Breaking the Grid

Greek god

"No, Blair!"

I was still half in my training kit, holding a protein bar in one hand and a hoodie in the other, standing in the middle of our kitchen like I was about to throw something that wasn't even in my hand.

Blair blinked at me from across the room, completely confused, toast halfway to her mouth. She looked like I'd just told her I hated Formula 1 and dogs.

"What do you mean no?" she asked, mouth full. "I'm literally doing the nice girlfriend thing. The selfless girlfriend thing. We're doing Christmas with your family this year, in Australia. I already booked flights!"

"That's the problem!" I said, tossing my hoodie onto the counter. "You booked flights without even asking me."

Her brows pulled together. "But... I thought that was the plan. I mean, you haven't spent times with them a lot this year. You said you miss them. The beach, the food, your nan's horrible Christmas playlist—remember?"

I threw my hands up. "Yes! I did say that. But then you said you missed your family. You said you wanted to go to Italy for once, and I just thought... I don't know, that maybe we'd do that this year."

Blair froze, the toast lowering slowly like it was a weapon she had no idea how to wield anymore. "Wait... I said I missed them. Not that I wanted to go there."

I crossed my arms. "Blair, they literally asked when we're coming.

She cringed. "Yeah, but that's just Italian-guilt hospitality. They say that every year. They said that when I was twelve and had chickenpox."

I blinked. "So what, they don't actually mean it?"

"No, they do! They just..." She rubbed her temples. "Okay, listen. I thought we were doing your family this year. I even looked up flights to Perth, I figured we'd do something different, for you. I was trying to be thoughtful!"

"And I was trying to be thoughtful for you!" I shouted.

There was a beat of silence. Milo, curled up on the rug, looked between us with sleepy eyes like why are my moms broken?

Blair slowly set the toast down on the plate and leaned against the counter. "Okay. So just to be clear—we're in an argument because we're both trying to be the nice one?"

I opened my mouth to argue more... then stopped. "Oh my God. Yes."

She blinked. "We're literally arguing over who's being more generous."

"Disgusting," I muttered.

She smirked a little, folding her arms. "Admit it. It's peak couple behavior. Christmas edition."

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "But like... what are we gonna do then? We can't clone ourselves."

She was quiet for a second. "Could we... split it?"

"Blair. You realize that's a thirty-hour flight with a twelve-hour time difference."

She winced. "Okay, yeah. No. Forget I said that."

I sat down heavily at the kitchen island. "I hate this. I just wanted to spend Christmas with you. Somewhere that feels like home. But now both sides are expecting us."

Blair walked around and leaned her hip against the island beside me. "Okay. Real question. What do you want?"

I hesitated.

She leaned in. "Because if we're just doing this because we think the other wants it... we'll both end up jetlagged and miserable with cold ham on one side and overcooked pasta on the other."