by Becky Monson
CHAPTER THREE
I spent the rest of the evening walking around town, running into plenty of folks I identified immediately. Not one single person recognized me in return. Not Georgie from the floral shop. Not the permanent Christmas Falls fixture, retired teacher Melba Cross, who actually yelled, “WHO THE HECK ARE YOU?” when I waved at her. Not Caitlin Cook’s parents, who did indeed still own the antique store. I thought for sure they’d recognize me, but nope. No one did. It was, by all accounts, super depressing.
I wanted so badly to come back to Christmas Falls and have it be just like old times. To feel like I did when I lived here before. To feel like home. Instead, I’d spent most of my time thus far trying to get people to remember me. I even pulled up a picture of me from high school that I had my mom text me. Everyone remembered that girl—the angsty, over-dramatic, goth girl I used to be—but it was hard for them to reconcile that with the woman standing in front of them. It was disheartening and frustrating, and it made me second guess my decision to come out here.
I hadn’t yet seen any of the girls—my group of girls from high school—and I was actually okay with that at this point. I didn’t know if I could handle it if the people that knew me best didn’t recognize me. Maybe I should have done more social media stuff—connected with more people. Then this change of mine wouldn’t have been such a shock. But I didn’t get into that stuff much because I didn’t have anything good to post about myself, and I didn’t want to watch a bunch of people living the life I wanted to live. Whatever that was.
It was after eating my third sugar cookie, while lying on the comfortable bed in my room, that I decided I would go see Miss Anna Cate tomorrow instead of today. I’d give her a big hug and tell her that due to some unforeseen circumstances, I needed to go back to San Francisco and wouldn’t be able to do the pageant after all. I’d get to see her one last time, let her know how much she meant to me, and she’d hopefully understand that I needed to go.
It was painfully clear Christmas Falls was no longer home and now a town where I was unknown. All of the heart-warming feelings and pictures in my head of how things would go down once I got here were not coming to pass.
I should have stayed home and helped my mom like she’d wanted me to. Although the thought of doing that made me feel even more crappy.
My mouth was feeling sugar coated after the three cookies I had downed, and I needed to brush my teeth. Imagine my annoyance level when the contents of my toiletry bag failed to include my toothbrush. Yet another reason why this trip sucked.
I went downstairs to the front room to ask if they had an extra one. There I found Mrs. Curtis dusting one of the tiny Christmas villages she had set up in the front window of the cottage. Of course, I must have temporarily forgotten this was Christmas Falls, and no place here would have the kind of complimentary items other large chain hotels would. She told me she could send Randall, who was yet to be seen, but I told her I could go grab one from the grocery store.
I’d already put on my pajamas, having completely given up on the day, so I pulled my white wool peacoat on over my PJs, slipped on my Uggs, and off I went. I decided while I was there I should probably stock up on some essentials, like water and some snacks for my room. I wasn’t sure when I was going to find a flight back, and I figured I probably had at least a couple more days in this town.
While inspecting the snack aisle, looking for some chocolate covered almonds (because I’d already eaten the sugar cookies, might as well top it off with some chocolate), I ran smack dab into someone. A he someone, to be more precise.
“So sorry,” I said, looking toward the ground as I realized I had knocked a bag of chocolate covered almonds out of his hand. “Where did you find these?” I asked the stranger I’d just plowed into as I bent over and picked up the bag, handing it back to the man.
I nearly dropped it again when I saw who the owner of the almonds was. “Andy?”
The lanky boy I once knew now had broad shoulders framing his tall figure. I did a double take, wondering if I was mistaken, but it was definitely him. His same hazel eyes and dark brown hair, the same pair of square-rimmed glasses he always wore perched on his nose. This was Andy Broll, for sure.
He looked at me, and I braced myself for the who-the-heck-are-you response I was surely about to get.
“London?” he asked, pulling his brows together. “London Walsh?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling a sudden desire to jump up and down and squeal like a sorority sister. “You recognize me?”
“Yeah . . . yes, of course,” he said. A full smile took over his face as his eyes moved over me, taking me all in.
“How are you here?” he asked.
“I took a plane,” I said, a teasing grin on my face.
“Come here,” he said, opening his arms wide to give me a hug, and I so needed a hug right then. I basically threw myself into his arms.
It wasn’t graceful in the slightest, but it was exactly what I needed. The hug was tight, warm, and genuine. Andy felt strong and manly. There was some definite muscle action happening there. This was nothing like the skinny kid I used to hang out with.
“I’m so happy you recognized me,” I said as we pulled out of the hug.
“Why wouldn’t I recognize you?” he asked, a confused look on his face.
“No one else has so far,” I said, adding a super pathetic shrug for emphasis.
“Well, I mean, your hair is different,” he said reaching up and gently touching a lock of my brown-highlighted hair.
“Yeah, I got rid of the black,” I said, feeling utterly thrilled to have someone recognize me—and Andy, of all people.
“And the makeup,” he made a circle around his face with his index finger.
“Got rid of all that too,” I said.
