2. Derek

2

Derek

W histling along with the Christmas carols pumping from my stereo, I sashayed across my kitchen and swung open the oven, sliding in the tray of sugar cookies. Closing the door, I crouched down and peeked through the window, willing them to bake faster. There was nothing tastier than a cookie fresh from the oven.

Chewy, my tabby cat, slunk over and rubbed his cheek on my leg, begging for pets—or snacks. “No cookies for you, Mr. Man,” I said, scritching him behind the ears. He let out a short meow, eyes closing, his entire body rattling with his almost aggressive purr.

Yawning, I stood up, and because I couldn’t wait the eight minutes it would take for my cookies to bake, I reached into the giant mixing bowl on the island counter and ate a pinch of dough, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I sighed. It wasn’t the same.

Forcing myself to be patient, I rolled out the next batch of cookies, these ones destined to become reindeer. After the reindeer, I would make a tray of Christmas trees, then snowflakes, then finally one of Santas.

As if there could be more than one Santa , I thought with an eyeroll.

When the timer beeped, I felt a thrill of excitement and skipped the short distance to the oven, swapping out trays and setting my first batch on the cooling rack. They were shaped like elves, and as soon as they were cool, I would get to decorate them. I was already imagining them with their little hats and button noses.

This was what I did—I baked. As my paid job, but also as my hobby. And not just at Christmas. I loved Halloween, with its pumpkin spice cinnamon buns and pies, then Valentine’s Day with red velvet cupcakes topped with cinnamon hearts. Easter was fun too, with pastel eggs in their coconut nests.

But these elves… yeah, they were my very favorite.

I found myself smiling. As tired as I had been when I woke up this morning, the anticipation was starting to give me a boost. It was Christmas Eve! This was the best time of year, and not just because of the cookies. It was tinsel and lights, roaring fireplaces and hot apple cider. And snow!

But when the song changed and “Blue Christmas” came on, my mood took a dive. My smile instantly sagged. It was like a direct hit to my heart. It was yet another reminder that I didn’t have anyone to share the holiday with, not even my parents. They’d won tickets to a tropical cruise, and as bad as they felt about leaving me here, I’d told them they couldn’t pass up on an opportunity like this. They’d never be able to afford a holiday like that on their own.

I peeked down at where Chewy was winding his way between my legs. “It’s just you and me this Christmas, buddy.” And because he was cute and I was feeling lonely and wanted to feel loved, I gave him a couple treats from the cupboard .

An hour later, I was almost done icing all the cookies when my phone rang. I was grateful for the break since my hands were cramping around the piping bag. Flexing and stretching my fingers, I smiled when I glanced at the screen and saw it was my parents calling.

“Hey!” I said, answering the video call.

“Merry Christmas!” they both yelled, their beaming faces filling the screen, their skin already sun-kissed after a week of tropical weather.

I glanced at the clock, but it was only ten. “You’re early,” I said.

“No, we’re right on time. We’re two hours ahead of you,” my mom reminded me.

My dad tilted the phone his way so he could add, “We wanted to be the first to wish you merry Christmas, Son. We really are sorry we couldn’t be there to celebrate with you.”

“And I told you it was fine,” I insisted. “It’s going to be really low-key this year. I’m just baking some cookies for the neighbors, and after I drop those off tomorrow, I plan on watching some movies. It’ll be nice.” Did my smile look as strained as it felt?

“But what about dinner?” my mom said, frowning. “Are you making a turkey?”

“There’s no point in cooking a whole turkey for only me. I’ll just pull something out of the freezer. It’ll be okay.”

“But maybe you could invite someone over to eat with you,” she continued, nudging the phone away from Dad. “What about Leander? What’s he doing for the holidays?”

Leander was my best friend. All through school growing up, I was just different enough that nobody clicked. Anyone would click with Leander, though, because he didn’t give you a choice over the matter. He was a force of nature. He was the kind of person who would break down every wall you tried to protect yourself with. Besides Leander, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I mean, everyone was outwardly nice, because small-town manners wouldn’t allow for anything less, but I wasn’t really close with anyone else. That’s what happened when you were too tired to go out with them when they bothered to invite you.

“He’s spending Christmas with his boyfriend. Seriously, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine!” How many times could I say that? At some point, would I start to mean it?

“But, honey—” She wasn’t ready to let this go, but luckily, I interrupted her with a giant yawn, and it wasn’t even fake. “Oh, sweetie, you’re tired. We should let you get to bed.”

I was grateful to say our farewells, with a promise to talk again tomorrow. I was far too exhausted to handle one of my mom’s award-winning pressure sessions right now. As soon as I turned 25, she got it in her head that my life was passing me by, and I should hurry up and settle down already and give her some grandbabies. She meant well, but I didn’t want to date just for the sake of dating. That was a sure way to get my heart broken.

Love would happen when it was meant to, I was sure of it.

My parents were the perfect example of that. Twenty years ago, they met by total chance, when they were both flying home from separate trips and a snowstorm hit, and both their flights were cancelled. They never would’ve met if it weren’t for that storm. And then because they hadn’t been able to have children of their own, they’d adopted me. Another example of the way life could turn out so perfectly according to fate’s design.

My bed was calling me, so I finished off icing the cookies. I was so exhausted that my snowflakes were wobbly and one of my Santas looked more like a clown. I gave myself permission to eat that one.

The Christmas playlist had ended, and a gentle silence descended over my tiny home. I sighed, licking a few crumbs off my lips, letting the sweet, buttery deliciousness melt on my tongue. I really did need to get to bed. I was always so tired. It wasn’t that I wasn’t getting enough sleep, because I made sure to get a full eight hours, and I slept like the dead, with no memory of tossing or turning at all, though I always seemed to kick off all my clothes as if I were overheating. Maybe it would be better if I just went to sleep naked.

Before the fatigue could drag me down, I grabbed a plate from the cupboard and set a few of the prettiest cookies on it, then poured a glass of milk. I put them all on the coffee table, smiling. I was forgetting something… Oh! Rudolph! I went back to the fridge and came back with a carrot, setting it beside the plate.

Was it silly and juvenile to leave cookies and milk out for Santa? Probably, but it was tradition, and I wasn’t about to skip it just because my parents weren’t here to eat them after I went to bed, pretending it was the jolly man himself who’d done it.

Smiling sadly, I paused beside my spindly Christmas tree and looked out the window at the cozy neighborhood, blanketed in a fresh layer of sparkly snow. I loved Christmas. I loved cookies and snow and twinkly lights… but it would all be so much better if I had someone to share it with.

Maybe my mom was right. Maybe it was time to stop waiting for love to find me.

A light breeze blew through the room, almost like someone had opened a window, and a tingling sensation had goosebumps marching across my body. Just as quickly, it stopped. I turned and looked around, but there was nothing there.

Huh, that was weird. I must’ve been more tired than I thought.

"C'mon, Chewy, time for bed," I called, and the tabby got up off the couch and stretched. He paused a moment, glancing at the tree, before following me down the hall .

I did my best to ignore the feeling that I was being watched. What I needed was a good night’s sleep, and I knew everything would look better through Christmas-colored glasses.