Page 24 of Falling Like Snow

Fern tucks her curls behind her ear. “So, have you seen Jake?”

“I haven’t, but I just got here a few minutes ago. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Jake never misses a party.”

She opens her mouth to say something before noticing Ellis on her way over. “Don’t tell anyone I asked about him, okay?”

“Um, o-kay… sure,” I agree.

Fern meets Ellis before she reaches us, and I step up to the table, handing over five dollars and tucking three bottles of water under my arm. I keep my eyes down as I make my way through the crowd.

I’d rather not run into Micah and turn into a flustered mess again.

When I get back to where I left my friends, Chloe, Jake, and Preeti have joined them and are splitting the last cookie.

The band has taken their positions back on stage, and as they strum the opening chords to a rock version of “Let It Snow,” I turn to Jake. “Fern’s here.”

His eyes fly to mine. “Yeah? Where? Did she ask about me?”

“Um, no?” Technically she only asked if I’d seen him, so am I really lying? “And I don’t know where she is now. Off dancing with Ellis and Cooper, if I had to guess.”

“I see…” He hands me his piece of cookie. “How’s my hair look?”

I roll my eyes but assess his golden locks anyway. “Perfect as always.”

“Excellent. Thanks for the heads-up, Sloane. If you don’t see me or Fern the rest of the night, don’t come looking.”

I scrunch my face. “Ew. I definitely won’t.”

Jake takes off in the direction I came from, and Chloe turns to me. “What exactly is going on between them?”

“Not a clue.”

“Well, good riddance,” she says. “Hopefully she keeps him occupied so we don’t have to deal with him all night.”

“Again, ew,” I say, part of me wondering if Preeti was right—if their schoolyard teasing and incessant bickering actually mean Chloe likes him.

“That’s not what I meant,” she laughs. “But hey, whatever works.”

“Come dance with us, Sloane!” Asher calls from where he and Hannah are now spinning to the music with linked arms.

I set the bottles of water on the floor against the wall, eat Jake’s piece of the cookie, and then drag Preeti and Chloe with me. The five of us jam to the band’s Christmas song covers until we’re sweaty and laughing and our feet are aching in our boots.

And not once do I think about a certain flirty hockey boy.

Chapter Seven

It’s nearly midnight when Mom gets home, still wearing her reindeer antler headband. I’m lying on the couch, staring at the lights on the Christmas tree, when she enters and quietly slips out of her boots.

“How’d we do?” I ask, sauntering over to her.

“Holy—” She clutches her chest. “You can’t sneak up on me like that! Why are you still up?”

“Can’t sleep,” I say. Despite the fun night, the weight of grief sits heavy on my chest tonight.

Every December, the Bramble Falls senior center hosts a soup kitchen for low-income families, the elderly, and the unhoused in the area. When I was ten years old, Dad started bringing me along. He’d volunteered for years and always said that giving back was the best part of the holiday season. He pointed out all the ways we were privileged and all the ways so many others weren’t. I always left the soup kitchen with mixed feelings—the sense that I’d done something good by volunteering, but also that volunteering wasn’t enough. Grateful that I was so fortunate but painfully aware that I hadn’t done anything to deserve having more than those who came there for food—like this was an injustice in the world that needed to somehow be righted.

When I told Dad about my complicated, contradictory feelings, he simply said, “Nothing we do will ever feel like enough. All we can do is show up for people when they need us.” Then he hugged me and said, “Never lose your empathetic spirit, Sloane. It makes me so proud to call you mine.”

After he died, I was afraid that I’d also lose the best part of myself—the part he shaped—but I’ve always held on tightly to those words. I’ve strived to be someone he’d be proud to call his daughter. Someone who puts others first.