I was having trouble making my battle plan. I couldn’t tell if my first attempt with the smoothie had been a success or not. I decided he was probably at the university to get a sense of what my life was like and once he was satisfied I was living well without him, he might be on his way. Maybe. Maybe not.

I only knew one person who was a mutual acquaintance, and I really did not want to talk to Felicity-Ann. I saw her that afternoon in one of the student lounges drinking a bottle of water that was too expensive for the pop machines.

I stood in the doorway and thought about approaching her.

Nah. It wasn’t worth it. I went out the other way and tried to think of something else.

In the end, the weeks leading up to exams ticked by and I didn’t manage to do anything more than say hi to Rogan in economics. He said, “Hi,” back, but the way he said it made me think he was really saying, “Don’t expect anything from me… ever.” It discouraged me.

I was on the verge of becoming a zombie again, but an opportunity presented itself two days before my final exams. I was walking through one of the lounge areas when I saw his shoulder blades protruding from one of the couches. Many of the campus buildings were open all night around exam time and many students slept on the couches, but I had never expected to see him, of all people, take advantage of that. It seemed out of character, especially for the Christian I had known.

I had taken a nap there a time or two myself, but usually in the afternoon, and not at night. It was better than sleeping on the floor, but the experience would have been greatly improved by a blanket and a pillow. He was lying on his stomach, using his backpack as a pillow to prop him up. There was probably a laptop in there, a far cry from comfort. So, I went about conjuring a pillow and blanket for him. It was easy. The University Bookstore sold so much UofA swag that finding a pillow and a fleece blanket was easy. I was lucky I popped in two minutes before they closed for the night.

I sat in one of the chairs, pulled the tags off the blanket, and spread it across him. It barely covered him, he was so long. I was less sure how to maneuver the pillow in. I put my hand under his head and he immediately stirred.

“What are you doing?” he asked groggily.

“Quiet. I’m just lending you a pillow, and then I’ll go, okay?”

“What?” he repeated like he was too disoriented to understand what I was saying.

“I know,” I breathed cynically. “You aren’t the kind of guy who would whore himself off for a blanket and a pillow, even in December. It’s okay. Don’t feel like I’m trying to get anything from you,” I lied. “I just felt a little sorry for you, so don’t feel obligated.” I didn’t bother moving his backpack and shoved the pillow under his head.

He shifted onto his back, put the pillow on his backpack and rested on it. “Actually, that’s much better,” he sighed, and he sounded exactly like Christian. “Thank you. I was getting a crick in my neck.”

“My pleasure.” I threw the plastic bookstore bag in the garbage and got up to leave.

“Wait a second,” he said.

I turned around. “What?”

“Well, maybe I will whore myself off for a minute. Let’s talk. I wanted to ask you. Do you normally ask men out on dates in that abrupt, crazy, way?”

I sat down in the armchair next to him. For him to open a conversation like that was an extremely good sign, even if it meant he was checking up on me like he was still my guardian. “No.”

“Then why did you do that?”

I decided to start slowly and move the conversation with purpose. I had to convince him I was not living well. That way, he might try to involve himself in my life so he could save me. I started talking. “I used to know this man who always did things like that. He hardly ever showed up without a present of some kind. Often he would send presents before he arrived. Sometimes they were really overwhelming because of how much they cost or how much trouble they represented. I thought a smoothie was small enough that it wouldn’t make anyone feel burdened. I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m not sure if I even know how to meet someone without at least offering them a stick of gum.”

“Who was this guy? Your daddy? Your boyfriend?” He looked more like Christian without his heavy rimmed glasses.

I shook my head. “He was neither of those things… and both those things. Long story short—my parents are dead and he was assigned to look after me. When he realized I was falling for him, he gave me the boot and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Have you had a boyfriend since then?”

“No,” I said with a snap of my tongue. “One guy is nice to me and my vision is so small that I can’t see anyone but him. Pathetic, right?”

Rogan nodded like he did think it was very pathetic. “Are you doing anything fun for Christmas?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Nope. My roommate, Trinity, is going to visit her new in-laws, and I don’t have any family, so I’m home… in my apartment… alone for the holidays.”

