THIS CHRISTMAS I FELL

Shoes—check. Clothes—check. “Well, except the floral gown still hanging in the wardrobe,” Claire said, pointing toward the wide-open pink wardrobe. Its doors stood ajar like they had given up, revealing mostly empty hangers and a splash of pink fabric left behind. “Just forget it,” Julia muttered without looking up. “Lucy can have it. That’s her talent anyway—stealing people’s things.” She remained hunched over her long checklist, her handwriting filling the page in careful, anxious strokes. Two weeks until her “Christmas vacation,” two weeks until her carefully constructed escape. Claire adjusted her glasses and flipped through the pages. “Okay… where were we? Bags—check. Skincare kits—check. Joe—check.” She paused. “Um… Joe? Is Joe a person?” “It’s nothing serious,” Julia replied quickly. “Just something I shouldn’t leave behind here.” She emphasized here without realizing it. Her eyes drifted around her room: pink floral wallpaper, vines of fake flowers hanging down from the ceiling, picture frames she no longer looked at. A room that was too pretty to belong to someone who felt so trapped. Everyone thought she was travelling to Boston to spend Christmas with Aunt May. But that was only the pretty version of the story. The real one—the whispered, bruised version—was that she was escaping. Escaping the sharp-tongued arguments with her siblings, the pressure from her parents, the constant reminder that her dream of becoming an artist was “a waste of time.” To them, it was foolish. To her, it was the first real decision she had made for herself. “Julia?… Julia!” Claire’s voice pulled her back from the edge of her thoughts. “Huh? Yes?” She blinked and sat up straighter. “Lost in thought again?” “Yeah.” Julia forced a smile. “Daydreaming about life outside… I mean, life at Aunt May’s this Christmas.” Claire nodded, though her eyes lingered longer than usual. She had always been too observant for her own good—not great for someone trying to hide secrets. “Alright,” Claire continued, glancing down at the list. “Everything looks fine. You only need your ticket and the clothes still in the laundry basket. But honestly, Julia, you’re staying for just two weeks. Why’re you packing like you’re relocating forever?” Julia rose from her foam mattress and walked to the mirror. The cooling mask covered her face like a second skin. “It’s better to pack too much than too little,” she said, peeling the mask off slowly. “You know me—I love fashion. I have to look the part.” She tossed the sheet into the bin. “You don’t expect me to borrow Aunt May’s clothes or repeat outfits. Pretty girls don’t repeat clothes.” “Then at least drop some shoes,” Claire protested, her eyes drifting to the rows of boxes stacked neatly in the corner. “Those things are enough to fill a whole boutique.” “No, baby girl,” Julia said dramatically. “Every shoe has a dress. You can’t repeat shoes. I want this vacation to be perfect.” She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the sound of running water behind her. Claire stood, stretching her legs, and reached for Julia’s notebook. As she placed it on the table, a smaller sheet of paper slipped out. A header caught her eyes before she could look away: List of Things for My New Apartment —Furniture —Cookware —Glassware … Claire froze. New apartment? Is she moving out? Her heartbeat quickened, but she shoved the paper back immediately when she heard the doorknob turn. Julia returned, wrapped in a towel, humming softly as she walked to the wardrobe to pick out clothes for the next couple of weeks. “Julia…” Claire began, trying to sound casual. “What’s your opinion on living alone?” Julia switched off the hairdryer. “Honestly? If you want it, go for it.” “Nice,” Claire said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Why? You thinking of getting a place?” “Nope. Just asking for a friend.” “Sure,” Julia replied, her smile playful but tired around the edges. “Please dial Jeremy and let him know we’re on our way to book the tickets,” Julia said, holding up two gowns and trying to decide which one to wear. “Sure, I will,” Claire replied, already typing. “Thanks, Claire. What would I ever do without you? I’ll really miss you,” Julia added, her eyes softening as she looked at her friend. “Well, I won’t miss you,” Claire said with a smirk. “You’ll be back in no time, don’t you think?” “Well… yes. But you know it won’t be soon soon,” Julia murmured, finally choosing the black gown with the folded design around the neckline. “Let’s go before he closes. It’s almost their closing hour,” Claire said as she stood by the door, hurrying her. “Alright, alright—I’m ready.” Downstairs, Mrs. Mary—Julia’s mother—was walking the guests out. “We’re so happy to have you visit us. I hope you come again,” she said politely. Julia headed straight for the door, ignoring her mother and the guests. She had no strength to pretend today. “Isn’t this Julia?” an older woman asked as Julia walked past. She looked like someone in her fifties, her voice filled with pleasant surprise. “Julia?” she called, curiosity getting the better of her. Julia stopped and turned, confused. “Julia, you’re back!” the woman exclaimed, stepping closer with excitement. “Back? I never travelled,” Julia replied, brows furrowed. The woman pulled her into a warm hug. “But your mother told us you traveled to Paris to pursue your nursing career and wouldn’t be back until Christmas Eve,” she said, breaking the hug to study Julia’s face. “Seems you came back earlier than expected. Mary, look—Julia is back!” She turned toward Julia’s mother, who stood frozen with embarrassment, completely exposed. “O–oh, sorry Mrs. Ivy,” Mrs. Mary began awkwardly. “I totally forgot she came back yesterday night. You know… having her absent for a long while makes us forget she’s back home.” She forced out a laugh that fooled no one. Mrs. Ivy nodded sympathetically. “I understand. Sometimes I forget my son is upstairs and call him like he’s outside somewhere.” She chuckled lightly, squeezing Julia’s hand. “How is Paris, dear? I hope you’re holding up well?” Julia stared at her mother before answering, her voice laced with sharp sarcasm. “Well, why don’t you ask my mom—the one who sent me there? I already gave her the full gist of my stay, so she should be able to narrate it perfectly.” Mrs. Ivy blinked, then gently patted Julia’s hand. “I’ll take that as you’re managing just fine. Be a good girl, honey. I’ll make you Christmas cookies on Christmas Eve—come by to pick them.” She waved and walked toward the gate. Julia stood frozen, emotions swirling—hurt, anger, confusion, disbelief—all fighting for space on her face. “It’s okay,” Claire whispered, gently tapping her shoulder. “I know… I know. It’ll be fine soon.” Julia kept staring at her mother standing by the door, silent and unperturbed—as though nothing had just happened. There were a thousand things Julia wanted to say. But she swallowed them all. She would save her words for when she returned from Jeremy’s place.