’s gripping my whole heart

in a vise, and I curl in on myself, squatting down on the ground, hugging myself tight with my knees toward my chest. My breath

heaves at the aching pain of losing Mariah when I’d just found her, and I feel her loss in every square inch of my body.

After a minute, the tears begin to slow. The pain recedes to a dull ache. My eyes stop producing tears, and after a few hiccups,

my chest releases its tight hold. I can breathe again.

I stand slowly, bleary-eyed, and take a long, deliberate inhale, followed by a cleansing, shaky exhale.

And I feel... better.

Not good. Not right. But better. I breathe with a new sense of clarity, of understanding that life doesn’t have to be all

sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes things are just sad, and that’s okay.

As I drive away, leaving the cabin behind with all the memories, hopes, dreams, and missed opportunities swirling in my mind, the light catches my bracelet, drawing my attention.

I tilt my wrist back and forth, watching it sparkle, and smile.

I may be leaving the cabin behind, along with all the things I’ve left unsaid, but perhaps I can take what I’ve learned with me.

And, in a way, it will be like carrying a piece of Mariah everywhere I go.

Even if I’m about to see her for the very last time.

Back in Chilliwack, each step I take toward hair and makeup feels like my feet weigh a thousand pounds. I grip the familiar

handle and push the door open, understanding the finality of such an action. I peer around the brightly lit room, full of

hustle and bustle; I miss it already. My eyes land on Mariah at her station. She’s already looking at me, as if she’s been

staring at the door, waiting for me to walk through it. My heart rises into my throat, nearly choking me.

I step toward her, and the closer I get the more everything around us fades. We stand there for five heartbeats, simply regarding

one another. Without a word, I sit in my seat. Mariah comes up beside me, then begins our ritual: the soft pads of her fingers

swirling the cool liquid over my skin, the expert brushstrokes along my cheekbones, my jaw, my temple. The gentle care she

takes with my eyelids, with my lips, taking more time than she ever has before, as if she’s relishing it just as much as I

am.

When she’s finished, I open my eyes, and she’s so close. Her eyes meet mine, then flutter down to my lips. I breathe her in,

beckoning her closer. She leans in, barely a millimetre, my pulse quickening in response, and—

“Mariah, I need to speak with you.”

We pull apart abruptly, the room coming back to life around us with its noise and light and familiar chaos.

Mariah clears her throat, regarding Jimmie before her. “Sorry, what is it?”

“I received a call yesterday asking for a reference,” he states, his expression stony.

I glance from Mariah to Jimmie and back, the air thick with suspense.

He cracks a smile. “I put a good word in.”

We both exhale in a long whoosh.

“Wow, thanks, Jimmie. I don’t know what to say.”

“I told them you have a lot to learn, but your talent is obvious. Though it sounded like they were planning to hire you with

or without my approval.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” Mariah’s voice is flat and without intonation.

“And you.” Jimmie turns to me. “Seems like you’re stuck with us for another round of Christmas. Yueyi told me everything.

It looks like we’ll be together again in Whistler before summer is out.”

“Great. Thanks, Jimmie. You’re the best.” I, too, seem unable to bring emotion into my voice. This has never happened to me

before.

Jimmie regards his clipboard and moves to the other side of the room. We both stare uncomfortably at the floor.

“Congratulations,” I say finally, trying my best to mean it. “I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you do.”

Mariah nods. “You, too. I’m excited for you.”

“Yeah, same. Super excited.”

“You’ll do amazing.”

“We’re both moving up in the world.”

“Getting what we want.”

I can’t even force a smile. I meet Mariah’s gaze, and it seems she can’t, either.

All I want is to take her in my arms. To tell her how I feel. To promise that we’ll always be friends at least, that we’ll

call each other and stay in contact and that one day this will all work out. But I can’t promise that, and I don’t want to

drag the pain out any longer than I need to. But I do think Mariah needs to know how important she is to me, and how much

she’s changed my life.

“Listen—” I begin, but Yueyi cuts us off, her loud voice ringing through the room.

“Last day on set, get a move on! We have a lot of cleanup to do.” Yueyi claps her hands twice, like a preschool teacher.

“We’ll talk after,” Mariah says. “I have to pack up my station, anyway. I’ll wait to leave until you’re done filming so we

can say goodbye.”

It’s going to be impossible to focus on my lines now. I manage to nod, then get up from my seat and head toward the costume

area. When I walk back across the room, Mariah’s things are mostly packed and tucked away in her giant duffel bag. Everything

feels wrong, like I don’t fit in my skin, like I need to moult out of it and shake it off and leave it behind. As I walk past

her, I trail my fingers down her arm, leaving a line of goosebumps in their wake.

Then, I head down the stairs, onto the street, and toward the café to deliver my final lines.