“Don’t do this. Don’t let go,” she says to me urgently.
“No!” I scream, and sit bolt upright. I struggle to catch my breath, my chest heaving. I feel her move behind me. I shove her away.
“Kyle. Hey, what’s going on?” I hear her. I smell her.
It’s not Kimberly.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. It’s not Kim.
Orange blossoms and jasmine. Marley. I open my eyes and take in her face, the familiar freckles, the soft curve of her jaw, and her delicate lips.
“It was just a dream,” she says, resting her hand over my beating heart. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
I pull her close as the nightmare fades, the images of the car accident and the bloodred rain finally dissipating, drifting away, replaced with what’s real.
21
The days fly by. Between working at the newspaper and spending time with Marley, December sneaks up on me. Soon, Main Street is completely transformed into a winter wonderland.
And every day Marley comes a little more out of her shell.
I look up to see the snow lightly falling, drifting down onto the street lined with people, the annual Winter Festival in full swing. Wreaths wrapped in red ribbon hang from every streetlight, a choir sings carols on a street corner, and the smell of pine and cinnamon is so strong it permeates the entire place with enough force to rival Sam’s discovery of Axe body spray in ninth grade.
A group of kids crowd around the window outside the toy store, their breath fogging the glass as they gaze at the train set in the window, chugging along its miniature track.
“Do kids even play with trains anymore?” I ask Marley. Her cheeks and nose are a soft red, and a thick yellow scarf is bunched around her neck. “Is that a thing?”
“I guess so.” She tucks her arm into mine, taking in a deep breath of that cinnamon and pine, a smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t expect to love this. Every year, Mom tries to get me to come with her, but since Laura…”
I kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for coming with me.”
This one took a bit of convincing, but she finally relented yesterday, our trips to the movie theater and to the coffee shop by the Times making this step just a little bit easier.
She gazes at a group of preteens buying roasted chestnuts from a vendor, her hand reaching up to touch the pink sapphire necklace hidden under her scarf, her eyes distant.
Laura.
Every now and then a dark, inescapable cloud rolls over Marley, the heaviness of her guilt still keeping its grip on her.
I squeeze her tightly, my eyes landing on a teal-and-white booth, my high school football team’s annual fundraiser at the Winter Festival. I watch as a guy with brown hair wearing a letterman jacket picks up one of the footballs and throws a perfect spiral through a dangling hoop, giving his blond-haired girlfriend the stuffed-animal prize.
Kim, my brain thinks instantly. She loved this festival, even though she made fun of it.
Marley and I are both still healing, I guess. But I think we’ve come a long way over the last month, the weight of the grief lifting with every passing day.
I mean, Marley is actually here, at the crowded Winter Festival. That’s… pretty freaking huge.
“Hey,” I say as I grab Marley’s hand and pull her to the booth, breaking free of the dark cloud threatening us. “You see anything you like?”
We scan the prizes. A bear holding a candy cane. A red-nosed reindeer. Marley grabs my arm and points to a yellow duck wearing a red coat and a Santa hat. I mean, how could we not go for it? I pull a dollar out of my wallet in trade for a football.
I take a deep breath, staring at the hoop. Sam and I ran this booth our freshman year during a total snowstorm. We were so bored and cold during the first hour, we spent most of our shift playing the game ourselves, lobbing the ball through the hoop hundreds of times.
I’ve got this.
I launch the ball at the hoop, the spiral wobbling as the throw swings wide.
I pull out another dollar and try again, this throw worse than the first one, the ball soaring over the hoop and out of sight.
Maybe… I don’t have this.
I shrug and turn to grin sheepishly at Marley. “I’m sorry. Maybe I can buy you one.…”
She’s focused, though. Her eyes are locked on that Santa duck as she digs into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out a dollar. She drops it down on the counter, then grabs the football, and… holy shit.
A perfect spiral sails right through the hoop.
I whoop as the freshman behind the booth hands her the duck. Then I scoop her up and spin her around, her yellow scarf coming undone.
“Marley,” I say when I put her down. I’m more than a little impressed. “That was awesome. Can you do it again?”
I pull another dollar from my pocket, and she grabs the football, the same laser-focused look on her face. Without a second thought, she launches it perfectly through the hoop again, this time with even more zip on it. Who is this girl?
She gives me a mischievous look I haven’t seen before, the green in her eyes bright against the white snow falling all around us.
Five minutes later, a Santa duck and a red-nosed reindeer in hand, we stroll proudly away from the booth, my arm slung over her shoulder. To think, last year I’d sulked over not being able to hit that hoop with my left arm.
Now I’m celebrating my girlfriend absolutely destroying me. Twice.
I kiss Marley quickly on the head, and she nuzzles closer to me, everything feeling absolutely perfect. We just need one thing.
“Hot chocolate?” I ask Marley, redirecting us toward a booth of treats and sweets, filled with enough candy to keep our local dentist in business until next Christmas.
She nods, eager, her teeth chattering in the cold.
“Two hot chocolates, please,” I say to the bundled-up barista behind the counter. “Extra whipped cream. Extra marshmallows.”
Marley watches as the barista makes the hot chocolates, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s a lot of sugar,” she says.