Woody did it six weeks ago, in a cinema, right before watching a film. Before. I thought we’d had another great day, right up until he put the popcorn in the armrest between us, leaned over as the “turn your phone off” bit began, and said, “It’s starting to feel a bit normal, isn’t it?” I thought he meant the VIP seats we’d sneaked our way into, so like an idiot, to appear more sophisticated, I nodded. But then he’d said, “A break would make it more exciting again, wouldn’t it?” I didn’t know if he was telling me or asking me. But he squeezed my hand, let it go, and hasn’t held it ever since.

Why did he let me pick a rom-com? It felt like a personal attack.

Apparently he thought we’d become too “routine.” Routine?! How was that even an insult? Surely fun was even better when you could plan it?!

Fred said Woody was clearly deranged and that I deserved way better. And that he could have at least done it in the snack queue. Then I wouldn’t have sat through an entire movie wondering if I could make our relationship more exciting and spontaneous if I ran up and down the aisles screaming “noooooooooo” and throwing Revels above my head. Ruby just said “I’m going to kill him” with such aggression, I told her Woody was on holiday for a week to be on the safe side. Although maybe I should have let that happen?!

When we’d left the cinema and Woody had asked how I felt, I just said, “Same. Total same!” instead of saying, “Oh, you know, like my heart has been pulled out and pureed in my sister’s NutriBullet.”

And for the last six weeks I’d been trying to figure out if this break was a break…or a breakup.

It sucked so hard. Woody thought I was boring, predictable. I thought he was so perfect, I’d once calculated how many hair follicles he had on his head. (101,105.)

Holly, get your mind away from Woody’s irrelevant (but objectively gorgeous) hair and focus on your thirty-nine-point Christmas-decorating list.

I had a system, and every year I added more. I picked up the miniature polar bear with the cheery cardigan on and put it on my bedside table so its happy face would be the first thing I saw every morning. The New York snow globe Ruby bought me had earned instant pride of place alongside it. I recited the rhyme, shaking it as I did. C’mon, snow globe, do your thing.

After the year I’d had, this Christmas needed to be perfect—and if that was going to happen, I was going to need some serious Christmas magic. And it didn’t get more Christmassy and magical than New York.