“We had the talk about his sister,” I say. “I think he told me everything.”

“So I’m guessing he’s not a knife-wielding psychopath?”

“I haven’t said much to anyone because it still feels complicated,” I say. “I’m not sure how I feel, or even how I want to feel.”

“That’s confusing to hear,” Rachel says. “It must be really confusing to think.”

“Now that I know it’s not wrong to like him,” I say, “I obsess over whether that makes it right. I’m only here for a couple more weeks.”

“Hmm…” I can hear Rachel tapping the side of her phone. “Sounds like you don’t expect to forget him when you leave.”

“At this point, I don’t know if that’s possible.”

After we end the call, I find Mom in the Bigtop hanging up newly made wreaths. Over her work shirt she wears a dark green apron that says It’s Beginning to Smell a Lot like Christmas. Last year we gave that apron to Dad on Christmas Eve. We always get him something cheesy before going home, where the real presents are.

I help her fluff up some of the branches within the wreaths. Eventually I blurt out, “Can I take a train and see Rachel be the Ghost of Christmas Past on Sunday?”

Mom freezes while adjusting a wreath. “I think you said something about Rachel and a ghost, or…”

“It’s terrible timing,” I say, “I know. This weekend is going to be so busy here. I don’t need to go if it’ll be an inconvenience to anyone.” I don’t mention not particularly wanting to go. I don’t want to waste two potential days with Caleb stuck on a train by myself.

She walks to a sealed cardboard box set on the counter and slices through the tape with a razor. “I’ll talk to your dad,” she says. “We may be able to work something out.”

“Oh…”

After opening the box, she hands me several thin white boxes of silver tinsel. I set those on the shelf below the wreaths, and then she hands me more.

“A few of the workers have been asking for more hours,” she says. “We can staff up for a few days while you’re gone.” She sets the empty box below the counter and wipes her hands on her apron. “Can you watch the register for me?”

That means she’s going to talk to Dad.

“Actually,” I say, closing my eyes, “I don’t really want to go.” I smile at her with gritted teeth.

Mom chuckles. “Then why did you ask?”

I scrub a hand over my face. “Because I thought you’d say no. I thought you’d need me here. But I told Rachel I would ask.”

Mom’s face turns soft. “Honey, what’s going on? You know your father and I love having you here to help, but we would never want you to feel like you gave up everything for the family business.”

“But it is a family business,” I say. “One day I could take it over.”

“We would love that, of course,” Mom says. She pulls me into a hug and then leans back so we can see each other. “But if I’m reading you correctly, we’re not just talking about the family business or a play.”

I look away. “Rachel’s important to me. You know that. Even though the Ghost of Christmas Past doesn’t even talk, I’d still love to see it. But… well… Caleb asked me to meet his family this weekend.”

Mom studies my expression. “If I was your dad, I’d be booking that train ticket right now.”

“I know,” I say. “Am I being stupid?”

“Your feelings are not stupid,” she says. “But I need to tell you, your dad has some real reservations about Caleb.”

I frown. “Can you tell me why?”

“I told him we need to trust you,” Mom says, “but I can’t say I’m not a little concerned myself.”

“Mom, tell me,” I say, searching her eyes. “Did Andrew say something?”

“He talked to your father,” she says. “And so should you.”

“But it’s A Christmas Carol!” Rachel says.

I lay on my bed with the phone to my ear and one hand on my forehead. Rachel’s photo looks down on me as she pretends to hide from paparazzi. “It’s not that I don’t want to see it,” I tell her. I could say my parents won’t let me leave, but she and I have always been honest with each other.

“Then get on the train!” she says. “I swear, if this is about that boy—”

“His name is Caleb. And yes, it is. Rachel, I’m supposed to meet his family this weekend. After that, we only have a few days before—” I hear a click. “Are you there?”

I slam my phone on the table, put the ugly-sweater pillow over my mouth, and scream. Giving myself a moment to be angry, I decide to use the energy to confront Dad about what Andrew said to him.

I find Dad carrying a small tree out to a car.

“No, there’s too much going on tonight,” he says. The bluntness of his tone tells me he’s just not ready to talk. “Your mom and I have to review sales, and… No, Sierra, I can’t.”

