For as long as I could remember, our parents always brought us to Aunt Sharon’s house for Christmas Eve. On that day, her meticulously decorated house—she hung up fairy lights along the porch and along the stairway railings inside the house, set up a giant fir tree in the living room with tons of ornaments hanging from it, and lit up hot cocoa scented candles—would always be flooded with relatives.

This year was no exception.

Finishing the cup of punch in my hand, I tipped my head backwards and sighed. The warm and noisy atmosphere inside the house felt so cozy. My parents were socializing with the other adults in another room, and Ryan was in the kitchen looking for something to eat. Everyone around me was chattering so loudly that I could barely hear myself think.

It was wonderful.

Just then, there was a gentle tug at the bottom of my shirt.

“Chelsea!”

My seven-year-old cousin’s beaming face greeted me when I glanced down. Celia’s soft brown hair was in a French braid, which she kept touching with her other hand. Her hair had been in its natural state just a couple of hours ago, so I stared at it. Where did that materialize from?

“Do you like it? Aunt Rebecca braided it for me!” she said excitedly, reaching up to stroke it with both hands now.

Because she was an only child, Celia particularly loved these family gatherings we had a few times a year. Strangely enough, she absolutely loved me and a few of my other cousins about my age. It probably helped that we usually included her in our activities and games whenever she attempted to join us, but I still couldn’t get why she wouldn’t rather spend time with the other cousins closer to her own age. Celia’s bubbly personality was totally adorable, though, so most of us were happy to entertain her when she came up to us.

“Yeah!” I said, bending down a little as I grinned at her. “It looks super cute!”

The smile on Celia’s face grew wider at my compliment. “Do you know how to French braid, too?”

“Um, not really,” I said, feeling my grin turn into a sheepish one.

I was never really interested in putting in all that effort into changing my hairstyle just for the sake of it, so I never bothered with any of this stuff. The most I ever did was pull my hair into a ponytail when I had gym class.

“Then let’s go and learn together!” she said, grabbing my left hand. “Aunt Rebecca said she can teach us!”

My heart sank as she started pulling me away. Learning how to French braid my own hair would be a perfectly good hour gone and wasted. I had wanted to just relax without thinking about anything, too.

“Actually,” I said, racking my brain for an excuse to avoid my seemingly inevitable fate, “I kind of have something I need to do—”

“Hey, Chelsea!”

I never whirled around so fast in my entire life at hearing my name being called.

Deborah was standing there, holding a cup of punch in one hand. She was a year older than me. We usually hung out together in a group with our other cousins at large family gatherings like this.

“I’m about to play Pictionary with the others,” she said, brushing aside a stray lock of black hair that had found its way to her face. “Do you want to join us?”

“Yes, please and thank you,” I said immediately, and Deborah’s casual gaze turned into a confused stare.

“Uh, okay,” she said, squinting at me.

“I want to play, too!” Celia said, all thoughts of learning how to French braid hair apparently gone from her mind.

“Alright, let’s go! The more the merrier,” Deborah said to her. “I like your hair, by the way. Did someone braid it for you?”

Celia’s expression promptly brightened. “Yes! Aunt Rebecca did it for me. I love it. We were going to find her to learn how to French braid, too!”

“Oh,” Deborah said, casting me a sidelong glance. “Well, our game is about to start soon. Maybe you can ask Aunt Rebecca to teach you later?”

Nodding vigorously, Celia felt her hair again, clearly delighted by the texture of the braid. “Okay!”

I was saved.

I barely managed to keep myself from letting out a relieved sigh. Instead, I mouthed a quick thank you at Deborah, to which she responded with a knowing smile. We followed Deborah upstairs.

My phone vibrated, so I pulled it out to check the notifications.

Nolan had just replied me. We’d been texting almost nonstop over the past week about trivial things. Our chat log was basically just one long, rambling conversation where we picked up a new topic once the old one had been exhausted.

We never said ‘good morning’ or ‘good night’ or any other form of greeting when a new day began or when the day was about to end.

I did it on purpose, leaving his text on read until I woke up the next morning so that I could reply him without having to ‘end’ the conversation. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional on his part too, but I appreciated that he did it too.

Each time his reply came in, I found my heart skipping a beat. It was weird how excited I was, and I kind of didn’t want any of this to end.

