You’d have caught us stealing thick, bourbon-filled kisses in the kitchen at a dinner party full of house guests. The house decorated from floor to ceiling with a collected Christmas cheer that was legendary. Fearless and beautiful - we were covered in thick syrupy confidence and swagger.
Interrupting him, "Pardon, but are you breaking up with me, in your underwear, over morning coffee?", I didn't honestly expect him to reply, "well, yeah, I guess I am."
I didn't even unpack any of it this year. It was hard enough sorting through them impatiently into our own boxes the previous summer.
I've grown used to that shocked coffee shop welcoming smile that quickly frowns at "well, he and I broke up." It's not like I'm angry. Honestly, I'm not. if anything I'm just disappointed. It had always felt to me that we had enough in each other - that our togetherness was enough. I am a little embarrassed that I was wrong.
I've spent most of the winter just working hard, working out, reading by the fireplace - just trying not to notice the holiday. I'd convinced myself it was better to hibernate.
But then I saw it. In the window of a shop down the street appears the most perfect single glass ornament. The way it shimmers in the light from the street makes it look more like a snowflake than a simple ornament. I look through it with satisfaction as I hang the single ornament up in the window in the front of my apartment.
There would be new traditions, new stories. One day I'd tell the old stories of him and me without it hurting so much. It's perfectly okay that today is not that day.