ANOTHER YEAR LATER

 Anna is exhausted.

There's no way around it, she muses as she drops down yet another chimney. She's practically on the verge of collapse. Her and Nick have split duties again this year, but, once more, she's ended up in last place, because sure, Asia and South America are bigger than North America and Europe, but most of Asia doesn't even celebrate Christmas, and the same cannot be said for the continents that Anna is currently going round. 

She purses her lips in tired irritation as she stands in the fireplace, letting out a sigh. She has one foot in the fireplace and one in the living room of the house before she hears the sound of mumbling and freezes.

“I – uh, I was wondering if...shit, no, that’s not going to work...”

There it is again, the voice that Anna could recognise anywhere. Heart in her throat, she steps silently out of the fireplace and peers into the adjacent room, which is dark but for the slivers of moonlight streaming in through the curtains.

Sure enough, the familiar silhouette of Jonathan’s figure is sat on one of the couches, back to her. He’s hunched over his own hands, holding something in them that’s too small for her to make out. Anna feels her nails digging into her palms and her jaw clenching, and it takes all of her willpower not to sit down next to him and ask him where the cookies are with a smirk and press her lips against his.

No more.

She exhales on a choke, feeling her entire chest constricting as Jonathan continues to mutter to himself, oblivious of her presence.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. I got this. I can do this.” She watches as he glances back down to the object in his hands, which she still can’t see, and takes a deep breath.

“Cassie,” he begins quietly, and at the name, Anna feels slivers of dread begin to worm their way into the pit of her stomach. Jonathan continues, completely unaware.

“You have been...” he trails off, and she can almost imagine the frown gracing his features, how his brows will crease in the way she always found adorable. “I  - you helped me. A lot. Oh God,” Jonathan falls back and buries his head into a nearby cushion. “This is way harder than they make it seem in the movies,” he mumbles into the fabric, but Anna can still make it out, and it’s that which makes her feel like laughing and crying all at once, because what a Jonathan thing to say, but is he talking about what she thinks he’s talking about?

“Okay,” Jonathan breathes, pushing himself back up into a sitting position, the small object  Anna still can’t catch a glimpse of back in his hands. “Okay. I can do this.” He pauses to run a hand through his hair. “Alright. Okay. Cassidy Moore. You are...one of the best women I’ve ever known. And, uh, you’ve been...my best friend.”

Anna feels her knees suddenly go weak. She clutches at the wall for support.

“You’ve stuck with me even when I’m sure I was the worst person to stick with. You’ve been strong even when I wasn’t – especially when I wasn’t, actually...” Jonathan trails off with a sigh and glances back down at his hands. By now, Anna doesn’t think she needs to know what he’s holding. “Basically,” he mumbles, head bent as he looks at the floor. “You’re amazing. And beautiful. And kind. And smart. And...I love you. A lot.”

Anna swallows thickly as she fights back tears. Jonathan presses on, still oblivious. “And even though there is nothing in the world that would make me deserve someone like you...”

You already do.

“...I, uh. Hypothetically. If I asked you to marry me – well, it’s not like it’s hypothetical, since I’m asking you right now, but. I mean. Would you? Maybe?”

“Oh, Jonathan,” Anna whispers, choking back tears. She can already feel a few trickling down her cheeks, and it’s taking every ounce of self restraint she has to keep more from following. He’s moved slightly, now, and she can clearly make out what’s in his fingers, illuminated by the pale moonlight.

A ring box. Small, blue velvet, and enough to make Anna feel like her entire being is being torn in half.

Jonathan gives it one last long glance, before setting it down onto the coffee table with a sigh, leaning back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes now adjusted to the darkness, the tears having been wiped away fiercely, she can make out the thoughtful expression on his face. “You think she’ll say yes?” he murmurs to the empty air above him. He sighs again. “Because I hope she does, Flynn,” he says softly. “I really hope she does.”

Anna isn’t sure she can handle this anymore, the feeling that’s blocking up her lungs and throat and making it harder to breathe with every second she spends looking at Jonathan’s shadow as he sits barely five feet away from her. She catches a glimpse of the modest Christmas tree in the room that she’s standing in, small but beautifully decorated, and thinks to herself that yes, she will leave the presents and climb back up the chimney and fly away, away from Jonathan and away from Cassie and away from Flynn, and next year Nick will do North America.

Anna’s turning to do just that when the next words that drift from the living room freeze her in place.

“What about you, Anna?”

Her breath catches in her throat – did he see her? A quick glance confirms the opposite. Jonathan is still sat staring up at the ceiling. Anna feels the lump in her throat returning with a vengeance when she realises he’s talking to her anyway, even though he thinks she’s not there.

Like a ghost.

“You think she’ll have me?” Jonathan asks the ceiling. A sad sort of smile has made its way onto his face, and Anna can’t breathe.

Of course she will.

“I do love her, you know,” he says earnestly to the ceiling. “So much. I used to think people couldn’t fall in love more than once, but...” he trails off. “You’ve probably seen her before,” Jonathan continues. “She was working on Christmas Eve last year. Helped me through it, you know? I was her student and...” he pauses again, before resuming. “She’s the type of person you’d like. Funny and kind and smart and totally gorgeous – not that that matters. But honestly, really, just your kind of person, Anna, I swear.”

