Page 12 of Love Letters to Christmas

No one tells me anything.

Amelia

I was locked in a car with Brian for six hours so I could watch grown men in sunglasses get married at night during a ten minute ceremony that took place on the outskirts of a town painted red, red, and red.

I was locked in a car with Brian for six hours , and I only barely survived, because at one point he had to make a U-turn, and he single-handled the wheel full circle.

It took everything in me to keep my heart from leaping out of my throat.

Because I am no longer allowed to obsess over Brian Single.

No, sir.

I am on a personal growth journey, marching valiantly toward healing…and peace…and security.

And just in case anyone asks, I am doing a great job and making excellent progress.

“I have not seen your parents here,” Ceres says, seated beside me in her wedding dress as though she’s not eating a messy Grilled Cheese Burrito that could forever stain the fabric. On the whole, her “wedding gown” is more of a “white summer dress,” but still.

It’s beautiful, and I wish she weren’t opening a Taco Bell sauce packet over it.

At the very least, it helps me pretend that the deep-seated anxiety taking residence in my stomach is wholly her fault, not the fault of my being in my hometown for the first time since I had a less-than-great exodus.

Also, on the topic of parents , hers happen to be here, too, and judging by the awkward, tear-filled way she hugged them goodnight after the service, she should also be a puddle of nerves right now, yet she isn’t.

I love and loathe her in the very same breath sometimes.

Worriedly watching the crowds, I peel back the wrapper of the burrito I got at the Taco Bell truck near us and shift at the picnic table beside the festival’s food court.

“Everyone in town must be here, and you have been kind of busy getting married and with your own parents, so the fact you’ve not seen mine means nothing ,” I provide, confidently, well on my way to obtaining true zen.

Ceres drenches her burrito in sauce. “This event was advertised at key cities within a logical distance, so tourism is at an all-time high. The fact there are a lot of people here doesn’t necessarily mean the entire town came out. It’s all cityfolk.”

Crowds and crowds of cityfolk, playing games, riding rides, eating food.

I’ve got to hand it to whoever put this festival together, it’s amazing.

I wish I knew whether or not it’s normal for me to never have heard of it before.

With my social media time consisting entirely of stalking Brian in Iferous, Indiana and my parents not loving whenever I’d do anything but come straight home from work and school, maybe it’s only logical that I missed this whole extravagant, annual Flag Day celebration.

My attention navigates to Brian, a light in the fray, surrounded by people who haven’t seen him in ages. He’s hugging a stuffed cat he won at a fair game earlier, laughing, and—

And I am not staring at him.

I can’t distract myself from everything else going wrong inside my head by fangirling over Brian anymore.

In my search for mental wellness, I read an article about attachment styles and discovered I’m a collection of bad ones.

I’m unwilling to let my avoidant behaviors with my parents turn into anxious ones with Brian.

It’s not his responsibility to constantly reassure me of anything, and, furthermore, getting into a relationship won’t fix me.

Dragging my attention away from my reason for life, I locate a red flag.

Letting my gaze trail, I find more. I noticed earlier that the red, white, and blue expectation of this holiday seemed overshadowed by, well, just red…but… It’s like I’m being told off, or something. “Why aren’t there any American flags?” I ask.

Ceres eyes me as she dips a chip in nacho sauce. “Because. Mars is crazy.”

I stare at her.

She arches a brow at me.

I blurt, “Mars stole all the white and blue decorations?”

Despite the surrounding noise, Ceres’s nacho crunch is deafening. “No? He didn’t order any.”

Order…any?

I smile, but only because I do not wholly know what else to do right now. My dear sweet Ceres… My only real friend… What do you mean he did not order any? “I do not understand.”

Sighing, Ceres mutters, “He only likes red flags, so he did whatever he wanted. Basically.”

“What does Mars have to do with the festival’s decoration committee? I didn’t know you could be on a decoration committee with a criminal record.”

Ceres freezes before dipping another chip. “Oh,” she says, with insufficient guilt. “This was his idea. This whole thing was a scheme to get his brother and Lyra to realize their feelings for each other.”

You have got to be joking.

