Resting Scrooge Face

by Meghan Quinn

Does my piss-poor attitude—including my insane letter to Christmas—have anything to do with the one that got away, the woman who just so happened to move back to our small, wintery town in the heart of Maine? Absolutely, it does.

Hell, she’s so beautiful. More beautiful than I remember. Her brown hair is short now, just kissing her shoulders and styled in cute, spunky curls. Her eyes are no longer framed in dark eyeliner, but just accentuated by mascara. Her face has thinned out, as well as her shoulders, but those lips, they’re the same, and her penetrating eyes, yeah, they’re piercing my soul, one blink at a time.

“What?” she responds. “That’s what you’re going to say to me? What?” No, what I really want to say is how beautiful you are. How I’ve missed staring into your eyes. Or hearing your laugh.

First of all, could the man be any more attractive? You always hope for the people who break your heart to age horribly, but not Caleb Butler. Nooooo, he has to be like Napa’s finest wine.

This is my second chance, and if I don’t do something now, I could lose her forever.

Just as I turn around, I come face to face with Grandma Louise. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?” Startled back into the door, I let out a small squeal. “My goodness, Grandma. You scared me.” “Well, if you weren’t spouting heart eyes for the man, you might have heard me walking up with my cane.”

“You have to know.” She wets her lips. “Even during our time apart, even when our hearts were both shattered, it’s always been you. Always and forever.”

This is my girl. The one I’ve been waiting for. And sure, it might have taken a few years and some letters delivered by a friend, but we’re here, in each other’s arms, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.