Page 60 of Christmas Coffee

“It wasn’t even mom! We spent half the day waiting in a pitch-black attic so we wouldn’t get caught.”

“Hey,” Tinselly corrects, “we didn’t get caught and you got over your fear of the dark. Add in shaking a few boxes and it was a day well spent.”

The tales go on, from year to year, and then fade as my fourteenth year approaches. Tinselly and I had thirteen Christmases before him, before Frank. Before I ruined everything and ran.

Silence falls between us and after a moment Tinselly asks, “He’s the one, isn’t he?”

I nod slowly, and lean against her shoulder. “If there is such a thing, yes. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”

Tinselly smirks, “And there it is—the infallible logic that lets you know love has totally screwed up your brain.” I tickle her and she tickles back. We both sigh contently before settling onto the couch again. Tinselly adds, “I’m glad for you, little sis.” Then she changes the subject, “I’m headed to Mom’s tonight. You should come.”

I’m caught off guard. “No.” I feel my throat tighten and Tinselly doesn’t push it. She thinks it’s from all the fights between me and mom, but it’s not. It’s because of him. The memories of that house are so tainted that I can’t see past the last thing that happened there. I fake a smile and offer to refill our drinks.

Tinselly holds up her glass. “I’d love that.”

I’m on my feet walking toward her liquor cabinet. “And how about that book?”

Tinselly looks up at me and confesses, “I don’t have one.” She starts laughing. “Isn’t that sad? I knew I wasn’t going to get a chance to sit down today. I figured I’d go out and buy one, but the storm came in.”

I glance over my shoulder at her as I mix her mimosa. “I have one that will make your toes curl.”

“Where are you hording books?” she calls after me. “Is it in that massive purse you carry?”

“Nope, it’s on my phone!”