Resting Scrooge Face

by Meghan Quinn

And most importantly, why must your devoted admirers—in their ugly Christmas sweaters with their fresh-from-the-oven, poorly decorated gingerbread men—follow me around town asking who I’ll be kissing under the mistletoe this year? The answer is no one. NO ONE! That ship sailed many years ago, when I messed up the one good thing in my life. So, if anyone is listening, if anyone wants to offer some temporary relief from this cheerful and uplifting merriment, also known as my own personal purgatory, it would be most appreciated. Sincerely, Resting Scrooge Face

As I pull my till and start to move it to the back office, he calls out, “This boorish antijoy attitude you’ve been wearing recently—it doesn’t have anything to do with Nola Bisley coming back into town, does it?” I pause, my back muscles tensing as my grip on the till grows tight. 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.

Grandma Louise is the only one I can’t avoid, because she won’t let me. But the worst of all, and I mean the absolute worst, is being in a constant state of panic that I’ll run into Caleb Butler, the unofficial heartthrob of Bright Harbor and the boy who broke my heart.

Grandma Louise pats my hand as I guide her out of the store and toward Main Street. “We will get you back to normal in no time. If anything, the Christmas spirit should liven you up.” “I don’t know, Grandma,” I say as we navigate a crowd of shoppers getting in their last-minute purchases before the big day. “Not sure there’s much of the holiday that will cheer me up, more like remind me that I was dumped by a pompous city boy—who I thought was going to propose to me on the twenty-fourth.” “Now where did you get an idea like that?” “You,” I say. Grandma Louise is a romantic. “You called me up earlier this month and told me you had a dream that I was going to forever be bonded with the love of my life on Christmas Eve.” “Yes, and that is to be loosely interpreted. I didn’t name names.”

I didn’t handle our breakup well—I was like an immature pelican flapping his way around disaster and doing a terrible job at it.

Dear Resting Scrooge Face, You’ve collected flowers from your mom’s garden since you were seven? Okay, that is probably the sweetest, cutest, most charming thing I’ve ever read, and if we weren’t firmly in the friend zone, I very well might swoon over something like that. But don’t worry. There’s no swooning. None whatsoever.

I was meant to stay in Bright Harbor, and that’s when I decided to fully let you go. I knew we were headed in opposite directions, and if I tried to follow, I’d be miserable. And that’s not fair to you.” “Oh,” I say softly, as the truth hits me. I never realized that’s how he felt. “You could have told me that, Caleb.” “And risk having you stay when clearly you were supposed to go and explore the world?” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have done that. You deserved more.” “I deserved you,” I say before I can stop myself.

I link our fingers together, hers in gloves, mine not. “I’m so sorry for the past, for treating you the way that I did. And I promise you, if you give me another chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Tears well up in her eyes as snowflakes cling to her eyelashes. “Caleb,” she says, her throat tight, her voice strained. I hold my breath, wondering if she’s about to let me down easy. “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.”

Happiness sprouts through me as I bring my nose down to hers, hovering my mouth just above her lips. “I wondered if it was you,” she whispers. “I wondered if you were the one sending me the letters. Coming here tonight, I had to find out.” “And if it wasn’t me?” I ask. Her nose rubs against mine. “Then I would have gone to find you.” With that, her mouth presses against mine. Slowly at first, she waits for me to react, but when I do, when I part my lips, she reciprocates the kiss and steals my very soul for her own. 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.

“Dear Ho Ho No . . . la.” She smirks. “I love you. Will you join me for some fresh eggnog and gingerbread men back at my place? It is Christmas Eve after all. “Sincerely, forever yours, “Your Resting Scrooge Face.”