Page 11 of Love Letters to Christmas

I stare at the swirls of color in Ceres’s hazel eyes. “Can I say something mean and have you recognize that I love, love, love you and don’t mean it in any sort of way, really. I’m just quite literally in the middle of a character arc regression right now?”

“I cannot actually imagine a way you’d be able to offend me, Mellie.”

I nod. Very good. “You are ruining my life. I mean how is someone actually this content and at peace with everything all the time?”

She stops working. “When you don’t really leave your house all that much, there’s very little that can bother you.”

“I know that isn’t true. I was basically imprisoned in my house my entire childhood.” Isolated from people and activities, kept solidly away from any would-be friends who might not have minded my boy-crazed tendencies. My parents’ personalities made existing tough from the very start.

“You went to school and worked at Walmart,” Ceres says.

“School and work don’t count.”

“They force you to be around people, so they actually do.”

I huff, puffing a breath out my nose. “ Fine . But! You were like this as a kid, too, I bet. When you were in school, I bet you also presented zero problems. You are the least problematic person in the whole entire world, and—as stated previously—that’s a problem for me because it is ruining my life. ”

Ceres lifts her attention toward the ceiling, blinks, and says, “Oh. Well.” She smiles. “Dark romance girlies are just built different. Have you considered falling for a raging red flag?”

“No.”

“Pity. You’ll never attain inner peace.”

I know she’s making jokes, but it so deeply feels like the truth. My eyes catch on the letter Brian gave me at the ren faire. It remains, unbothered, on my desk. A constant reminder that I’m welcome .

Sometimes, it’s the only thing getting me through the anxiety that I’m a burden on everyone around me unless I’m giving up everything of myself. And, even then, it still never quite feels like enough .

Shaking my head, I divert my focus off my thoughts and frown at Ceres. “Why can’t my external peace translate into internal peace? Nothing is wrong. Yet it feels like I keep getting electrocuted when I’m just wandering around.”

“Your nervous system is programmed for issues. Your parents created an environment that plateaued at anger. So when there’s nothing wrong, you keep thinking that something’s wrong.

Because something must be wrong. But there’s nothing.

Still, it feels like there’s something. Because there has to be.

But there’s still nothing. And then you start thinking that you’re going to ruin the nothing.

So, sooner or later, you realize that you’re what’s wrong. It’s just you .”

I swallow hard as Ceres stops suddenly, and her rendition of my inner monologue ceases.

Softer and slower, she says, “This is very normal in the healing process. Lying on the floor in a bundle of dysregulation is an incredibly normal step.”

Clutching my phone, I say, “I’d like to be all healed now, please.”

“I’m sorry that’s not how it works.”

I slump. “How did you get all healed up?”

She laughs. Actually laughs. That’s so rare for her.

Arching a brow, she rustles her long red hair.

“I didn’t get all healed up at all. I just embraced my penchant for the unhealthy early on, decided an isolated lifestyle was totally fine, and stopped going outside.

Before Mars, I dreaded leaving my house.

I still do, actually. I’m just getting a little better at managing the fear that stops me. ”

I wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I should have been inviting you to do things, or something.”

“You also weren’t doing things, though, Mellie.”

Because my parents demanded my work schedule, and they would keep tabs on when I was supposed to be home and get…

some kind of way…if I were late even just because the person coming to relieve my shift was late.

“Still,” I whisper. “Maybe we should have been doing things together.” Before now.

Because now I’m a million miles away and it almost feels like it’s too late to have what we’ve lost.

Ceres picks up her phone and stands. “Six hours, huh…”

“Six hours?”

“I’ll be there around 2:00 AM.”

“ What? ”

“I bet the Taco Bell in a big city will still be open. We’ll get Taco Bell at 2:00 AM. It’ll be great.”

My mouth opens and closes, flapping for several moments while Ceres gets her keys. She can’t mean… She does. The camera angle isn’t the best, but I am now looking at a blue sky, because she’s heading to her car. “Ceres, you hate driving.”

She stops on her sidewalk and lifts me so I can see her face and the pragmatic stability in her eyes. Without exaggeration, she says, “Sure. But I like you.”

That breaks the dam holding back countless emotions, and tears fill my eyes.

She begins walking again, opening and closing her car door.

The engine starts, and I blubber, “Ceres, no. Don’t. I’d feel too bad making you come all this way.”

“You’re not making me.”

“Still. I feel responsible. And don’t you have deadlines?”

Her lips pinch as she looks outside her window, toward Mars’s house. “Ah.”

Her door opens, and Mars enters the phone’s view as he leans in her doorway, a forearm braced against the roof. “Hi, love. Where you heading?”

“You’re supposed to be in a meeting, not watching the cameras.”

The…cameras?

“I installed motion sensors at your doors that send texts to my phone when triggered. Can’t very well have you leaving without permission. You might realize you can brave the outdoors all by yourself, and that’s just not codependent enough for me, I’m afraid.”

Ceres and I both blink.

My blink, it should be noted, is in horror , though. Hers is more…a lash fluttering. The most beautiful, excited smile I have ever seen overcome her face appears to make me think, ahaha, oh . This is what she means when she says she’s not all healed up.

Because, I’m sorry. What?

Mars’s attention skates my way, and his flirty smile dies. “Oh. You’re on the phone.”

“Am,” Ceres chirps.

Mars cuts his fingers back through the wild black strands of his hair. “Everything okay?”

“I’m going to see Amelia. We are getting Taco Bell.”

Instead of informing Ceres that this is a horrible idea, Mars says, “Okay. I’ll drive.”

“Girlies only.”

“I’m good at cosplaying as a girlie.”

“You’re in the middle of a meeting.”

“I will text Jove that there was an emergency.”

“You’d shirk part of your very rare and important weekly meeting to invade my girlie time?”

Mars rests his forehead against his arm and smiles down at his fiancée. “Yes.”

“Poor Jupiter,” Ceres bemoans.

When Mars’s eye twitches, I interject, “I’m fine! No one has to come take me to Taco Bell. Promise. I’m trying to help other people , not myself.” Taking in a deep breath and fighting the urge to sob, I blurt, “Mars, do you have any problems I can fix?”

Mars arches a brow and looks at Ceres. Ceres says, “She is done working on herself. Now she’d like to work on us.”

“Ah.” Mars hums, contemplating his many issues, I’m sure. Finally, he locates the perfect one for me, and says, “My wifey-to-be doesn’t want to wear a veil at our wedding. I am peak distress, thinking about how many people will be ogling her.”

These people really don’t have normal problems that are within an attainable and fixable sphere for me, huh?

“Whose fault is it that we’re getting married in full view of the entire town?” Ceres mutters.

“The most romantic holiday of the year’s,” Mars replies.

It’s like they aren’t even speaking English anymore.

One way or another, I manage to coax the lunatics down from coming to see me at two in the morning for Taco Bell. I hang up only once I’m convinced they won’t be bothering Brian on my account by showing up in the middle of the night, then I sigh.

Drained, I return to my carpet-yoga, listening distantly for Brian to make it home from the store, so I can make dinner.

All the while, I do my best to focus on anything, anything, anything …other than myself.