“I like,” he said, and I beamed. That was something he always said back in high school. “But you’re still you,” he said. “I still see London.”
He smiled brightly again, and oh, how I’d missed that smile. At that moment, I couldn’t believe I had ever lost touch with him. I couldn’t even remember how it had happened.
“Why are you—”
“How are—”
We started at the same time and then both chuckled.
“You go first,” he said.
“How are you?” I said, tucking hair behind my ear, feeling suddenly self-conscious of the fact that I was standing in the grocery store in my pajamas. In my defense, I hadn’t thought I’d run into anyone I knew, and even if I had, I figured the chances of them recognizing me were pretty much zilch.
“I’m good,” he said, head bobbing up and down.
“Are you here seeing your family?” I asked, wondering if the Brolls still lived in the same house—the one next door to the house I grew up in.
“Yeah, well . . . yes, I’m here to see them, but I actually moved back last week.”
“Really? From where?”
“I was in Chicago. I took a job at Blackstock Resort—the big place up in Gatlinburg. I . . . uh . . . work with Piper, actually.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, obviously wondering if bringing up her name was the best idea.
But hearing her name come out of his mouth sent a jolt through me. “Piper? She’s in town?”
“Yeah, she’s back. Got a kid and everything.” He rocked back and forth on his heels.
“Piper has a child?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“A son,” he said.
“She’s married?”
“Divorced, from what I’ve gathered.”
Piper was divorced? How had that happened?
“Have you heard about any of the other girls?” I had no idea what any of my old friends were up to. How sad it had come to that.
“Nah,” he said. “I haven’t heard anything.”
Typical male. Although Andy hadn’t hung out with all of us much. He had his group of friends, and I had mine. And when we weren’t with them, we were
with each other.
“How are you, though? What brings you here?” he asked, gesturing at the grocery store we were in. I looked over at the checkout counter to see a teenager I didn’t know giving us a dirty look. Must have been close to closing time.
“I think the store is closing,” I said, pointing to the front and the teenager with the death stare on his face.
“Right,” he said, holding up a loaf of bread. “My mom needed some bread for tomorrow.”
“You’re living at home?” I asked, not meaning to sound as accusatory as it had come out.
“Yeah,” he said, “temporarily, of course.”
“That must be weird,” I said, picturing myself living with my parents and feeling sick to my stomach at the thought.
“It totally is. My room is exactly the same,” he said. “Creepy, right?”
“Totally creepy,” I said with a laugh.
We made our way to the front of the store and he checked out while I ran to grab a toothbrush. I had completely forgotten what I had come here for. The death-stare teenager was not thrilled.
We checked out and made our way outside, the grumpy teen flicking the door lock behind us and switching the open sign to closed as we left. We stood in front of the store, grocery bags dangling from our wrists, the wintry night air moving around us.
“So, what brings you to Christmas Falls?” Andy asked.
“I came to see Miss Anna Cate.”
“Oh yeah,” he nodded, a sad look on his face. “My mom told me about that.”
“It’s just so sad,” I said.
“Which way are you walking?” he asked as he noticed that I was starting to dance around in my boots a bit, trying to keep warm.
“I’m staying at Poinsettia Cottage.” I gestured in the direction of the falls, knowing Andy knew exactly where it was.
“Ah yes, the Poinsettia Cottage.”
“Well, there was so much to pick from,” I said, my voice oozing sarcasm. The Mistletoe Inn was the only other place to stay in Christmas Falls.
He smiled and it was the same old Andy smile—the one I remembered from when we were younger. But it now fit better in proportion to his face. It was less toothy and still incredibly endearing.
“Do you—” he started and then cut himself off.
“What?” I asked, feeling slightly breathless as I tried to keep myself warm. I should have worn a hat. I had the cutest one that went with my peacoat.
“Do you want to go to the diner?”
“Yes,” I said, a little too agreeably.
“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the diner.
If I had any game, I would have played it cooler. But this was Andy, my neighbor who had been one of my closest friends growing up. I didn’t need to play it cool with him.
CHAPTER FOUR
I can't remember the first time I met Andy. My family moved into the house next door to the Brolls when I was six, so it was probably around then. Although we were in the same grade, we were in different classes. That set the tempo for our friendship. At school, we barely saw each other. At home, we were nearly inseparable. I can still remember what six-year-old Andy looked like—a skinny little kid who wore black-rimmed, square-framed glasses, much like the ones he still had. Dark, curly brown hair and large hazel eyes that were made to look even larger by his heavy glasses.
We did the normal kid stuff, building forts in our backyards, riding our bikes into town, making up stupid games we’d purposely not teach to Boston or Andy’s younger brother, Nick, which would make them both so mad. It was us against them.
We loved riding our bikes to Christmas Falls. There, we’d swim in the river and play in the pool that the falls—the namesake for our town—spilled into. We would catch tadpoles in the summer and trap spring lizards. Only when I was older did I realize those lizards were actually salamanders.