“Along the way, I found feelings for him, which I am assuming was also part of his master plan.” She smiles down at the rest of her food. “He’s resourceful like that.”

My friend barely tells me she’s getting married and now she’s telling me that her now-husband planned an entire town-wide Flag Day festival that has brought more tourists into Bandera than I have ever seen, even though I used to work at the Walmart right by the interstate exit?

“Ceres,” I say.

She hums and sips her drink.

“We have got to have a conversation about your communication skills.” Forcing in a deep breath, I use this information to settle my fears over the possibility I might see my parents.

“I want to know what’s going on with you.

Especially right now, while I’m trying to tame the rabid, Brian-centered chipmunk in my brain.

Please tell me things. Is there anything else going on in your life that I don’t know about? Like, I don’t know, are you pregnant?”

This time, both her brows shoot up. “I just got married.”

“Yes, I know. Pretty fast marriage, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Okay. Do you have a terminal illness?”

“Only if chronically avoiding my own needs is terminal.”

My turn to hum as I sip my drink. “Yes, I think it is.”

“Ah well. We had a good run, didn’t we?”

“No,” I snap. “No, we did not ‘have a good run’.” Raking in air, I attempt to control my tone, my raging emotions, my everything .

Nothing stops the feeling that everything is falling apart.

It’s like I’m standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, unable to move, as I watch chunks of dirt tumble from beneath my shoes.

“In three years, this is the first time we’ve ever done anything together in person.

In three years, I have seen you less than thirty-six times. ”

“Fewer.”

“What?” I reach for a brown paper napkin, in case the tears I feel threatening to break free get any wild ideas to ruin my makeup.

“Fewer. The number of times we’ve seen each other is quantifiable, so you use fewer instead of less.”

If Taco Bell still had sporks, I think I might be inclined to stab her with one. “You are missing the point.”

“I’m…not. I’m just bad at letting people get close.

It usually ends poorly, and I don’t want what we have to end.

” She scrapes the bottom of an empty nacho cheese cup.

“You’re the only person I invited to my wedding beyond my parents, the only friend I have who didn’t start as a client. You matter to me.”

“You matter to me, too. And I’m…I’m scared that if I no longer have things to fill the quiet with, we’ll die out.”

Unbidden, Ceres leans toward me and rests her head against the top of mine. “We won’t.”

My chest constricts, and I crumple my napkin. “How can you be so sure?”

“Neither of us has many friends. We’re kind of stuck with each other.”

I free a wet laugh. “You’ve got a whole husband now. Sooner or later, I’ll—” My voice breaks. “—become obsolete.” I’ve already felt the distance I’ve fought against widen with the addition of Mars. He makes Ceres happy in ways I’ve never been able to achieve.

And I know I’m not practiced where it concerns people. I know all I have going for me is my sunny attitude. But…still…very few things hurt more than seeing someone else—someone you care about—find everything you’ve ever wanted without you.

I am so, so happy that Ceres has found an uncanny love that matches her.

I guess I just wish I could have been more a part of that journey, like she’s been such a foundational part of mine.

I am so tired of feeling utterly useless.

I want to be loved, cherished, and irreplaceable, too.

It’s so hard to not be selfish when I’m so scared. All. The. Time.

“I don’t talk that much,” Ceres says, as though I haven’t noticed, “but I will always be happy to sit with you in the silence.”

It hurts to swallow. “I don’t do well with silence. It always feels…angry. Somehow.”

Ceres waits several long moments before saying, “Does this feel angry somehow?”

Fair game music, countless voices, and endless laughter hardly counts as silence , I think. And it’s not even the anger that matters. It’s my response to it. It’s the fear.

Currently, I’m terrified.

That my parents will appear out of nowhere.

That my only friend will slip away.

That this will be the first and last time we do anything together.

Maybe that day a few weeks ago when she was going to come see me I should have let her. Maybe I should have stomached the guilt over letting someone else expend so much energy on me and let her prove that out of all the relationships in my life this one is secure.

But I couldn’t do it.

Because I don’t feel worthy of the kindnesses I’ve been granted.

And I’m terrified that I never will.

All the same, I say, “No.”