Page 97 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

LONELY CHRISTMAS

Christmas Eve in Southside was supposed to feel loud.

Families, fireworks, karaoke that no one asked for but everyone tolerated. Everything about the city this time of the year felt like it was trying too hard to be joyful.

And yet, inside LULLA, it felt like the opposite.

Tucked somewhere in a quiet residential street, the place didn’t even look like a bar from the outside—just a house you wouldn’t notice unless someone told you it mattered. Getting in felt like a secret. A passcode, a door that didn’t open unless you deserved it, and then suddenly, you were inside something dim, warm, and a little too intimate for strangers. The lighting here was low enough to make everyone look better than they probably were, walls lined with art that felt curated but not explained, and a quiet hum of conversations that never quite turned into noise.

It was the kind of place people want to feel something—but quietly.

I sat alone at the bar, nursing a Long Island Iced Tea I hadn’t touched in the last ten minutes, waiting for Honey and her friend like they were the only thing tethering me to this night.

Around me, everyone seemed to be in pairs… or pretending to be.

A guy to my left leaned in too close to his date, laughing a little too hard at something that wasn’t funny. His hand rested on her knee like it had been placed there during a team meeting.

Across the room, someone was saying, “I’m not like other guys.” Which, statistically, made him exactly like other guys.

I picked up my drink and raised a toast to no one in particular. I told myself I came here for one drink only, but I was on my second—which in situationship math, meant I was doing amazing.

A couple walked past me, fingers intertwined, moving like they had nowhere else to be but with each other. Effortless. Unbothered. The kind of connection that didn’t feel like it needed to be explained.

I looked away, because there was something deeply offensive about witnessing a stable relationship in public… especially on Christmas Eve.

I shifted in my seat, pulling my phone out just to have something to do with my hands.

But there were no notifications.

No messages.

Nothing from him—which was ridiculous, because I wasn’t expecting anything. And yet nothing says emotional stability like sitting in a speakeasy on Christmas Eve, waiting for a text from someone who never even called you his.

I exhaled, leaning back against the bar, eyes drifting lazily across the room again—cataloguing strangers, building stories I didn’t need, distracting myself in small, harmless ways.

It was easier to watch other people’s lives.

Easier than sitting in my own.

I took another sip of my drink and glanced at the door.

Still no Honey.

This meant two things: either she was late, or she was about to walk in with a line so accurate it would ruin my entire night.

Honestly, both felt equally possible.

I let my gaze wander again, slower this time, until it landed somewhere it shouldn’t have.

And just like that…

I was back there…

Flashback to the days I knew my heart would cross universes for him…

Back to when I didn’t know how much I had to lose…

The day had just started, and I was half under the sheets—already hiding, already pretending I wasn’t smiling.