Forty-two missed calls. Three voicemails.

Merry Christmas Eve.

I listen to the voicemails on my walk home. Josh is angry and sad. He begs me to call him back. He begs me to reconsider. He says he doesn’t understand what happened. It was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. Something we can fix.

He says it over and over and over again.

This is Brian’s phone. I’ll have access to it for the rest of the night. Please call me. Don’t do this to us. I think you’re afraid. I don’t know why – I don’t know what I could’ve said or done to make you distrust me – but for once in your life, Isla, take a risk. Take a f**king risk. If you keep playing it safe, you’ll never know who you are. I know who you are, and I love who you are. Why don’t you trust me?

His voice fills my heart with pain. His words rip it apart.

I believe Josh – that he thinks he loves me. But I also still believe he’s missing the point. Between his expulsion from school and the pressures from his family, he’s too distracted to see that he’s repeating the same mistake with me that he made with Rashmi. He stayed with her for so long because he liked the idea of being in love. He has an empty well in his heart that needs to be filled by someone. Anyone. But that’s not enough for me, and it won’t be enough for him either once he finally realizes the truth.

Brian must have taken pity on him, because a few hours later – after what I estimate to be three hours of sleep on Josh’s behalf – the calls begin again. I don’t know what to do, so I don’t do anything. My fear is paralysing. I turn my phone on silent and hide it in my sock drawer. I hate myself for this.

Josh refuses to be silent. He comes to our house in the evening, and my parents turn him away. A minute later, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Maman. She hands me a small tube. “He wanted you to have this.”

I stare at it.

“What’s inside?” she asks.

“My Christmas present.”

“Was it a nice one?”

“Yeah.”

She sits beside me on my bed. “I’m sorry.”

I cry. She stays with me until I can’t cry any longer.

Christmas Day. Mainly I hang out beside the tree and attempt to read one of my presents. It’s a book about a man-eating tiger, but I can’t muster up any of my usual enthusiasm. My parents don’t ask me to help them in the kitchen, and Gen picks up the extra slack. Even Hattie silently takes over my portion of the dirty dishes.

That’s when I know things are really bad.

I peek at my phone before bed and discover only two missed calls. No messages. Either he’s getting the picture, or he’s respecting my Christmas Tree Agnosticism.

Even thinking that phrase hurts.

“May I come in?” But Gen is inside before I can answer. I drop the phone back between my socks and slam the drawer shut. “I used a desk drawer,” she says. “When my girlfriend broke up with me.”

“Sarah broke up with you?” Now I feel awful about that, too.

“Yeah. Right after Thanksgiving, actually.”

“Did she call you a lot afterward?”

“No.” Gen gives me a sad smile. “I hid my phone for the opposite reason.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. It sucks either way, right?”

I sit on my bed, and she sits beside me and places her head on my shoulder. We’re the same height. Strangers have often mistaken us for twins. “Do you still miss her?” I ask.

“A little. It’s better every day, though.”

“Why’d you break up?”

She sort of laughs. “Apparently, I’m domineering.”

“I’m replaceable.”

Gen lifts her head, hackles raised. “He said that?”

“No, but it’s true. He fell for me because I was there. I could’ve been anyone.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you say things like that?”

“Because that’s what happened.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “You’ve always been so hard on yourself.”

I stare at my hands. I am hard on myself. But isn’t it better to be honest about these things before someone else can use them against you? Before someone else can break your heart? Isn’t it better to break it yourself? I thought honesty made people strong.

“Hey.” Gen nudges me. “Show me what’s in the tube.” My head shoots up, and she shrugs. “I saw him drop it off yesterday.”

I can’t stop myself. “How’d he look?”

“Like you’d torn out his heart and stomped on it with your tallest stilettos.”

I’m a bad person. I’ve hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him, and somehow it happened anyway.

“Do you really think breaking up with him was the right thing to do?” Gen asks.

“I don’t know.” But I shake my head. “That’s not true. It was right. It was.”

“But you still love him.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“A lot.”

“Yeah.”

She pauses. “Would it make it better or worse if you showed me what’s in the tube?”

“Ohmygod. You’re relentless.”

“The word was ‘domineering’. Get it right.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Gen opens my sock drawer. “I had a feeling I’d find you here,” she tells the tube. She pops off the top and gently taps out the paper. She unrolls it. “Whoa, Nelly.”

Shit. I’d forgotten he drew us naked.

“So. You guys were serious.”

“Please, Gen. Don’t.”

“Is that a Joshua tree? On an island?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…fuck. That’s a really romantic gift.”

“I know.”

“He’s good. The art,” she clarifies. “I mean, he was good when he was a freshman, but this doesn’t look like it was drawn by someone in high school. Not even a talented someone in high school. This is, like, the real deal.”

“Will you please stop complimenting my ex-boyfriend?”

Ex-boyfriend. The word tastes sick on my tongue. I hadn’t even let myself think it until now. Every single part of me wants to take the word back.