We texted so much, it almost felt like he was here in spirit with me. By now, I pretty much knew when he woke up on most days—about five to six in the evening, which was insane considering how early we had to start getting ready for classes on school days.

How in the world did he manage to reach the classroom so early in the morning when he normally got up so late?

‘Very cute. Did it take you a long time to make it?’

He was referring to the photos I had sent him of a snowwoman I had made this morning in the backyard. The snow had fallen thick enough, so I decided to try building one. After spotting me through one of the windows, Ryan had joined me in my attempt at making the cutest snowwoman ever.

Initially, Ryan had protested when I had first informed him that she was going to be petite, so he couldn’t make her too big, claiming that snowman had to be big to be cool. This resulted in a squabble that lasted a few minutes out in the cold. When I pointed out that it would take less time to build a smaller snowman, he finally conceded, albeit with narrowed eyes.

We looped a lavender scarf around her neck and placed on her head a little pink beret that I had been gifted ages ago by an adult relative, who wasn’t aware that I didn’t have any real use for caps. I hung my dark purple gloves on her stick arms.

I was so pleased with the final result that I took tons of pictures and sent them to my friends. In fact, the first person to whom I sent them was Nolan—since we’d been texting so regularly, he was the first person who came to mind when I thought about sharing my handiwork.

‘Not really! This one was on the smaller side, so it took us even less time. Have you built a snowman before?’ I replied.

There were only three other people in the room that Deborah led us into. They all looked up when we entered.

“Hi, Chelsea,” Audrey, who was the same age as me, said, finishing the cookie she was in the middle of eating. “I was wondering where you went.”

Anthony, her younger brother by a year, lifted a mug to his lips. “I feel so sleepy.”

Audrey frowned. “We haven’t even started playing yet. Don’t sleep!”

“Yeah, Pictionary’s more fun with more people,” Wayne, a cousin who was younger than me by two years, said. “Celia, are you joining us?”

“Yes! I want to be on Audrey’s team!” Celia said, taking a chocolate chip cookie from the tray Audrey was offering her.

In my hand, my phone vibrated again.

My eyes instantly flew to its screen.

‘Yeah, a few times when I was younger. They were kind of ugly, though.’

I found myself smiling involuntarily at the image his message had conjured—there was something so cute about the idea of an eight-year-old Nolan making a poorly formed snowman and being disappointed by it.

‘Mine were too! But I think that’s normal. Snowmen are my favorite part of winter. That, and Christmas family gatherings.’

‘Yeah, it’s already Christmas Eve today. Are your family gatherings big?’

‘They’re pretty huge! It’s really noisy but fun. I’m about to play Pictionary with my cousins now. How about you?’

‘It’s loud over here too, I guess. I just went to the backyard to get away from all that noise.’

‘Oh, don’t you want to hang out with your cousins?’

‘Not really. I only see them once a year.’

I usually only saw my cousins a few times a year, too, but we always had fun whenever we got together.

Despite wanting to reply to his text, I couldn’t think of what to type. What was I supposed to say in response to that?

I felt bad that Nolan didn’t seem to be—or want to be—close to his family members at all.

Another notification slid onto my phone screen.

He’d sent me a picture of a tree. The surroundings were dark, but if I wasn’t wrong, it was a semi-dwarf apple tree.

‘I climbed this tree when I was eight. I fractured my arm when I slipped and fell from it.’

My eyebrows shot up. ‘What? Why did you climb it in the first place? To pick apples?’

‘I knew you’d be able to tell what kind of tree it is. But no, a cat got stuck up there. I wanted to help it to get down.’

‘That was so sweet of you! Even though you ended up fracturing your arm.’

Everything he had to say just seemed so interesting.

‘It’s fine. The cat ended up really liking me after that. Want to see it?’

‘Yes! Show me!’

‘Alright. Give me a moment. I need to go find it.’

We were literally just talking about a cat. It was among the most trivial topics anyone could talk about.

I stared at my phone in a mixture of anticipation and confusion, trying to figure out the cause of the undeniable delight that was rushing through me.

“Why are you smiling at your phone like that?” Audrey nudged me, grinning mischievously. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Ooh, Chelsea, you have a boyfriend?” Deborah said, looking up from the picture she was drawing.

My cheeks warmed. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend!”

They laid off after I protested enough, but for the rest of the night, their teasing smiles and words lingered in my mind.