When Heather calls to see if we can make cookies tonight with the guys, I don’t even bother asking. Mom said she doesn’t want the family business intruding on my life, so when Devon pulls up, I tell her I’m leaving, hop into his car, and we go.

We pull into the supermarket parking lot and Caleb leans forward. He asks Devon to park at the opposite end from the Hoppers’ Christmas tree lot so there’s no awkward conversation about why he hasn’t been around lately.

“You should buy from them, too,” I say. “I love the Hopper family. I mean, then I would have to rescind your discount, but…”

Heather laughs. “Sierra, I think you’ll have to tell him what rescind means.”

“Ha. Funny,” Caleb says. “I know what it means… in context.”

My phone pings with a text from Elizabeth, and I cover the screen with my hand to read it. She tells me I need to consider which friends will be here years from now. Obviously, Rachel called her once she hung up on me. A second text from Elizabeth expresses disappointment that I’m doing this over a guy I barely know.

“Everything all right?” Caleb asks.

I turn off my phone and put it in my pocket. “Just some drama in Oregon,” I say.

Especially coming from Elizabeth, those texts feel aggressive. Do they think my decision was easy? Or that Caleb can’t possibly matter to me? It’s not easy, and I am not becoming one of those girls. I’m here for a short time, and I don’t want to erase several days from the calendar that I could spend with him.

We get out of the car and Caleb exaggerates flipping up his collar and scrunching down so Mr. Hopper won’t notice him. Even though we’re too far away for him to see us, I do the same, and we run into the store.

Heather folds the shopping list in half and then tears it along the crease. She gives half the list to me and Caleb, keeps half for herself, and then loops arms with Devon. We agree to meet at register eight when we’re done. Caleb and I start by heading toward the dairy section at the back of the store.

“You seemed out of it when we picked you up,” Caleb says. “Is everything okay?”

I can only shrug. Things are not okay. Rachel’s mad that I’m not coming to her show. Dad would be mad that I’m here right now.

“That’s all I get? A shrug?” Caleb asks. “Thanks. That’s A+ for communication.”

I don’t want to talk about this while shopping, so now Caleb is upset with me. He walks a full step ahead. When we reach the wall of refrigerated milk, he abruptly stops and reaches back for my hand.

I follow his gaze until I spot Jeremiah setting a gallon of milk in a shopping cart. When a woman who looks like his mom wheels the cart around, we all face each other. I give his mom a closer look. I recognize her—she came to the lot a few days ago. When I offered to help, she mumbled something about our prices and walked right past me.

Jeremiah gives both of us courtesy smiles.

His mom begins to push the cart around us. “Caleb,” she says, instead of “Hello.” Her voice is tight.

Caleb’s voice is soft. “Hi, Mrs. Moore.” Before she can pass, he adds, “This is my friend Sierra.”

Mrs. Moore looks at me, still pushing the cart past us. “Nice to meet you, dear.”

I meet her gaze. “My parents own one of the Christmas tree lots,” I say. I step in the same direction they’re heading and she stops the cart. “I think you came by recently.”

Her smile is hesitant and she looks at Jeremiah. “Which reminds me, we still need to get ours.”

I feel the tension in Caleb’s hand, but I do my best to ignore him and continue the conversation. I follow beside their cart, pulling Caleb with me. “Come by again,” I say. “My uncle brought down a whole new shipment. They’re really fresh.”

Mrs. Moore looks back at Caleb again, with less coldness, but turns to me to speak. “Maybe we will. It was nice to meet you, Sierra.” She pushes the cart ahead, and Jeremiah follows her down the aisle.

Caleb’s eyes look glazed. I squeeze his arm to show that I’m here, but also to apologize if I forced that moment on him. But it’s clear to me that he and Jeremiah should not have stopped being friends.

Before I can express any of this to him, there’s an angry voice behind us. “My brother doesn’t need your mess, Caleb. He’s good.”

I wheel around. Jeremiah’s sister stands with her hands on her hips, waiting for Caleb to react, but he says nothing. When his gaze drops to the floor, I take a step toward her.

“What’s your name?” I say. “It’s Cassandra, right? Listen, Cassandra, Caleb is good, too. You and your brother should learn that.”