One time, one of the traps we set up accidentally killed one of the lizards, and it made me sad, but Andy . . . he was devastated. He made us dig a hole next to the falls and give it a proper burial. He made me sing “Amazing Grace” (which I only knew the first few words for, so I just repeated it), and he gave a little sermon. That was Andy, though. He could make me laugh like no other person, but he also had the softest side to him. The side that cared about the life of one single spring lizard when there were hundreds around.
I had always been more of a tomboy back then, so we got along famously. As we got older, I got into more girly stuff when I started spending time with Piper and the other girls in our little gang, but the dynamic I had with Andy stayed the same. With Andy, I didn’t have to get into all that drama girls so often do. Our friendship was easy. It was never a brother/sister-like friendship because we never fought or took each other for granted. It was just simple.
“Well, what do we have here,” Lilly said as she saw Andy and me enter the diner. Lilly Veristino was a permanent fixture at the only restaurant on Main. “If it isn’t Andy Broll,” she reached up and pinched his cheek. “Didn’t you just turn out handsome?”
Her curly dark hair bounced around her shoulders as she talked to us, her tacky painted nails matching the equally tacky Christmas decor that was way overdone for the space. In the background, soft country Christmas tunes played on the jukebox. It was all still the same, and I loved it.
“I go by Andrew now,” Andy said, shaking the hand Lilly held out for him. That made my gaze dart up to his, and he looked at me almost as if he wanted to see my reaction to that.
“It’s good to see you, Lilly,” he said as we walked to the booth where she told us to sit. “You remember London?” he asked, gesturing to me.
She looked me up and down, no signs of recognition on her face.
“Come on,” Andy said, pointing to me. “It’s London Walsh—we were always in here together,” he gestured toward the counter where we used to sit.
“Sorry, darlin’,” she said, a kind smile on her face. “I do recognize the name, though.”
“No worries,” I said. “It was a long time ago, anyway.”
“I do pride myself on not forgetting a face,” she said. “Not sure why I can’t seem to recall yours.”
“Well, the obvious answer is your memory isn’t what it used to be,” Andy said, adding in a flirty smile so she’d think the jab was a joke. But I knew better. That was always his trick. And it worked; she slapped him on the arm playfully.
“Well, it’s good to see you both in here,” she said. “What can I get ya?”
We placed our order, which was the same order from high school. A chocolate shake for me, vanilla for him, and a basket of fries to share with the diner’s homemade ranch dressing for dipping.
It went well with my current diet of sugar cookies and aided in helping me eat my feelings.
I looked around the diner. Except for a new coat of paint, it had the same ambiance it always did. Back in the day, we came here all the time, Andy and I. Frequently Piper would join us, and she’d order the hot chocolate or steal some of my shake.
“See?” I said as Lilly walked away. “No one recognizes me.” I let out a big dramatic breath.
“I’ve gotta say, I didn’t really believe you, but now I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Andy said.
“And she recognized you right away,” I said pointing randomly behind me in the vicinity of Lilly. “Although you’ve probably been in here more than I have in the past eight years.”
“Nope, it’s my first time back.”
“Liar.”
“Well, maybe once or twice,” he said, that teasing grin on his face.
I huffed. “Well anyway, I’m sure they recognize you because you’ve worn the same glasses since I can remember. Of course people are going to remember those,” I say, gesturing toward his square-rimmed, black glasses.
“I think they remember me for my smile and my charm,” he said, a note of flirtation in his tone.
“Oh yeah, that’s totally it,” I deadpanned. “
I’m pretty sure it’s the glasses.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Like one hundred percent sure.”
“Ouch,” he said, and then he reached up and dramatically pushed his glasses up his nose, very librarian like. I smiled brightly and he gave me a smile back. Maybe it was his smile people remembered . . . I could never forget it, that was for sure.
“And what’s the deal with ‘I go by Andrew now,’” I said, doing a crap job of imitating him.
“It just sounds more professional,” he said.
“Well, I’m calling you Andy.”
“Fine by me.”
“Good, because Andrew doesn’t suit you. It sounds too grown up.”
“Well I am, in fact, a grownup,” he said.
“Says who?” I quipped and he grinned in return. It was just like old times—we had gone right back to the same banter, the same energy between us. I had missed this.
“So, London Walsh. Back in Christmas Falls,” Andy said, leaning his head on his fists, elbows on the table, his hazel eyes looking inquisitively at me.
“Yep. I’m back,” I said, copying his posture.
“And what do you think?”
“It really hasn’t changed.”
“Right?”
“I mean, there are a few things. But really, it’s like stepping back in time,” I said. Andy nodded his head in agreement.
“How’s your family?” he asked.
“They’re pretty good. Well, I mean . . . my parents are getting divorced.”
“What? Really?” His eyes were wide behind his glasses.
“Yep,” I said. “They couldn’t tolerate each other anymore, apparently.”
“When did you find this out?” he asked.
“Um . . . yesterday?” I pulled my eyebrows in and down. Was it only yesterday that I talked to my mom and made the rash decision to come here? It seemed like at least a week ago.
“Yesterday?”
