I still don’t know why he’d let me in. He hadn’t even told his own girlfriend (Melanie, his high school girlfriend, whose introverted Taurus was a perfect match for his Virgo—just sayin’). I’d asked him once, the afternoon after her funeral. Emily fought hard for years, but even after going into remission briefly and giving us all hope, she’d passed when she was eighteen.
Mark and I were twenty. I came home from college for the memorial service, and afterward we were sitting on his bed, sipping beers even though we weren’t yet twenty-one, but given the circumstances, nobody said a word.
The service had been small, family only. Well, family and me, although by that point I’d begun thinking of myself as family. And I asked him why. Why he’d told me when he hadn’t told anyone else.
He’d shrugged and taken a sip of his Coors. “Just one of those things, Byrne. You’ve gone this long without making it weird—don’t start on me now.”
I got it. Some things just weren’t meant to be questioned; they simply were.
Mark and I are one of them, I guess.
Where was I going with this? Oh, right. Mark and I are close—as close as a guy and girl can be without hooking up (which we’ve never done—I know you were wondering). But anyway, we’re close and yet there are some things we don’t see eye to eye on.
My “superstition” (his term—I call it “cosmic wisdom”) is one of them.
Which is why he’s not going to be nearly as excited about my afternoon as I am, but I tell him about it anyway.
“Okay, so,” I begin. “Actually . . . do you have any wine? I just realized I should celebrate.”
“Celebrate whatever you read in your tea leaves, or celebrate the last day of school?”
“The last day of school,” I say. “And it wasn’t tea leaves, it was a fortune-teller.”
Mark groans, but he opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of my favorite pinot grigio. Let’s just say I’m over here frequently enough that he keeps it stocked.
“Okay, so anyway, I was waiting on the platform and I feel this lady watching me, right?” I begin as he pulls a corkscrew out of a drawer. “So first I think maybe she’s just a little off, but then she starts talking, asking me if my parents are looking forward to their anniversary trip. Their thirtieth-anniversary trip. Like, she specified the exact number, and she was right.”
He pulls out the cork. “So she knows your parents, knows they’re about to go on an anniversary cruise. Big deal.”
“No, she did not know them. I’ve never seen her before.”
Mark lifts a finger pistol to his head, pretends to pull the trigger.
“Okay, but that’s not even the cool part,” I say as he gets a glass out of the cabinet.
“You don’t say.”
“And, she told me I’d already met him.”
“Already met who?”
I roll my eyes. “My one true love, obviously.”
Mark glances up. “What?”
“That’s exactly what she told me. She said I’d already met him—I’d already met my one true love, and I would reunite with him before Christmas. Or something. I’m paraphrasing.”
Mark stares at me, his eyes piercing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well . . .” I lean down and pick up Rigby and pull him onto my lap. He’s too big for such things, but I only see my baby a few days a week. I’m allowed to pamper. “I thought about it the whole way home, and I think it means that I let someone get away. Clearly one of my ex-boyfriends was the one.”
“Clearly,” he mutters, turning his attention back to my wine.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No,” he says setting the class in front of me. “I don’t think that a crazy woman you met on the train platform has some brilliant insight into your love life.”
“Then how’d she know about my parents?”
“Maybe she’s been on the platform before. Heard you on the phone planning the trip for your parents.”
A logical answer, but not the right one.
My grandma taught me to listen to what she called “flutterings,” which I later learned was my gut—my intuition. And I’m confident this lady was legit—she really did have the Sight. And I really have already met The One.
Mark studies my face, then dips his head in defeat. “Why do I get the feeling you already have a plan?”
I grin. “Well, that’s the best part. I have two weeks off, so the timing is perfect.”
“The timing for . . .?”
“My ex list.”
Mark merely lifts his beer, takes a sip, and waits.
“My ex list,” I repeat, “is the list I’ll put together of all my ex-boyfriends. I’m going to reconnect with each one to figure out which one is the one. It’ll be my Christmas gift to myself—after all, the lady did say I’d find him before Christmas.”
He snorts. “Got it. So, there’s an expiration date.”
“No, more of a . . .” I wave my hand. “Sometimes the stars just have to align, and you’ve got to be quick on your feet.”
My best friend stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “Any chance I can opt out of all involvement in this plan?”
I put a wriggling Rigby on the ground and stand. “None. But for now, you get a reprieve, because I need to get home and start putting together my list.”
“I just poured that wine.”
I lift the glass in thanks. “Good thing I’ve got a thirty-second walk home. Come on, Rigby, grab your new bone.”
Mark shakes his head as the dog and I go out the back door.
I resume my singing. “Have yourself a merry little Christmas, have yourself a merry little Christmas . . .”
If all goes according to plan, it’ll be a very merry little Christmas indeed.
Kelly Byrne’s Ex List: Version One
Jack Chance: Hot. Funny. Very promising. Also, good friends with Mark. Tricky.
Joey Russo: High school boyfriend. Super sweet, but . . . well, it’s been a long time. Worth looking into.
Chad Morrister: Great listener, solid sense of humor. Broke up because he was older and my early-twenties self wasn’t ready for what he was offering. Maybe now I am ready?
Doug Porter: Rebound guy. Maybe I didn’t give him enough of a chance?
Stephen Hill: We always laughed a lot. I like a guy I can laugh with.
Adam Bartley: Blah. I can’t remember what color eyes he has; that’s not a great sign.
Colin Austin: Best guy I ever dated. Also broke my heart, soooo . . .
December 16, Saturday Morning
“I don’t feel good about this. Rodger, do you feel good about this? This isn’t right.”
I bite back a yawn and take another sip of coffee from the travel mug. “It’s right, Mom. You and Dad never do anything for your anniversary because it falls so close to Christmas. Your thirtieth wedding anniversary needs to be about you two. Okay?”
Her hands flutter anxiously, and I reach across the back of the truck cab to still them with my own.
Normally I’d be relishing my first morning of Christmas vacation by sleeping in, followed by waffles and a Christmas movie on the Hallmark Channel. Instead, I’m airport bound with my parents in tow.
Now, a little bit about my parents . . .