My Five Santas: A Christmas Reverse Harem

Chapter Eight: A Plan for a Date

I burst into tears. Stupid, snotty, wailing tears. Cassidy wraps her arms around me and rocks me back and forth.

"Maybe," I wrench out, "none of this would've happened if—if I had just b—been a little more..." I shake my head, breaking off in a sob. "S—smarter or funnier or k—kinder or p—prettier—"

"Oh, you shut your fucking whore mouth right now!" Cassidy snarls, giving me a squeeze. "Don't talk about my best friend like that. That's just the evil voice of your mother in your head."

"B—but if I w—was those things, maybe J—Jason Momoa would—"

Cassidy leans back and gives me a gentle bop on my nose.

"Hush," she says. "Despite what the internet says, Jason Momoa is not the solution here." She frowns down at me, as I blink weepily up at her.

Her pretty jaw sets with determination, and she sits up straight, pulling me up to do the same.

"Alright, I'm taking over this breakup."

"Wha—?" I sniff in a small voice.

"We will figure out the solution to your little wedding-date problem," she rolls her eyes, "as much as I spiritually disagree with the whole thing and think you should boycott the whole fucking event entirely."

I shake my head feebly, eyes unfocused. "I can't do that to Cecilia. Even despite everything. She's my sister."

Cass gives a sharp nod. "I know that. Don't worry, I'll figure something else out." She runs a critical eye over me. "One thing's for certain, though. I will not have you turn into one of those pathetic, mournful, 'oh woe is me,' couch-locked-for-months women."

"What if I want to be a pathetic couch blob?" I frown. "Why can't I?"

Cassidy fixes me with a sharp eye. "Because you deserve better. Because they're not worth it." She shakes my shoulder. "Feel your feels, but you don't have to do it by making yourself feel worse."

"Did that make sense to you?" I'm still hungover and my head is pounding, so I'm not following.

"What I'm saying is, if you sit here and drink all your fancy fucking bottles of wine, spending days on the couch, you're just gonna feel shittier and shittier. The depression-avoidance cycle, you know?" Cassidy makes a swirling motion with her fingers. "Plus," she sighs, "you'll never find a Jason Momoa look-alike lying here for the next two weeks."

I narrow my eyes at Cassidy, assessing her with a new appreciation. "Since when did you get a degree in psychology?"

Cassidy grins. "Baby, you have no idea how much I know and see." She waggles two fingers between my eyes and hers. "I'm much more shrewd than you take me for."

As much as I want to curl up into the couch for the next year, Cass has a point.

I might as well just no-call, no-show the wedding if I did that, facing permanent estrangement from every Wilson ever.

"May I wallow after the wedding?" I say. "Week-long pajamas, Hallmark channel, an entire cake for breakfast?"

Cassidy nods firmly. "Agreed. Yes, you can drown in self-pity then. Until then, we have work to do." She claps her hands. "We're going shopping today."

Today? Right now?

I slump down on my side on the couch, overwhelmed.

"Cass," I say, "I'm having a hard time leaving this couch right now. Much less this room. Much less this apartment."