I climbed the stairs to Melody’s apartment feeling the weight of defeat sloshing around in my guts. I could hear the sound of laughter and voices on the other side of the doors that I passed—at least someone was having a good Christmas.
Melody answered the door with a glass of wine in her hand. I got the feeling it wasn’t her first drink of the evening: her cheeks were flushed red and there was a smile playing around her eyes and mouth that I didn’t get to see very often but even her evident holiday cheer wasn’t enough to stop her from narrowing her eyes and blocking me out of the apartment with her arm on the door frame.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, yourself.”
We stared at one another in an awkward silence that thickened around us like glue. Inside, I could hear a television blaring and the
