Last Christmas

☆The First Snowflake☆ The first snowflake of the season is a tiny reminder that even cold things can be beautiful… and dangerously nostalgic. Text Message — Mom💞: Mija, I hope you remembered to pack the warm boots I sent you last year. DO NOT come home with nothing but designer heels again. Love you. Paris. The city of love. The city of lights. The city that refuses to let my zipper close on this overstuffed suitcase. Late November in Paris is a kind of cold that looks romantic in movies but feels like punishment in real life. Windy, misty, and the kind of chilly that makes every breath look like cigarette smoke. I wish I were here on a winter vacation with a gorgeous man feeding me croissants in bed. Instead? I’m preparing for a month-long visit home. Home, which I haven’t returned to in seven years. Home, which I haven’t fully told my best friend the truth on what he's getting himself into. “B!” Jaylen shrieks from the hallway. “Do you really need all your Jimmy Choos? I need space for my babies.” He walks into my bedroom hugging a mountain of pastel and glittery coats like they’re newborns. “Just like your babies,” I say without looking up, “I need mine.” He drops the coats dramatically. “We’re visiting your small town, not Milan Fashion Week!” “Mmhmm,” I hum. “Small. Very small. So small.” Jaylen squints at me. “Why do you sound like you’re lying?” “Because you assume everything I say is suspicious.” “…fair.” He resumes folding scarves while humming Mariah Carey under his breath. “You excited to go home?” he asks gently. I freeze for a fraction of a second. Too fast. Too obvious. “Yeah,” I lie, stuffing a sweater into my bag after folding it into a smaller size for this damn zipper to close. “It’ll be… festive.” Jaylen beams. “I can’t wait to see where the iconic Bianca Marie grew up! Bet it's adorable.” Oh, it’s adorable. If adorable means wealthy, dramatic, and crawling with relatives who weaponize love like a sport. But he doesn’t need to know that. Not yet. I’ve kept my last name professionally — Bianca Marie — for a reason. “B, why are you making that face?” he asks. “What face?” “The ‘I’m hiding something’ face.” “I don’t have that face.” “Yes, you do. You wear it every time someone brings up your ex.” I choke on air. “No one brought up my ex.” “And yet—” he gestures at me knowingly. “Face.” I glare at him. “Pack, Jaylen.” He snorts and keeps folding scarves. Jaylen doesn’t know much about my past because I’ve never told him. Some memories are easier to pack away than Jimmy Choos. My phone buzzes. Mom💞: We’re all so excited to see you, mija! Safe flight! ❤️ Oh — and your cousin has big news to share tonight! Which cousin? Jaylen peeks. “What did she say?” “That she misses me,” I lie quickly. “And wants us to have a safe flight.” Jaylen presses a hand to his heart. “Aww! I already love her.” “…Yes,” I mutter. “She’s very… lovable.” He sits beside me on the bed, bumping my shoulder. “You ready?” “As I’ll ever be,” I mutter. Jaylen grins. “Then let’s go meet the adorable townspeople of Rosewood— wait, what’s it called again?” My throat tightens. “Rosewood Bluffs,” I say weakly. Jaylen claps. “Cute! Sounds like a Hallmark movie.” “…Oh, it will be,” I whisper. He misses the tone entirely. “Perfect! Then let’s go, Miss Bianca Marie. I expect gingerbread houses, quaint markets, and maybe a sexy lumberjack.” “Sure,” I say. “Something like that.” We both grab our luggage. One of us excited. The other… internally screaming. “Rosewood Bluffs,” Jaylen sings. I inhale deeply. “Rosewood Bluffs… here I come."