Page 2 of Not Another Christmas Movie

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s adorable. He wants me to feel included,” Marsha gushed.

“PowerPoint,” Annie said, pulling the word from her lips like a long-forgotten artifact of the past. “Did he dust off the old family PC to make it?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s probably exactly what he did,” Marsha said. “He also spends hours selecting which DVDs he wants to receive in the mail from some tiny company that still offers that service.”

“Like to use in an actual DVD player?” Annie asked. “What a legend. We must protect him at all costs,” Annie murmured. “You need to marry into that family.”

“Here’s hoping,” Marsha breathed out. Annie stared at her best friend in surprise.

“Wait,” Annie said slowly, drawing out the word. “You don’t think he’s going to propose this week, do you?” Annie stared, watching Marsha’s face bloom pinker. “Marsha! Is that on the table? The family menorah table?”

“No!” Marsha said, laughing and covering her face with her hands. “No. I don’t think so, at least. Pete and I have joked about him ‘putting a ring on it’ after I removed my NuvaRing to go back on the pill—”

“Oh, that joke is dangerous,” Annie warned, but Marsha continued.

“But I don’t know, I don’t hate the idea …” Marsha said, wiggling her bare ring finger in thought.

“I can’t believe this is already happening,” Annie said, struggling to keep her enthusiasm steady as a secret boulder surged to the bottom of her stomach. She knew she should be ecstatic for Marsha, that was her job as the lifelong bestie, but the truth was, Annie was terrified that her once inseparable pal would move on to marriage, drifting away into a new life, and leaving her behind.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Marsha said.

“Says the chick playing around with her birth control,” Annie teased, sustaining a cheerful facade. A thousand tiny needles prickled beneath her hairline, and an unwanted heat crept up her neck; already, her body instinctively itched to begin grieving the ending of their friendship era. Annie cleared her throat, trying to push the feeling away. “Marsha, I didn’t know things were getting so serious.”

“It’s been a tough few weeks for you,” Marsha said softly, her eyes displaying an earnestness that made Annie flinch inwardly. She was desperate to keep her vulnerability hidden. Annie found she functioned best when she was actively ignoring her feelings, especially those tied to some guy who had cut all their fraying strings.

“I’m fine!” Annie said quickly, trusting that, in true Indigo Girls’ fashion, just because she spoke the words they’d be true. Especially if she continued to speak them. Marsha studied her until Annie had to look away. “I’m mostly fine,” Annie added. She didn’t want to think about this. Not here, all out in the open. Not at this silly holiday party. Not now. Thoughts about heartache were solely reserved for a couch and complete solitude.

“Annie,” Marsha said, giving her a small nudge. “I’ve known you my whole life, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” Annie said, unable to meet Marsha’s gaze because she did know. This was her best friend, the person she had technically known in utero thanks to their mothers sharing an ob-gyn, crossing paths in the waiting room, and then realizing they both lived on the same street. The kid who had grown up beside her, weaving their childhoods together in an intricate, unbreakable bond. The friend who had now evolved into a partner within their unconventional business. The same person who had forced Annie out of bed to go to work when she wanted to consume nothing but her beloved Indigo Girls crooning on repeat and fed her actual food for meals. When Annie tried to drown her sorrows in too much coffee and wine and terrible TV after her latest heartache, Marsha had been a steady stream of substance and support.

Annie and Marsha saw each other almost daily and were in a constant text thread on multiple apps in case they couldn’t be face-to-face. But while Annie knew she could console herself in Marsha’s affection and attention, she couldn’t bring herself to rehash this most recent breakup.

If one could even call what Annie had experienced a breakup. Chris had never been able to label her as his girlfriend, after all, and proof of their history had already been scrubbed from the (few and far between) twenty-four-hour stories on Instagram. He hadn’t even been that nice to her, like, ever. None of her friends liked Chris or understood why Annie had marched alongside his endless parade of red flags. She didn’t get it either. And yet her thoughts begged to replay every interaction, every word, every little thing, trying to make some sort of sense of why his absence from her life hurt so much. Chris continued to crowd her head, a song playing on a torturous roller coaster looping around her brain.

“Annie,” Marsha repeated, her voice now full of concern. “I know this time of year is tough on you … How many years has it been now?”

“Sixteen,” Annie breathed, the weight of realization registering; the moment that had impacted her so deeply was halfway between who she had been then and who she was now at 32. Marsha took Annie’s hand and laced her fingers tight.

“Isn’t it time to believe a happy ending is something you deserve too?” Marsha asked.

Annie’s eyes prickled. From the idea of an actual happy ending waiting somewhere for her to find it and having no idea where to look? From imagining her best friend skipping off into the matrimonial sunset and leaving her behind, or acknowledging her personal history and complicated feelings surrounding the holidays? From the lack of snack options at this godforsaken event? Annie wasn’t sure, but she refused to be the girl crying at the Christmas party.

“Can I have more cookies?” Annie asked instead.

“Is that a good idea?” Marsha answered, allowing Annie to change the subject for now. “Don’t you have to drive to your parents’ house later?”

“A tiny bite,” Annie pouted. “Then I’ll stick to stuff that sobers me up, like that Christmas tree cheese ball that’s been left to cook under these flattering fluorescent lights.”

“Maybe you can check in at home and then come spend the holidays with me,” Marsha offered.

“Marsha, no, we’ve talked about this. I’m not sleeping on one of Pete’s brothers’ floors. And you don’t need my bah-humbug tendencies to cast a shadow on what’s sure to be a flawless PowerPoint presentation about the history of Hanukkah. Plus, can you imagine what my dad would do if I didn’t fulfill each and every one of his handwritten house notes? He was already in tears at the idea of leaving the cat alone for too long. He needs me to cater to Arthur’s every whim.”