The diner was completely empty, perhaps because it wasn’t meant to be open. It closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, usually because Mel, a rotund, redheaded man with a missing front tooth, always played The Ghost of Christmas Present, but this morning Kate showed up at his front door with a determined knock and Michael in tow, ready to pay top dollar for black coffee and as many pancakes as it was humanly possible to consume in one sitting. She couldn’t fathom sitting alone in her tiny apartment above the town’s solitary bookstore for another minute, looking out onto the empty town square; the loneliness would have consumed her.

Now, all that consumed her was the frustration she’d been venting to herself all night. Saying these things out loud helped slightly, but as usual, Michael wasn’t content to nod his head and agree with her. He just had to be difficult. The man never knew when to quit, an admirable quality he and Kate shared.

“And who doesn’t celebrate Christmas? Christmas!” She exclaimed, waving her hands in her usual manner, the kind that almost always ended in her accidentally knocking over a salt shaker or a full glass of Diet Coke.

“Off the top of my head? Jewish people, Muslims, Jehovah’s Witnesses, some other sects of Christianity, some atheists—”

The sass earned him a withering look.

“I don’t know, Kate. Maybe he just doesn’t like…” Michael picked at his biscuits and gravy, the first course of the six he’d ordered immediately upon sitting down at the bar. After half a lifetime of friendship, Kate had taught him these moods of hers meant he would need to be settled in for a long, long time. “I don’t know. Trees. Maybe he’s allergic to Christmas trees.”

“He could get a fake one.”

“Or he gets paper cuts from wrapping presents.”

“He could use gift bags.”

“What about eggnog? Maybe he’s vegan.”

“Then he needs to move out of Texas.”

On some level, Kate knew she was being useless. Sitting in this diner complaining about the impossibility and injustice of it all seemed like a perfect way to get absolutely nothing done. On another level, the impossibility and injustice almost gave her permission to whine. Nothing could be done. Why shouldn’t she just moan and groan and commiserate with her friend? She dropped her head into her hands.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Michael said through a mouth full of biscuit, “but you don’t look so good.”

“I don’t know why. I got a solid four hours of sleep last night. That’s a full hour longer than usual.”