I'm drafting a text to Caleb about his routine for the London Drag Expo pre-qualifiers next Friday, weaving through the traffic of Christmas shoppers at Arndale when someone calls my name. I look up and my heart flutters: Joe is waving at me from one of the round tables of Coffee Break.

She's dressed in a bulky jumper under her denim overalls, her teddy coat crammed onto the chair beside her along with numerous bags. She beckons me over and I pocket my phone, grateful for the short distance—at least I have some chance to tame the spring breeze tickling my insides despite the ice and sleet waiting beyond the heating of Arndale.

Unfortunately, each step closer only makes me giddier.

Joe beams at me. She's bare-faced save for a bit of shimmer in the inner corners of her eyes that gives her an appropriately winter fairy-like appearance with her pointed ears. Even in the fuck-awful lighting of a shopping centre, she manages to be stunning.

I'm lucky I even hear her speak when she does. 'What are you doing here?'

I lift the CeX bag. 'Got my brother a new phone. Which I'm praying they won't break within a week.'

Cece currently has my old phone, which he cracked the screen of nearly instantaneously at the skate park, but by now the model is well out of date. Plus, with the camera quality they might as well be taking photos through a microwave which don't do any service to their art.

'Well, it's not new,' I correct, ignoring the mould rising to my tongue. 'It's used. But newer than the one they've got now.'

'Sit,' Joe urges. 'If you're not busy.'

As if I could be busy when she wants to spend time with me.

She watches me sit down with a sparkle in her eyes that got nowt to do with her makeup. 'I thought you don't celebrate Christmas.'

'I don't. This is more of an "I'm proud of you for making it through a term of school without being expelled" gift. But either way, I buy gifts for my friends for anything they celebrate cause I like buying my friends gifts.'

I thank the Universe that I sat down because the way Joe grins at me then would drop me to my knees in an instant. With a teasing tilt of her head, she scans my face. 'Have you got me a gift?'

'No comment.'

'No comment? So that you can ambush me with it when it's too late for me to get you anything back?'

My cheeks burn and I fidget with the coarse plastic of the CeX bag. 'I don't celebrate Christmas. You don't gotta get me owt.'

'But what if I want to get my friend a gift?'

There's such a tenderness in the way she says it; my friend. I'm her friend.

It should be enough.

I roll the mouth of the bag shut until it balloons and I have to let the excess air out to continue. 'Well... get some for the rest of em. I don't celebrate Christmas. It don't make any sense–'

'You're doing it again.' She don't need to specify what. I'm avoiding attention, refusing to accept back what I give.

Refusing to accept back what I give? Maybe that's the problem. I've always thought—in no small part because it's what Caleb declares each time I managed to get my heart broken—that the problem is that I pick people who have nowt to give me, who wouldn't give me owt regardless of what they had, but maybe it's all me. Maybe they try and I keep my arms folded. Maybe the problem ain't that love is like water—and good luck holding that in your hands!—but that I have my palms flat and fingers spread.

I've often tried to tell Cece not to bite the hand that feeds them. Maybe I do too, only I leave the food uneaten. Is that even worse?

'Are you okay?'

Joe's voice draws me back into reality where I sit frozen at one of the clustered tables of Coffee Break. 'Sorry.'

Our focus flicks simultaneously to the hole I've absentmindedly torn into the CeX bag.

Distract: I nod at the shopping Joe has amassed. 'You've been productive.'

She glances at the pile with a sigh. 'I wish. I've got gifts for my dad, Jaz, Jay, Allan, Rishi, and Eilidh. So I've still got my mum, Jan, Caleb, and you left. Every year, I tell myself "don't leave it last minute" and then I do.' She rolls her head on her shoulders in unison with her eyes.

'You ain't gotta get me owt,' I repeat.

'Neither do you,' Joe counters and I surrender.

I change the subject. 'Are all your sisters called the same thing?'

'We're not called the same thing. There's Janelle, Jazmine, me, and Jaycee.' Her act crumbles and the letters of the final name scatter with laughter. 'So Jan, Jaz, Joe, and Jay. We made up for the names by having completely different personalities.'

'Are you close anyway?' I ask, thinking about Cece. Not that we're close but that's got nowt to do with us being different and all to do with the fact that I let him down.

Joe gives a half-shrug. 'I wouldn't say we're close. There's nothing we can really do together... or talk about. Other than complaining about our parents, but now that Jay has moved in with her fiancé too, there isn't even any new complaint material except around the holidays so...' Her attention, which has drifted to the stream of Christmas shoppers, bound back to me. 'Does that make sense?'

I hum, trying not to point out her speech habit again.

Joe must misinterpret my silence as censure because she slumps in her chair. 'Listen, I love my parents. But sometimes you have to complain about them. It's the same as complaining about your boss: it's a fundamental bonding activity with your coworkers. I'm not ungrateful.'

