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Back Faking Under the Mistletoe Save as PDF
Chapters (26)
  1. Preface
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. Epilogue
  22. Untitled
  23. One
  24. Two
  25. Also by Ashley Shepherd
  26. About the Author

She laughs. Breathy and light. Like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.

“Olivia, it was never fake for him. I mean, maybe at the beginning but not at the end.”

I replay that the whole walk home.

It was never fake for him.

It was never fake for him.

It was never fake for him.

I’m out of breath after climbing up three flights of stairs. I’m not really sure what a heart attack feels like, but I think I’m having one. I want to fall face-first onto my bed.

There’s a package leaning against my door. It’s large and thin. Three feet by two feet wrapped in brown packaging paper with a red satin bow tied around it. Either UPS is stepping up their game, or someone hand-delivered this. I’m curious and creeped out.

Please don’t be from Levi.

Please don’t be from Levi.

Please don’t be from Levi.

I step closer and read the tag.

To: O

From: Your Secret Santa

My Secret Santa? I thought they had forgotten about me.

I fight my keys into all three locks and open my door, dragging the package in with me, which is hard when it’s basically as tall as I am. When I rip it free from the paper, my heart drops into my stomach.

It’s the Nawaar Qadir photo I saw at the gallery.

Midnight in Roma.

A tear slips down my cheek.

And then another.

And another.

Asher.

19

Christmas morning is a mess of hairnets and mini chocolate chip muffins. I’m at the women’s shelter putting on my bravest face. My problems don’t compare to what they’re going through, so I smile and laugh with them while they tell me about their past and present and their hopes for the future.

I get home just before noon and change back into my pajamas before falling into the heaping pile of blankets on the couch. Home Alone is playing on the TV, but I don’t have the energy to pay attention. I want to sleep the day away. Wake me up in 2020.

Christmas Day always makes me sad. Much like all good things, the holiday season must come to an end. And I’m never ready to say goodbye—to let go of the tinsel and the cheer and the peppermint mocha lattes. It’s my favorite distraction. Because when I’m not blitzed out on gingerbread cookies and perfectly tied ribbon, I have too much time to think about how sad I am and how empty I feel and how much I miss my mom.

Because I miss her so much.

And sometimes that feeling consumes me.

And I slip into a place that’s so dark that I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way out.