Please take down the mistletoe

'Cause I don't want to think about that right now

'Cause everything I want is miles away

In a snow covered little town

I look out the window. It’s a typical Scranton Christmas Eve with lots of snow and the real possibility of power outages. In past years I would be sitting by the fireplace, frosting cookies or painting, while enduring Roy’s endless complaints about having to clear our driveway. Now here I am, in an apartment much tinier than before--it’s rather suffocating. Maybe it’s the first time I’ve had the freedom to (over)decorate the house as much as I please, or maybe it’s my first Christmas Eve spent alone. I finally get why depression and suicide rates increase around the holidays; all the focus on joy and gratitude won’t help us feel any better.

I stare at the mistletoe in an open box under the table. I couldn’t bear to put it up knowing there’s no one I’d rather be standing underneath it with than the man who moved three states away. Is it snowing as much in Stamford? Are we even in the same time zone? I halt my thoughts before these questions become too depressing. 

My momma's in the kitchen, worrying about me

Season's greetings, hope you're well

Well I'm doing alright if you were wondering

Lately I can never tell

I know this shouldn't be a lonely time

But there were Christmases when you were mine

“Really, mom, I’m okay,” I forced a smile. I knew she would pry about Jim the second she grabbed my elbow and pulled me away from my dad and sister. The look on her face must’ve been similar when I called her that night. That night where for a split second, Jim was mine, and I was his. I can’t help but look around the kitchen and wonder how Jim would fit right in, perhaps more than Roy ever did. Jim would crack jokes and be his dorky self while helping my family prepare Christmas dinner. Tears fill my eyes as I picture the heartwarming scene. My mind tells me to feel guilty about those specific thoughts, but hey--Roy and I are no longer engaged, and Jim’s no longer around anyways. He’s probably off celebrating the holidays with his new friends. Or his new girlfriend. I shiver while trying to get that picture out of my head.

As I scan across the room, I spot a teal teapot on the counter, and my heart shatters a bit more. Last Christmas, I’d felt so guilty over Jim’s disappointment during Yankee Swap, I’d traded a $400 iPod for his gift. God, that should’ve been a sign. At that moment, I should’ve noticed how much he’s always meant to me. I vividly recall his surprised expression as he leaned in to reveal bonus gifts. The gifts I kept in a box, along with the yogurt lid and random notes he left me, in my nightstand. The mementos remind me of what could’ve been if I was not blinded by fear. If I was blessed with the great quality of courage that fateful night in spring. 

I've been doing fine without you, really

Up until the nights got cold

And everybody's here, except you, baby

Seems like everyone's got someone to hold

But for me it's just a lonely time

'Cause there were Christmases when you were mine

I wonder if he knew about Phyllis’ wedding; if he had just said no, or if he wasn’t invited. If he knew that her wedding is an exact replica of my called-off wedding. If he knew I called it off because of him: his heartfelt confession, his desperate kiss, his heartbroken expression. It was hard getting through her wedding knowing it was how mine was meant to be. That plus the additional weight of seeing couples happily dancing, stealing kisses on the dance floor was enough to send me running as soon as I had the chance to leave. I can really sense how much I’d dodged a bullet by leaving Roy--I really can now--so seeing my (stolen) ideas wasn’t the worst thing to deal with. It was the fact that Jim wasn’t there to joke around that killed me. 

Merry Christmas, everybody

That'll have to be something I just say this year

I'll bet you got your mom another sweater

And were your cousins late again?

When you were putting up the lights this year

Did you notice one less pair of hands?

I put up the lights in the office after grabbing a ladder from the warehouse. Jim had offered to help in the past years so I wouldn’t have to climb up and down. I wonder if he volunteered to put up the lights in Stamford. If he thought about me at all while looking at the decorations around his office. It was little things like Christmas lights and sweaters (or frankly, practically everything) that remind me of him. How he always gets his mom a sweater because his dog probably ruined a few every year. How his cousins would always be late to Christmas dinner if anyone actually believed when they said they’d arrive (they ran on a clock two hours behind, he said). Even though he’s gone, I still look around for him. I couldn’t bring myself to replace the jellybeans at reception with candy canes, so now I get to hide behind two containers of sweets during work. Maybe it’s a small part of me that hopes he’ll come back and that the jellybeans can give him a valid excuse to talk to me. Even though the hope is basically nonexistent at this point. 

I know this shouldn't be a lonely time

But there were Christmases when I didn't wonder how you are tonight

'Cause there were Christmases when you were mine

“Merry Christmas, honey,” My mom snaps me out of another round of daydreaming and “what ifs” and I raise my glass. I smile while taking in everyone’s smiles around the table. Jim was never over for Christmas--or any holiday, in fact--but it feels like he’s missing. There weren’t Christmases when he was mine, but I slip out a sigh as a reminisce the last three Christmases--when I could’ve been his, and he could’ve been mine.