was eight and I figured out that Santa Claus wasn’t real. The kids at school had been talking about it all winter, and in person I’d agreed with them. Like, yeah, of course—a bearded guy slides down your chimney and gives you presents? I’m not buying it! But in my own mind, I still believed in Santa fiercely and absolutely. I knew he was real, the same way I knew my favorite food was pepperoni pizza or my favorite movie was Beauty and the Beast. But then that Christmas, I noticed that Santa used the same red-and-white-striped wrapping paper that my mom did, and their handwriting looked eerily similar.
I asked my mom about the wrapping paper, and she told me that Santa must shop at the same store she did, but I knew that didn’t make sense. Santa had elves, and surely they were capable of making a simple paper product. I knew then that Santa wasn’t real, that there was no magic behind these presents. I finished opening them and acted happy, but inside I was hollow, because if there was no Santa, then everything I’d believed was wrong.
The same hollowness expands in my belly now, the knowledge that my entire belief system, everything I needed to get through the day, is a lie. I’ve believed in romantic comedies all this time, relying on their promise of hope and love, knowing that there was a happily-ever-after waiting for me.
But what if I was wrong? Maybe movies are just that—movies, nothing but fictional tales to delude people into spending a happy hour and a half before returning to the misery of their lonely lives.
Drew’s gone, and he’s not coming back. My mom died with a broken heart after having an affair with a married man. I had a perfect, houseboat-owning single dad right in front of me and I couldn’t even muster up enough feeling to make that work. There’s no reason why my life will ever be anything other than this—alone, in my childhood home, fooling myself by watching ridiculous movies over and over.
I crawl carefully down the ladder, clutching the letters in one hand. Chloe is still in the kitchen, and before she comes back into the living room, I throw the letters into the fire, then watch as they curl and turn black.
Chapter Twenty-two
My phone buzzes, and through the haze of sleep, I reach for it on my nightstand. But when my hand grabs on to nothing, I open my eyes. I’m not in my bed; I’m on the couch, and when I try to move my legs, I realize that Chloe’s head is at the other end, her legs draped across mine. My phone buzzes again, insistent, but Chloe doesn’t stir—she’s always been a heavy sleeper, the kind of girl whose face you could draw things on during a sleepover.
After some digging and trying to avoid jostling Chloe too much, I find my phone under one of the couch cushions. My blurry eyes see the time on the phone before the text registers. Two A.M. We must’ve fallen asleep after watching the most ridiculous TV we could find late into the night, drinking too much wine, and eating an entire pizza.
Of course, I’m the person who doesn’t make reckless romantic decisions while heartbroken . . . just indigestion-inducing ones.
I rub my eyes and focus on the text, then almost drop my phone when I see that it’s from Drew. “Holy moly,” I say at full volume, and Chloe moves a little bit. With my hand over my mouth, I open the text and read the full thing.
Annie, I’m sorry about the way I left. I know you’re not the kind of person who would send my picture to some gossip site. Can we talk?
And then, as I’m still trying to comprehend that text, another one:
Please?
Before I can even think of a response, I throw my phone across the room. It clatters to a rest somewhere near the TV (thank God I didn’t hit the TV—Uncle Don would be seriously pissed).
I rest my head in my hands. There is a part of me that wants to respond to Drew, that wants to hear what he has to say. Part of me wants to think that, sure, we’ll kiss again as a stirring instrumental score plays and everything’s going to magically work out, because love conquers all or some bullshit like that. Part of me still wants to believe that this is a movie, that he’ll give me