Christmas With My Ex (Stuck For the Holidays)

9. Rives

NINE

Rives

The mood is right / The spirit’s up / We’re here tonight / And that’s enough.

8:22 am

I walk back to my room, crutches clicking against the otherwise quiet, carpeted floor. My mind is spinning.

Nicholas asked if he could see me again. And what did I do? I shut him down. Deflected. I told him we’d "run into each other" because of the snow, but we both know that wasn’t what he meant.

I let out a long breath as I close the door behind me, the solitude of the room pressing in. Leaning the crutches against the wall, I sit down on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of everything. The tension between us is impossible to ignore, no matter how hard I try to keep him at arm’s length.

And it’s Christmas Eve. Of all times to be stuck in a tiny resort, reliving the past with the man who broke my heart.

But it's not just Nicholas. It’s everything—the snowstorm, the injury, and... my mom.

I lean back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache that always creeps in around this time of year. Christmas hasn’t felt the same since I lost her. I try to stay busy, to keep the memories at bay, but this year... it’s different. Maybe because I’m stuck here, with nothing but my thoughts, and nowhere to escape them.

I can’t believe it’s almost been five years. 2018 was the last Christmas we spent together. It was February 2019 when she went to sleep and didn’t wake up. I’ll never forget that day—because it was also the day I found out I was pregnant.

She never knew she might have been a grandmother.

Not that it matters. That wasn’t meant to be, either. But I’ll never forget the pain of that time—my breakup with Nicholas in January, losing my mom in February, and then facing a life-altering decision alone. There were moments I didn’t think I’d survive that year... but here we are.

My mom was always the one who made Christmas special. She loved everything about it—the decorations, the music, even the cheesy holiday movies. She went all out, cooking enough food to feed an army, wrapping presents weeks in advance, planning every detail down to the last ornament.

I used to roll my eyes at how much she fussed over it, but now... I’d give anything to have her here. To call her, hear her voice, see her smile when I walk through the door with one of her plates of cookies, baked just for me.

The pain of missing her doesn’t fade. Not really. It’s always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble up when I least expect it.

The autopsy didn’t reveal anything specific. Her heart just gave out, they said. The silver lining—if you can even call it that—is she never suffered. She felt fine, went to bed, and never woke up.

And now, sitting here alone on Christmas Eve, that emptiness feels bigger. I’d never admit it out loud, but part of the reason I pulled Nicholas in last night was because, for a moment, I didn’t have to think about the gaping hole in my life. The loneliness that never quite leaves, especially during the holidays.

I swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in my eyes. It’s been years, but sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for her to walk through the door, like I could call her and she’d pick up. Like none of this is real.

But it is. She’s gone. And no matter how much I try to move forward, that loss is always there, shadowing everything I do.

I glance over at the clock. I should probably shower, try to clear my head. Maybe get out of my own way before I spiral any further. But the thought of facing the day feels heavier than usual.

Letting out a slow breath, I push myself off the bed. I grab my crutches and head toward the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower will help. Maybe not. But it’s all I can do right now to keep myself from drowning in the past.

8:59 am

Lying in bed after my shower, staring at the ceiling, I'm starting to feel marginally better. The hot water helped, but it didn’t wash away the mess in my head. My phone vibrates on the nightstand, the sound cutting through the silence.

I reach over, grabbing it with a heavy sigh, already knowing what’s coming.

Hey girl... it’s official. I can’t make it out this trip. You'll have to keep all the powpow to yourself, poor thing.

I stare at the screen, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. I knew this was coming. I’ve known since her flight got canceled yesterday, but seeing the confirmation still stings.

Another buzz.

The only flight I could get is for tomorrow, but it lands in Denver, not Telluride. That’s a long drive in this weather, and I don’t think I can do that only for a day there. I hope you aren't mad at me. Trust me, I'd rather be there with you.

I let out a breath, typing back quickly.

Yeah, I figured. Most things are closed here, anyway. You know I could never be mad at you.

I set the phone back down, letting the disappointment wash over me. Part of me had held out hope, even knowing it wasn’t realistic. But now, it’s real. I’m really alone. Christmas Eve, stuck in this snowy bubble with no way out, and no Bethany to lighten the mood.

I glance at the phone again, half-expecting Bethany to send another message, maybe to check in or tell me she’s sorry or that she’s changed her mind. But there’s nothing.

She probably thinks I’m fine, out here tearing up the slopes. I haven’t told her about the accident. Haven’t mentioned a thing about my busted leg or how completely miserable I’ve been. Because telling her would make it real.

