A Curvy Carol (A Curvy Girl Christmas #2)

23. Carolynn

23

CAROLYNN

M y head was spinning with the conversation—or argument—I’d just had with Whit.

I had to get away from him, his eyes that saw too much, his cologne that scattered my brain cells, his explanations that made too much sense and frustrated me at the same time.

I had to think about it all. Or maybe put all thoughts of Whit out of my mind; I had no idea which would be better.

I wiped the tears streaming down my face. The cold weather instantly turned the hot salt water frigid as I walked down the sidewalk, trying not to make eye contact with anyone passing by. I still felt embarrassed, angry, and shocked. And now I was crying in public for the second time today.

He’d seemed genuine when he was talking to me just a few minutes ago, but it felt impossible to let go of the feelings of betrayal and humiliation.

I wasn’t sure I could ever live it down.

After everything I’d been through with my parents’ divorce, I’d already been skeptical of relationships. This seemed like the final nail in the coffin.

Maybe I could be happy with just my friends—forget about boys altogether. A swell of pain went through my chest as I realized just how much I missed them. I knew they’d have good advice for me.

I got out my phone and started a text in our group chat, only to delete it.

This was dumb. I felt dumb. It would be too embarrassing to admit what happened to them.

I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready to talk about this.

So I shoved my phone back in my pocket and kept walking.

Somehow, I ended up at my favorite spot in Garland, the bookstore. The smell of books mixed with soft music always had a way of making me feel better, even now.

I took a seat at the farthest chair in the back, surrounded by shelves with my back to the door. After several deep breaths, I dug out my new cross-stitch project. A few stitches in, I put it away again in frustration.

Even cross-stitching wasn’t helping me escape the madness that was my mind for a few minutes.

I took another deep breath, hoping it would dissolve the frog in my throat.

Then the sound of my name had me quickly wiping at my eyes and turning around.

“Carolynn, is that you?” I heard, trying to locate the source of the voice.

Then I spotted her. It was Mrs. Curran from Santa’s Bag winding around one of the shelves

“I thought I recognized those long blonde curls coming in here,” she said with a kind smile.

“Hi,” I mustered. If she noticed my tears, she didn’t say.

She stuck her hand into her tote bag, clearly looking for something. “I’m glad I ran into you.” She must’ve found what she was looking for before because she finally took her hand out of the bag and held something out to me.

Wait, it was a…

“Your snow globe,” she beamed. “It’s ready. I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”

I’d forgotten all about the custom snow globes she was making this year. “But I didn’t order one,” I said.

“It’s your Christmas gift, dear. From that young man.” She handed it to me, and just like that, there were tears in my eyes again. “Do you like it?” she asked with a smile.

I nodded quickly, trying not to break down at what I saw, at her kindness. “It’s beautiful.”

And it was.

There was Whit, and there was me. Little miniature versions of us, standing in front of the snowman we’d built for the annual Garland snowman competition.

I couldn’t help it. A tear rolled down my cheek.

Whit and I’d had so much fun together. Now it was all over.

Worst of all, I’d really let myself believe that he liked me as more than a friend. That part hurt the most.

“Honey, are you okay?” Mrs. Curran. “Did something upset you?”

I wiped away the fresh wave of tears, and before I could lie and say I was okay, someone else walked into the bookstore.

“Carolynn, there you are.” It was my dad. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Quickly wiping my eyes, I got up, the snow globe in my hands. “Thanks, Mrs. Curran. I love it.”

She patted my shoulder, and I walked over to my dad. “Hey, Dad,” I managed.

“Hey, pumpkin. Look, can we talk?” he said, tilting his head toward the door.

I nodded and followed him out of the shop. I was ready to be done crying in public.

As we walked home, Dad made his case.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what happened, Carolynn. I understand now why you’re so upset about me paying Whit and all. I should’ve thought it through better or at least told you.”

I didn’t say anything, just kept walking.

“I guess I just felt guilty that you couldn’t have the Christmas you really deserved, you know?”

We saw a family walk past us. In one swift move, the dad tossed his young daughter up onto his shoulders and she laughed with glee.

We kept walking, and I tore my gaze away from them.

“I remember when you were that little,” Dad said with a wry smile. “Good times, huh?”

I blinked back tears. They had been the best times. But now they were over.

“I know how hard it must be around the holidays, with all the happy, whole families in Garland. I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted you to have a fun Christmas this year.” His voice broke a little, and I felt bad.

Without saying a word, I hung on to his arm and we kept walking. Scrooge was right—he loved me and was just doing his best. “It’s okay,” I finally said. “Let’s just forget about it.”

“Maybe you would’ve done the same thing in my position,” Dad went on. “If you saw how miserable your kid was and you didn’t know what else to do.”

“Maybe,” I replied. “I can’t pretend to understand how a parent brain works,” I quipped.

That got a chuckle out of him. “And you know, your payment was getting out of Christmas, so really, each of you got paid if you think about it.”

“That’s true,” I said. I had kind of forgotten about that part. “I forgive you, Dad. I just don’t know if I can forgive Whit. So much has happened...”

We continued walking, still several minutes away from home.

Dad sighed. “Relationships aren’t just happily ever after like in the movies, you know.”

“I know,” I said, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk. Even though he and Mom tried to hide it from me, I’d heard the tense whispers and noticed how they wouldn’t make eye contact for a while before the divorce.

“Relationships require forgiveness,” he said. “You have to decide what mistakes are worth accepting and forgiving and which ones aren’t.”

We reached our house, Dad’s words echoing in my mind. Once we got inside, I told him I was tired and going to take a nap.

He kissed the top of my head. “I love you, Car.”

“I love you too,” I said. I meant it.

Then I went to my room and lay down. And even though I’d hoped to sleep away my troubles, I couldn’t. There were a million thoughts racing through my consciousness, and I couldn’t sort them all out.

Especially when it came to what Dad had said about relationships requiring forgiveness.

Was the mistake Whit made worth forgiving?