Page 69 of Breaking the Ice

Thirty-One

EVAN

Evan: OMG, I’m dying. Save me, please. Being in Michigan without you sucks.

Evan: Also, Merry Christmas.

Isabella: You’re such a drama queen.

Isabella: But what can I do to help?

Evan: Invent an emergency? Set something on fire? Call me?

Relief floods my body as the video chat noise dings on my phone. Holding it up, I shake it at my sister and her wife over their glasses of wine in the living room.

“Oh, sorry, I should take this.” I flee upstairs to my new bedroom.

When my mom mentioned selling the lake cottage and buying another one, I didn’t realize it would happen so fast. Once she decided Muskegon was out and South Haven was in, she wasted no time and decided we should spend Christmas in the new digs. But she spared no expense, like usual, and everything came fully furnished. It’s weird to have a bedroom that’s mine but doesn’t feel like me at all.

I guess I should just be thankful that they gave me a bedroom at all. Although if they hadn’t, my mom wouldn’t be able to demand I show up, would she? Closing the door behind me, I flop down on the bed, surrounded by blue. The room has a nautical theme to compliment the lake setting. The seashells, compasses, and ship's steering wheels feel more like they belong in the Eighties than the usual Pottery Barn vibe my mom goes with, but whatever. I’m sure she’ll redecorate soon enough, and I don’t plan on spending more time here than I have to.

I press the green accept button on my phone, smiling as Isabella’s face fills the screen. Even looking at her lifts a weight off my chest.

“Hey there, beautiful,” I say as we connect. “Thanks for saving me. How was the ballet?”

It looks like she’s also in her bedroom at her parent’s house. I’m hit with a pang of longing for our tiny, shabby apartment. Her hair, normally cascading around her shoulders like a curtain of fire, is up in a sophisticated twist, and I wish I could see what she’s wearing. Is she in her pajamas or still in the fancy dress she must have worn tonight?

“It was okay.” She sets her phone down and shrugs, then slips the dangly earrings off her lobes. “The Nutcracker is a fun Christmas tradition and all, but it’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“I miss you,” I say, the words spilling out of my mouth before I think about them. “I wish you were here. Or I was there.”

She nods, the picture getting blurry at her movement. “Same. It was dumb of me to let my mom convince me that we should be apart for Christmas.”

When our respective families’ Christmas plans were at the same time, we agreed to go our separate ways for the holiday. No one could reschedule, and it made sense at the time. But all day as I watched Beth with Ally, I missed Isabella with an ache deep in my chest.

“I could drive home. Come get you and⁠—”

“No.” She shakes her head, cutting me off, and my heart sinks a little bit. “I’d love that, but it’s late and so dark. I don’t know what the roads are like where you are, but it’s sleeting here. I don’t want you to be unsafe.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you.” I swallow, trying to fend off my disappointment. “No white Christmas for you, then?”

“Nope, although we’ll probably watch that movie later.” Stepping back from the camera, she shows a sweatshirt that advertises the Wallace and Davis Christmas Tree Farm and plaid pajama pants. She looks so cuddly, I want to scoop her up and plant her under a blanket with me on the couch. Preferably where there’s no one else around. And my hands can wander under the blanket. She clears her throat. “Do you have any Christmas movies you always watch or fun traditions like that?”

I wince. “My mom always does a formal Christmas dinner. I envied my friends who had matching pajamas and watched movies.”

Isabella’s mouth drops open. “Wow. I thought people only dressed up for dinner on TV.”

“Sadly, no. It happens here every year, and then we retire to the sitting room to discuss current events and great literature.” I affect an upper crust voice for the last part of my sentence, and I’m gratified when Isabella bursts out laughing.

“Are you serious?” she says, around her giggles.

“Yep.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Sometimes my dad and I sneak off after a while and watch a football game, but he usually has to check back in on the fancy conversation or my mom gets mad. If he’s not on call at the hospital.” I shrug. “I’m used to it by now.”

Her eyes are wide. “I can’t quite get over your family. You’re so different from them.”