And I’m not ready for that.

She has no clue Nicholas Snowden is here, too. It's likely that she would completely lose her shit if I told her. She thinks he was a dick, but of course, she only knows my side. Still, he was a dick, so she wouldn’t be wrong.

I pick up the phone again, considering calling her. I could use someone to talk to, but I decide against it. No need to darken her Christmas spirit, too.

Perfect.

9:41 am

After staring at my phone for what feels like hours, waiting for a message I know isn’t coming, from who, I don't even know, I decide I can’t just sit here. I've got to choose to pull myself out of this funk.

I’ve already spent too much time wallowing, and if I don’t do something, I might actually go crazy. Or worse, I’ll drown in this feeling of isolation.

I remember what the barista told me this morning. The dorky holiday activities the resort has organized might actually be the ticket. While normally I’d roll my eyes at them, right now, it’s either that, or sit here and let the sadness of everything swallow me whole.

I grab my crutches and hobble over to the door, determined to distract myself from the mess that is my life. People go on solitary retreats all the time. I need to embrace the suck and become one with it.

Downstairs, the lobby is buzzing with holiday cheer. Kids are running around, parents chasing after them, and there’s a big Christmas tree in the corner twinkling with lights. It’s almost sickeningly cheerful, but admittedly, it feels better than the depressing silence of my room.

I spot a sign for the next activity.

Chai Tea-Making Class, 10:00 AM

I laugh under my breath but also realize it is perfect for me. I can do something crafty and then enjoy my hard work. Just silly enough to get me out of my own head.

I make my way over to the small group gathered near the fireplace, each person clutching a tiny recipe card. It hasn't quite started, but everything is setting up.

I browse the coffee mugs. This might be the best part, we get to keep the cool stoneware mug. "These are all hand thrown by artisans here in Telluride. Aren't they stunning?" I woman asks beside me.

"They really are. I'm so glad I came down for this."

Already I'm feeling better. Being out and talking to other humans is good for my soul.

The woman in the apron claps her hands together, smiling at the small group. “Welcome, everyone! Make sure you grab a mug. Today, we’re diving into the world of chai tea—a beverage that’s not only delicious but also steeped in rich history.”

She gestures to the assortment of spices spread out on the table in front of us. “Chai actually originates from India, where it’s been enjoyed for centuries. The word ‘chai’ means ‘tea’ in Hindi, and traditionally, it’s a blend of black tea, milk, spices, and sweeteners. Each region in India has its own unique version of chai, with different combinations of spices like cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and peppercorns, giving it that warm, comforting kick.”

She pauses, picking up a small jar of cardamom pods. “Originally, chai was used more for its medicinal properties, with the spices offering various health benefits—like aiding digestion, improving circulation, and boosting energy. Over time, it became a beloved comfort drink, not just in India but across the world. These days, chai is more than just a cup of tea—it’s something people turn to when they need warmth and comfort. Kind of like a cozy hug in a mug.”

I like that. I could use a hug in a mug.

She smiles warmly, her enthusiasm contagious. “So, as we brew our own chai today, think about how each spice brings its own flavor and warmth, just like the different experiences in our lives. It’s a reminder that, even on cold, snowy days like this, there’s always something that can bring us a little bit of comfort.”

I’m about to grab a seat when I hear a familiar voice.

“Rives?”

I glance up, my heart skipping a beat. Nicholas is standing across the room, a surprised but cautious look on his face. He’s holding a recipe card in one hand and a confused smile on his lips.

Of course he’s here.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual, though I can feel the tension building between us again. I'm working on my resting bitch face, so hopefully he can't see how disappointed I am to see him.

“Chai tea?” he asks, a teasing tone creeping into his voice. “Didn’t peg you as the ‘tea-making’ type.”

I shrug, gripping my crutches a little tighter. “Figured I’d give it a shot. Better than sitting in my room, right?”

He smiles, and for a moment, the awkwardness between us fades. “Mind if I join you?” he asks, nodding toward an empty chair beside mine. "I've always had a burning desire to learn how to make chai tea."

I hesitate for a second, but then I realize... what’s the point in saying no? We’re stuck here together. Might as well try to make the best of it.

After my initial hesitance, I have to resist answering snarkily. “Sure,” I say, offering him a small smile. "Make sure you pick out a mug, first."

As he sits down beside me, the air between us feels lighter, like maybe this silly little tea-making class is a warm hug in more ways than one.