Page 3 of Remain

The cashier stares at her, unimpressed. I smile despite myself.

Lena is one of those people New York gives you when you stay long enough. She’s sharp-tongued, loyal, unafraid to call you out and show up anyway. We met two years ago at a publishing happy hour, bonded over cheap wine, a mutual disdain for small talk, and somehow never stopped orbiting each other after that.

Lena is tall and willowy in a way that feels effortless, like she could have walked off a runway and never bothered to mention it. Her long brown hair falls in soft, unstudied waves, and her striking green eyes miss very little, sharp and alive with curiosity and confidence. There’s a fearlessness to her, rooted in knowing exactly who she is and moving through the world without apology. Despite her elegance, she’s grounded, solid in a way that makes people trust her instantly, like beauty was never the point, only a side effect.

She glances over at me. “You okay? Because you’ve been staring at that rack of candy like it personally offended you.”

“I’m fine.” My reply is automatic, like a reflex.

She arches a brow. “We both know that’s a lie. But I’ll let it slide for now.”

The line inches forward. I’m surrounded by miniature Christmas trees wrapped in burlap and overpriced wrapping paper that promiseseleganceand delivers cardboard disappointment. Somewhere near the front, a child is singing an off-key carol with wild enthusiasm.

My phone buzzes in my hand. The number is unknown but the area code is familiar.

Seasons Greetings! This is the Pineview Volunteer Committee League. You signed up to help with The Christmas Kindness Drive. We can’t wait to see you this season!

Heat creeps up my neck.

I don’t remember signing up. I haven’t signed up in years.

I think you have the wrong person.

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Is this Savannah Joy?

You signed up online last year. We’re so glad you’re back this year. You’ve already been paired with a co-volunteer. We meet on December 22rd for our volunteer round up in the square, followed by toy collection with the big drop off happening Christmas morning! We will see you soon!

The cashier clears her throat. The conveyor belt hums. My pulse rapid, loud enough that I swear Lena can hear it.

I won’t be in town long. I’m not sure I have the time this year. I am so sorry for any inconvenience.

The message comes back, relentlessly cheerful.

Oh, that’s fine! You only need to help fill one cart.

One cart.

The words blur, the store suddenly too bright, too loud.

I hear my mother’s voice as clearly as if she’s standing beside me, her hand warm on my shoulder, her smile gentle and unyielding.

One cart can change everything, Savannah.

“Hey,” Lena interjects softly, her teasing tone gone. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” The words almost escape as whisper. I lock my phone and shove it into my coat pocket like it might burn me. “Just… home stuff.”

She studies me for a second, the way only someone who knows your silences can. “You’re going back, aren’t you.”

I exhale. “For a few days.”

“For Christmas.”

“For paperwork,” I correct, too quickly.

Lena snorts. “Sure. And I buy wrapping paper because it’s practical. We both know what’s waiting for you in Pineview.”