Brazen Girl by Ali Dean Page 0,14

still in the closet by the garage.”

Fifteen degrees? Have I grown so soft already that I’m shivering just thinking about standing outside in those temperatures?

I wander into the living room and notice the Christmas tree for the first time. Pausing, I glance around and realize the entire house is decorated. Have these been up since I got home? It’s then I notice the amazing smells coming from the kitchen, and my feet move in that direction.

Mom’s got an apron on and the sight of her opening the stove immediately has me thinking about Beck in an apron. He liked to wear one even just for making breakfast and dinner at his apartment. It was one of his hottest looks. And now I’m thinking about him in the past tense, like he’s dead or something. Man, my head is so messed up.

“Oh, hi sweetie! It’s good to see you out of pajamas.” She comes over to kiss me on the cheek, taking off her oven mitts.

“Are we hosting dinner this year?” It rotates between our family, Phoebe’s and Wyatt’s each year. But when it’s our year, I know alllll about it, with Mom stressing more than usual about getting all the groceries. She usually has me running out to the store at the last minute or helping her in the kitchen.

“Duh!” Phoebe is suddenly beside me. “Why do you think we got here an hour ago?”

“Um, to hang out with me?” I guess.

“No, to get a first round of dinner before we head out to the town center.”

I think back to three years ago and then six years ago, remembering Mom hooked us up with some samplings before we went out to the rink. With the festivities between 5:30 and 7:30, we don’t usually sit down to dinner until 8:30 or so. They have an earlier celebration in the daylight for kids, but we’ve always liked the evening one because of the Christmas lights and candles.

“I thought you said you came over early to help in the kitchen,” Dad teases as he comes around the corner. “Got your jacket for you, Jo Jo.” He holds it out for me and I smile, putting my arms through the sleeves.

“Help in the kitchen, right,” Wyatt is saying. “By taste testing.”

“Uh-huh,” Mom says with a grin. “Well, everything’s ready. We’ll warm it up when we get back. You guys want to pile in the back of the station wagon or are you taking Wyatt’s car?”

“We’ll take mine. That way if we start freezing our ass-, I mean butts, off while you all skate around, we can head back here early.”

“As long as you don’t eat all the potato casserole.”

“Who, me?” Wyatt feigns innocence, but we all know he was the one who scarfed down half the pan Mom brought over to his house for Thanksgiving last year.

I follow everyone out through the garage, waving to my parents as I get in the backseat of Wyatt’s car. I’m only half present though, half in a trance. All of this is making me think about Thanksgiving with Beck’s family, and it’s bittersweet. If I’d let him, he could be here right now, meeting my family and getting a glimpse of this part of my life.

It sort of feels like I’m straddling two worlds, but it’s not my Connecticut life versus California. It’s reality versus the darkness of my bedroom. I’ve been so lost in my head, hiding under the covers, I’ve barely noticed it’s the best time of the year. Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Wyatt, they’ve been waiting for me to come home, for this time with me. And hiding in my room isn’t being home.

But it’s painful too because everything makes me think of Beck. It wouldn’t even be that much better if we were still together, would it? We can’t go back to him being a student, not competing. That was a temporary thing. Deep down, I wonder if I always knew it was temporary.

“Jordan?” Wyatt calls. “You listening?”

“No, what’d you say? Sorry.” It’s time to start living in the moment, at least for tonight. Even if it hurts.

“We’re going to swing by The Swirl for hot chocolates. You okay walking from there so we don’t have to find parking closer to the rink?”

“Oh yeah, sure. It’s only like two blocks.”

“Yes, but given you’ve only walked from your room to the bathroom over the past week, I wanted to make sure you could handle it,” Phoebe says, turning to look at me with