The Christmas Conversation

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H O M E

F O R T H E

H O L I D A Y S

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My long, red, satin dress fell over my legs. A medium sized slit going up the right side of my leg. It was tasteful and perfect for the annual Christmas holiday party that my family held. The party I'd skipped on purpose for the past few years. But this year, I promised to suck it up and attend. To face him. To be able to accept our status as strangers.

My hand shot to my chest due to the already aching feeling. It was more than just pain but a sense of mourning. I shook my head, begging for the memories to dissipate away.

"Darling!" My beautiful mother called from down the hallway. "People are arriving!"

My throat ran dry. I took a few coughs before replying, "Okay!"

The edge of my fingertips shook. I looked around at my home town room. The walls dusted beige with plants spread around. The old band CD's and vinyls held up against my wall along with the worn out posters.

On my way out, my elbow hit against a picture frame, knocking it to the floor and shattering it. I let out a curse before picking up the small pieces of glass and setting it in a pile. I flipped the photo over and took in a harsh breath. It was a photo from four years ago. It was Adam and I in our last year of college. We were at a paintball event and I held onto his neck playfully. He looked down at me, frowning, but a glint of amusement was there. Me on the other hand, I was smiling at the camera like the lovesick puppy I was.

I threw the photo back onto the wooden nightstand before strutting out to the dining room. The warm colored lights surrounded the large room along with Christmas tunes playing off a speaker. The porcelain plates were white and the napkins folded poshly. I mentally rolled my eyes at my parents extravagant preferences.

I made my way to the mini bar and poured myself a glass of champagne. The bubbles fizzled before settling.

I wasn't sure how long I stared at my drink, all I know was that when I looked up, my house was filled with people chattering about. I swallowed down the rest of my drink down before maneuvering through the crowd and offering small greetings.

A breath. That's all I needed.

The backyard was empty. Fairy lights strung up along the fence which shined light on a firm back of a man standing in the middle of the gazebo. Out of the sound of my heels, he turned and I sucked in a breath once his faced was revealed to me.

It was Adam. Of course, it was. He was still towering above me in height and his hair still dark with the sides neatly shaven. He looked muscular now and slight stubble took over his face. He was the epiphany of a man.

Adam's own eyes widened, only slightly. His thin lips churned down. "Winter," he greeted to me, making my stomach flip.

The air was thick and my lungs felt scorching. I felt hot, more so out here than I did in there. "Hi," I breathed out. "I just—I didn't know anyone was out here."

A momentary silence loitered between us. "I was just about to head back in. The place is yours." His voice was the same. Deep and alluring. But the way he spoke to me, it was distant, cold. It reminded me that we really were strangers.

Adam made his way past me, his spice scent filled my nose. Instant nostalgia hit me. When I'd stay over at his dorm room, his whole room would smell of spice. The scent I so desperately searched for after he was gone. Or...after I left.

As Adam reached for the door handle, my mother stumbled out. Adam took a few steps backwards. "I was looking for you both!" Mom cheered. "Glad to see you two could finally catch up." We weren't. Mom's attention turned towards me. "I forgot to pick up the desserts for the night. Do you and Adam mind going to Margery's Bakery and fetching them for me?"

I inwardly groaned. Not just because Margery's Bakery was thirty minutes away but because my own min believed that Adam and I were still best friends that constantly spoke. A car ride was exactly the situation I didn't want to be put in.

"I can go, Mom," I assured, grabbing the car keys she held out. "You guys can enjoy the party."

"Adam, dear," my mom cooed. "You know how Winter can be. Go with her?"

I noticed a fraction of a grin beginning to form on his face. It was a grin of remembrance of my crazy and irresponsible antics. The glimpse of the old Adam soon swiped away. He simply nodded.

As we treaded down the snowy pavement and got into the car, I realized the one apparent truth. In no way, shape, or form, was I ready to see Adam again.