Page 106 of Falling Like Snow

“Come on, get it out,” I say, gesturing at the bag when he doesn’t make a move for it.

Reluctantly, Asher twists his body and unzips the duffel bag on the other side of him. He pulls out the box and sets it on his lap. But he says nothing.

“Open it,” I tell him, hoping moving on from this conversation will fix the tension between us.

He tears at the red wrapping paper, crumpling it up and placing it in his bag. Then he flips the top of the white cake box back, revealing the delicate sponge cake inside, covered with a messy layer of whipped cream and decorated with fresh strawberries. Bouncing around in the bag definitely didn’t help it any, but considering my baking skills, I’m pleased with how it turned out.

Asher stares inside the box with a blank expression. Once the silence becomes uncomfortable, I say, “It’s a Christmas cake.”

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine as I grin at him.

“Why?” he finally says, frowning.

“Why what?” I ask, my smile slowly falling.

“Why would you bake this?”

I laugh. “I know I’m not a pastry chef, but I swear it’s good.”

“That’s not what I mean, Sloane.” He inhales sharply. “I told you I wanted nothing to do with Christmas.”

“Except for our Christmas,” I say, slowly, baffled by his reaction. “It’s my present for you since you were upset about your dad not being here. It’s like you bringing New York to me.”

“No. No, it’s not like that at all,” he says, his voice rising. “If you had told me you wanted nothing to do with New York, I wouldn’t have planned New York–inspired stuff. I didn’t want this. But you don’t listen, and now you’re throwing a reminder of my dad in my face.” He shakes his head like he’s in disbelief. “Why do you have to be so oblivious all the time?”

“What?” I breathe. What the hell is happening?

“Sometimes you can’t have what you want. Sometimes relationships don’t get to be exactly what you want them to be, and you just have to accept what people give you.” Asher scoots over, sets the box between us, and lifts his feet to stand. “Don’t you get it? My dad made his choice, and it wasn’t me, okay?”

“Wait. What are you doing?” I ask.

“I just… need to be alone.”

“Because of the cake?” I ask, completely flabbergasted. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking.” I push the cake off the platform. A few seconds later, I hear the quiet thud of it landing on the ground below. “There. No more cake. I’m sorry. Stay.”

Now standing, he hands me his car keys. “You can drive my car back. I’m going to walk.”

“Ash—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“We don’t have to talk about it. We can forget it ever happened. Pretend it never existed and just move on.”

He turns around and steps onto the ladder, letting out a bitter, cynical laugh. “If only moving on was that easy.”

“Asher, please.”

“Night, Sloane.”

And with that, he disappears down the ladder. A minute later, I watch as he hikes across the field toward the road.

Deep down, I know this isn’t a fight that will end our friendship. I know he just has a lot of feelings about his dad. I obviously severely underestimated how deeply he was affected by him leaving, and that’s on me. Asher’s my best friend. I’m supposed to know when he’s struggling, without him having to spell it out for me. Still, I hate fighting with him, especially on Christmas. I hate seeing him hurt. I hate him being upset with me.

So, even though I should give him the alone time he asked for, I can’t.

With his keys in my coat pocket, I fly down the ladder, no longer worrying about falling to my death. His car sputters to life, and I follow his footprints in the snow across the field until I reach him, hands in his pockets, shoulders lifted to his ears.

I roll the passenger-side window down as I pull next to him. “Get in. Let me drive you home. I won’t even talk to you if you don’t want.”