Saying that truly shocked him. “Don’t you have any other friends besides your roommate?”

“Sure, I do. But I’m not close enough to any of them to butt in on their Christmas morning plans. Besides, you shouldn’t be confused about how that man I mentioned treated me. Even if I loved him with all my little-girl heart and he was the only person in the world I could see, he still left me alone in boarding schools and hotel rooms an awful lot. I’m used to being alone. You know, he could hardly spare four weeks a year to spend with me. You know, before I made things awkward.”

Rogan’s reaction during this speech was strange. He tightened his jaw and felt beside him for his glasses. A second later, they were on his face.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do on Christmas morning,” I said briskly. “I’m going to get up, make myself breakfast with everything I like in it. I’m going to play music. I’m going to bake cookies, and anything else I feel like. You know why? Because it’s very obvious I’ll be alone for the rest of my life, so I may as well get used to it.” I felt very close to crying as I said those words, but I gritted my teeth visibly and almost growled rather than cry. I managed to say, “When he left me, it was worse than when my parents died. He was the one person I trusted. I was rejected, cast away, and I still don’t know exactly why. For months, my hope was dashed in pieces every night before I went to sleep. He didn’t call me today. Even though three and a half years have passed and hope is dead, it still feels like it happened recently. The blood is still fresh. I’m still bawling, and honestly… I don’t think I’ll ever heal.”

“Don’t you live in a party flat?” he asked. “Are you feeling this way while you live in a party flat with Trinity Powell?”

“And if I am?” I growled.

“Have you seen a counselor?”

“She moved her office and didn’t tell me,” I admitted. “I haven’t had the stamina to try therapy again.”

That got him. I’d cracked him. That was the pathetic cherry on the pathetic cherry cake. The regret and sorrow on his face were perfect. It wasn’t Christian’s face, but the expression was perfect. That was the expression Christian would wear if I ever truly got the chance to tell him what he had done to me when he broke contact. He thought I would get help from somewhere. He thought someone would be there for me. I had shown him I was alone.

“Trinity has been lovely to me,” I said. “Our apartment may look like a party apartment on the outside. On the inside, Trinity cradles lost souls and tries to point them in productive directions. She’s not throwing keggers. She has healing crystals hanging from fairy lights. She has textbooks on psychology. And yes, she wants to heal me. I’m the one she wants to heal the most, but the person she’s actually healed is herself. When she brings these people into our home, she tells them positive things. She tells people they’re strong, that they can do what needs to be done. She encourages them to be responsible and to take pride in that accomplishment. She tells them all the things she wishes her mother told her.”

“And that’s not what’s wrong with you?” Rogan interjected quietly.

“No. I’m responsible and respectable. Regardless, my mother would be very proud of me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m finally pretty after the type of beauty she admired most.”

Rogan moved to open his mouth and then closed it again without saying what he thought.

“Did I tell you I almost died when I was fourteen?”

“No,” he whispered like he was very sorry he had started this conversation with me.

“Yeah. I wanted to live because of him, and he disappeared from my life without a word. I must be the worst person.”

I was ready to leave that as my final thought, so I let the silence stretch.

“Well,” he said casually, patting the pillow. “You’re definitely not the worst person. I’ll remember that you were my Santa this year. Amazingly, you can still think about other people, especially when I was so rude to you when you invited me to dinner.”

I shrugged. “Don’t mention it. You already said I’m not your type. I can’t argue with that.” I stood up.

“What? I’m your type?” he asked.

I bent over him and looked him straight in the eye. “You are exactly my type. Everything about you turns me on. Listen, don’t worry about returning the blanket or the pillow. I’d like to be remembered as your Santa and Santa doesn’t lend out presents.” I straightened my back. “I feel like a fool for having told you all that. I don’t think I even told my therapist all that before she decamped. Let’s meet up again sometime and you can tell me your story.”

“I don’t have a story,” he said slowly.

I laughed bitterly. “Of course you don’t. My type never has a story. I like faceless men whose strongest desire is always to dump me. Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” he called after me, but I was already gone.