And just your kind of person, too, Anna thinks to herself. Jonathan's right. Cassie is the kind of person Anna would like, and the kind of person he would love. And he does.

“I miss you, you know,” Jonathan’s whisper jerks her out of her thoughts, and her jaw clenches. “A lot. Especially...”

Especially on Christmas Eve. Anna turns away, takes silent, swift steps to the tree. Jonathan’s name still isn’t on her list, a wide, gaping blank that comes off the paper and punches right through her. It must’ve been Cassie, she thinks, who put the tree up. Forcing back the tears that she can feel forming, Anna kneels and takes out Cassie’s presents, leaving them carefully under the low hanging branches. She can hear another sigh coming from the living room, and feels her hands curl into fists, fighting the urge to run back to him, wrap her arms around his neck and bury her head in his shoulder and breathe in wood smoke and brown sugar, whisper I miss you too, I miss you I miss you I miss you I love you. Instead, she moves into the fireplace, plants a foot onto the brick of the chimney of the house, and heaves herself up, because there is someone to say those words to Jonathan now, and it’s not her.

*

She doesn’t think she’s gone through North America so quickly in all her life, but grief has always made for an effective stimulant – a lesson Anna learnt many years ago.

It’s selfish, she knows, the hole in her heart that seems to get bigger every time she moves or breathes or thinks of Jonathan McQueen. He’s happy now, or as happy as he can ever be when his younger brother fell off a roof two years ago. And Cassie is as wonderful as he said, she knows; she saw for herself last Christmas. The perfect match for Jonathan.

And isn’t this what she’d prepared herself for anyway?, she tells herself as she leaves a family’s presents under the tree with slightly unsteady hands. For Jonathan to get older while she slipped slowly out of his life, nothing but a faded photograph in his memory?

Not like this. She climbs back up another chimney, barely noticing when she scrapes her knee against the brick.

Like what, then?

I don’t know, she feels the tears drip down her face as she stands on the roof of another house, falling warm onto the icy red ceramic tiles beneath her feet. I don’t know.

*

Anna is very sure that she’s somehow cursed, because it seems like every house has something that reminds her of Jonathan. One house’s living room has an entire bookcase on anatomy. Another has a rack of CDs labelled “Christmas Playlist”. One more has a shelf with a series of books entitled Storyboard Art for Beginners. When she reaches Athens, Jonathan’s old hometown, she can barely get through each house without having to fight back tears. Anna’s never been the type to cry, but she supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Georgia is the last state on the route that Anna and Nick sat down and plotted out together a few years back. By the time she’s finishing off the last few houses in Athens, Anna’s ready to fall asleep where she stands, barely able to keep her eyes open. The crying has resulted in a headache so intense she can barely see a few feet in front of her, and every time she walks she feels like she’s dragging her feet along with her.

Her penultimate house reminds her so much of Jonathan’s old one that her step falters a little and she has to lean back against the fireplace – and then she realises that it is Jonathan’s old one.

Despite the change in furniture and decoration, the house still feels the same as it did up until two years ago, Anna thinks to herself, warm and welcoming and Christmas. She can’t stop herself from drifting into the kitchen once she’s left the family’s presents under their tree, and feels a pang of longing at the sight of it, largely unchanged. Her eyes are drawn almost immediately to the wooden kitchen table, still there, and she’s about to remove her gaze from it before it gets too painful, but the sight of a white porcelain plate set there stops her. Moving closer, she blinks in surprise when she sees a collection of cookies arranged with painstaking care on it, a tall glass of milk standing nearby.

“Oh,” Anna murmurs, and just when she’d thought she’d run out, they’re back, the tears, warm and forming quickly, blurring her vision. Slowly, she reaches out for one, bringing it to her lips.

They taste nothing like Jonathan’s cookies, of course. They’re a little burnt and crisp, and the icing is clumsy, but Anna’s still sniffling over them like an idiot, finding a folded piece of paper beneath the plate and opening it, letting out a soft laugh that’s two parts sad and one part I love kids so much at the note, which she can barely read (and whether that’s because of the handwriting or the stupid tears, she doesn’t actually know).

Hey Santa! I made these for you. Mommy wanted to help me but I didn’t let her because I wanted to do them all by myself. I think I took them out of the oven a little late because I’m not sure they’re meant to be black but I haven’t tasted them because they’re for you so I hope they taste okay and I put extra icing on them just in case they don’t. Thank you for bringing me presents! I went to bed super early today because Daddy said if I was still awake when you came you’d get scared and run away. I don’t think you’re the type to get scared because you’re magic and amazing but I went to bed early just in case...

The note goes on for quite a long time, even onto the other side of the page, but Anna keeps reading, a small smile on her face, and when she’s done reading Kristen’s letter (yeah, it’s not a note any more, it’s a letter – also isn’t Kristen such a cute name? Because she’s always thought so), she tucks it under her sweater and finishes off every single cookie, even the ones that are kinda (okay, maybe very) black, and then she drains the glass of milk, and she climbs back up the chimney of what was once Jonathan McQueen’s house and is now Kristen Turner’s.

_________________________________________________________

a/n: lol

(ps: im like really attached to cassie so no hatin on my baby)