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“And the day before Christmas Eve—Christmas Eve-eve, as my dad calls it—we always go to this light show near my house. You know, the ones that have you tune into a radio station so you can watch it? I love those. It just gives you such a sense of community, you know?”

“Right,” I say, though I’ve never seen one of those in my life, and I’m not even really sure what she’s talking about.

Even though I want her to be happy, I get to the end of my rope when we’re in a hardware store, standing among the large plastic decorations for roofs and lawns. They flicker with various lights and, when someone presses the damn demo buttons, swing their heads and arms, singing Christmas songs robotically. It’s more like a haunted house than a winter wonderland.

“My dad used to put up deer like this every year,” Cami says, laughing and tipping up the tag to look at the cost of the deer. Great—you can buy them individually or in the full set. “I swear, those things have to be at least a hundred years old.”

“If all this is just for the Christmas card,” I snap, throwing my hands in the air, “what do we need to decorate the lawn for?”

“We don’t⁠—”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m climbing up on the roof. I don’t have any interest in breaking my neck for a couple of plastic deer!”

“Patrick.” Cami lowers her voice to a hiss, leaning in and looking back and forth quickly, clearly embarrassed by my outburst. “We don’t have to decorate the yard. I was just looking because they reminded me of home.”

I feel at once like a massive jerk and also like I’m not going to last one more second in this store. Or any other store, for that matter. I take my wallet from my pocket, slip out the credit card and hand it to her. “I’m going to wait in the car.”

This time, her voice is slightly sad. “Patrick…”

But I don’t look back, pushing out of the aisle and ignoring the nosy stares of the middle-aged woman at the end, who’s pretending to be interested in outdoor bulbs.

When I get to the car, I sit in the driver’s seat and slam the door, staring out the windshield. Of course, it’s not like I have a nice big minivan or SUV we could have brought with us, so the low, sleek backseat of my sports car is piled high with a nauseating amount of Christmas paraphernalia. Garland, tinsel, lights, ornaments. Cards and boxes. Cami moved through each store with purpose, almost as though there was a checklist in her head that she referenced each time something went into the cart.

And it was like the kids running around and all the people didn’t bother her at all. Nor did the godawful modern Christmas songs blaring through the speakers at us like a personal attack.

I sit in the car, breathing in the Miami humidity, watching as other shoppers bring their carts out, unloading into their cars. Driving in and out of the lot, looking for spots of their own.

My hand itches for my phone to answer emails, and I realize I must have left it in the cart.

Five minutes go by. It’s the longest I’ve gone in a long time without checking my email. Instead, I have to watch the goings-on around me, pay attention to the world. Maybe there’s a lesson in this somewhere.

A family comes trundling out of the store, a little boy laughing and skipping around the cart. He stops at the back of a car and knocks on the trunk twice, and the dad must pop the button at the perfect time, making the kid feel like he’s the one who did it.

This is why I keep my phone with me at all times. Because having to pay attention to stuff like this just makes me feel sorry for myself.

And there’s nothing productive in feeling sorry for yourself.

When Cami finally comes back to the car, she’s quiet, sliding into the passenger seat with an air that’s not dejected, but not as joyful as before, either.

“Just one more stop,” she says gently, tapping it into the navigation.

It takes us to a grocery store that wouldn’t normally be my first choice—I like to go organic and usually get my things delivered—but after snapping at her in the store, the last thing I want to do is make things worse.

When Cami opens her door, I open mine, too. She pauses and gives me a look. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait out here?”

“I’m sure.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, then she sighs and pushes up from the low seat, standing and tugging her jacket around herself. The sun is swiftly setting now, and while it’s not cold, the air is getting chilly. I follow her into the store and watch as she fills the cart with various things.

A ham. A bag of cranberries. Oranges, cake mix, sugar. Whipping cream and peppermint mocha coffee.

It occurs to me, for the first time, that maybe I should have asked her what she likes to eat. She’s staying with me for the week so we can get to know each other; I should have made sure to stock the fridge with her preferred foods. I guess I’d just assumed she’d eat the same preprepared meals I rely on.

When we’re done loading our things up onto the belt, I shoulder her out of the way to pay, hoping she actually used my card in the last place, too. With what she’s doing for me, I’m not letting her take on a single dime of the expenses.

In fact, I’m going to need to make sure she gets a new wardrobe too. There’s nothing wrong with her current style, but to pull off being my fiancée, she’ll need clothes of a little…higher quality. My real fiancée would have my credit card and endless access to designer stores whenever she wanted.

By the time we get back to the house, it’s properly dark, and it feels darker and drearier to me than normal. Cami is quiet as we push through the front door, and I insist on carrying everything in.