Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances by Myracle, John (good book club books TXT) 📕

a dance floor,” I said. “That’s snow. Cold, frozen snow.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Tegan said. “Come see.” She paused, regarding me quizzically from beneath her striped wool hat. “Addie? Why do you have a blanket on your head?”

“Ehhh,” I said, waving them off. “Go home. I’m a bummer. I’ll bum you out.”

“Oh, don’t even,” Dorrie said. “Exhibit A: You called and said you were having a crisis. Exhibit B: Here we are. Now get down here and experience this glory of nature.”

“I’ll pass.”

“It’ll cheer you up, I swear.”

“Impossible. Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “Such a baby. C’mon, Tegan.”

They high-stepped out of my sight, and a couple of seconds later, the doorbell rang. In my bedroom, I adjusted my blanket to make it more of an official turban-y thing. I sat on the edge of my bed and pretended to be a nomadic desert wanderer with startling green eyes and a desolate expression. After all, I knew all about desolation.

Parental chatter floated up from the hall—“Merry Christmas! You girls walked all that way in the snow?”—and Dorrie and Tegan annoyingly chose to reply. Their happy voices made happy Christmas chitchat, making me grouchier and grouchier until I wanted to yell down, “Hey! Girlies! The wretched soul you’re here to comfort? She’s up here!”

Finally, two sets of stockinged feet jogged up the stairs. Dorrie burst in first.

“Whew,” she said, lifting her hair off her neck and airing herself out. “If I don’t sit down, I’m going to plotz.”

Dorrie loved saying “I’m going to plotz.” It was her catchphrase; it meant she was going to explode. She also loved Cheerwine, bagels, and pretending she was from the Old Country, which was where Jewish people lived before they came to America, I guess. Dorrie was big into her Jewishness, going so far as to call her awesome curly hair a “Jew fro.” Which shocked me the first time she said it, and then made me laugh. Which was pretty much Dorrie in a nutshell.

Tegan came in behind Dorrie with flushed cheeks. “Omigosh, I’m totally sweating,” she said, peeling off the flannel button-down she wore over her T-shirt. “Getting here about killed me.”

“You’re telling me,” Dorrie said. “Five thousand miles I trudged to get from my house to yours!”

“And by that you mean . . . twenty feet?” Tegan said. She turned to me. “Think that’s about right, twenty feet from Dorrie’s house to mine?”

I gave her a steely-eyed look. We were not here to discuss the foot-by-foot boringness of how far apart their houses were.

“So what’s with the headdress?” Dorrie asked, dropping down beside me.

“Nothing,” I said, because it turned out I didn’t want to discuss that, either. “I’m cold.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” She yanked the blanket from my head, then made a sound of strangled horror. “Oy. What have you done?”

“Gee, thanks,” I said sourly. “You’re as bad as my mom.”

“Whoa,” Tegan said. “I mean . . . whoa.”

“I’m assuming this is your crisis?” Dorrie said.

“Actually, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dorrie.” Tegan swatted her. “It’s . . . cute, Addie. It’s very brave.”

Dorrie snorted. “Okay, if someone says your hairstyle is brave? You pretty much want to go back and demand a refund.”

“Go away,” I said. I pushed at her with my feet.

“Hey!”

“You are being mean to me in my time of need, so you’re no longer allowed on the bed.” I put some muscle into it, and off she thunked.

“I think you broke my tailbone,” she complained.

“If your tailbone’s broken, you’ll have to sit on an inflatable doughnut.”

“I’m not sitting on an inflatable doughnut.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m not being mean to you in your time of need,” Tegan interrupted. She nodded at the bed. “May I?”

“I suppose.”

Tegan took Dorrie’s original spot, and I stretched out and put my head in her lap. She stroked my hair, gingerly at first, and then with more assurance.

“So . . . what’s going on?” she said.

I didn’t speak. I wanted to tell them, but at the same time I didn’t. Forget my hair—the true crisis was so much worse that I didn’t know how to get the words out without bursting into tears.

“Oh, no,” Dorrie said. Her face mirrored what she must have seen on mine. “Oh, bubbellah.”

Tegan’s hand stilled. “Did something happen with Jeb?”

I nodded.

“Did you see him?” Dorrie asked.

I shook my head.

“Did you talk to him?”

I shook my head again.

Dorrie’s gaze shifted upward, and I felt something pass between her and Tegan. Tegan nudged my shoulder to make me sit up.

“Addie, just tell us,” she said.

“I’m so stupid,” I whispered.

Tegan put her hand on my thigh to say, We’re here. It’s okay. Dorrie leaned over, resting her chin on my knee.

“Once upon a time . . . ” she prodded.

“Once upon a time Jeb and I were still together,” I said miserably. “And I loved him, and he loved me. And then I screwed up big-time.”

“The Charlie Thing,” Dorrie said.

“We know,” Tegan said, giving me several comforting pats. “But that happened a week ago. What’s the new crisis?”

“Other than your hair,” Dorrie said.

They waited for me to reply.

They waited some more.

“I wrote Jeb an e-mail,” I confessed.

“No,” Dorrie said. She bashed her forehead against my knee, bam-bam-bam.

“I thought you were giving him space to heal,” Tegan said. “You said the kindest thing you could do was stay away, even if it was super-hard. Remember?”

I shrugged helplessly.

“And not to be a downer, but I thought Jeb was hanging out with Brenna now,” Dorrie said.

I glared at her.

“I mean, no, of course he isn’t,” she amended. “After all, it’s only been a week. But she’s going after him, right? And as far as we know, he’s not exactly pushing her away.”

“Bad Brenna,” I said. “Hate Brenna.”

“I thought Brenna got back together with Charlie,” Tegan said.

“Of course we hate Brenna,” Dorrie said to me. “That’s not the issue.” She turned to Tegan. “We wanted her to get back with Charlie, but it didn’t take.”

“Oh,” Tegan said. She still looked confused.

I sighed. “Remember how braggy Brenna was the day before winter break? How she was going on and on about how she was going to see Jeb during vacation?”

“I thought