'I don't think that.'

'Of course you don't.' Frowning, she taps her sternum. Have I said summat wrong? 'I'm sure you never think ill of anyone cause you're a saint. You never complain about your parents.'

Take a shot.

I fumble with the plastic again. 'I do...'

And I do. Except when I complain, it isn't the sort of good-humoured bonding activity Joe is talking about where after an hour, you shrug and say "love them though" and carry on, feeling better after your vent. When I complain, it's violent. It festers until I have to be put down like a sick dog. Except I never get that relief; I have to watch the wound rot until it stops bleeding and still it leaves me aching for days.

I envy Cece's anger. I wish I could cough them out with blood but my pleas have rooted too deep for hatred to tear them out.

Joe chugs the rest of her lukewarm-at-best coffee and sits upright. 'I should probably continue before I give up and go take a nap.' She smiles again. 'Do you want to join me? Unless you're busy, obviously.'

I hesitate but it's futile; I've already agreed before she asked.

'Just give me a sec,' I say, pulling out my phone. 'I gotta finish this text to Caleb.'

             Joe guides me into the Yankee Candle shop where I've never been. I think the discount candles at TK Maxx are well nice. I found one scented like oak and rain once, the science behind which is unbeknownst to me, but it were incredible. I didn't dare light it for months until there were a power cut and it were the only possible source of light I had. And it smelled fucking champion.

'So, what are your plans for the holidays?' I ask as Joe starts smelling the display candles. Is she not anxious about accidentally knocking one over and having to pay five hundred quid?

'I'm going to London to see my parents. I miss them so I'm quite looking forward to it actually. I'm just hoping it'll be a nice holiday and they won't ask if I've found a dentist to marry who has also inspired me to retrain as a dentist and forget all that therapy nonsense.'

Joe casts me a glance with a glint that must be some language that people with parents whom they enjoy complaining about are fluent in. I mirror it back at her with little idea what it means.

'What are you doing? You still have time off from work, right, even if you don't celebrate?'

'Yeah, I've got two weeks.' My voice bounces out with so much excitement I worry it'll break some of the candles and I reign it in. 'Our kid's coming since they're off from school.'

Joe nudges me. 'That'll be lovely.'

'Yeah, I'm buzzing, to be honest. We've not– I mean, I doubt we'll do owt to celebrate but I can't wait to see them.' There's no point even tryna suppress my grin. The orchids are in full bloom.

'What about your parents?'

Just like that, I'm hollow. 'What about my parents?' Hopefully, Joe don't think owt by the waver in my voice. Take a shot.

'Are you looking forward to seeing them?' As much as I try to pin up a smile, the equipment is faulty, summat jams the lever. Lines crease her brow. 'They're coming back for Christmas, right?'

I almost laugh. Which is to say, laughing is the absolute last response my body could have. It'll turn itself inside out, push ribs out like the stamen of a lily before it gathers a laugh. If Mamá and Papá showed up on my doorstep for Christmas, I'd believe in God or Santa Claus or Flat Earth or anything anyone asked me to.

Take a shot.

'I'm not sure, actually. Maybe.'

Joe opens her mouth, rethinks, and shuts it.

She refocuses on the candles and the infestation working through my skeleton retreats to the base of my spine where it's too tangled with nerves to ever be winnowed. I forget all about it when Joe starts holding candles up to me that she thinks I'd like. When we leave fifteen minutes later with her having ticked off another gift on her list, a stubborn smile has adhered to my face again.

Joe readjusts the bags in her hand, and again mere seconds later.

'D'you want me to carry those for ya?'

'What, like my boyfriend?' The joke has no time to land before she yanks it back. 'Obviously not. That was a joke.'

Hey Google: How to dissect own heart without dying?

'Thought I'd carry them like your friend who knows you've not got five arms.'

Joe stacks the bags in one hand before she gives them to me. Several of the plastic handles have stretched out. Though she don't seem to intend it, I lift the tote bag from her shoulder too.

'Fuck. What've you got in here, bricks?'

'Just the essentials,' she says defensively and seizes the tote back to open it and show me everything inside: wallet, keys, lip balm, water bottle, book, medicine bag (which contains another lip balm along with pads, bandaids, painkillers, a pocket mirror, and touch-up makeup), jumper, sunglasses, and an umbrella.

'How is carrying a book about the shops essential?' I ask. 'Also, you're already wearing a jumper.'

'That's not the point!'

My laugh turns to an exhale halfway through. Joe is pouting up at me, much closer than is safe, and it's a good thing her tote bag is between us or I might not be able to resist the urge to kiss her.

She must be able to tell because her exaggerated annoyance fades to leave her face blank, her eyes, cognac even in the fluorescent lights of the mall, fixed onto mine.

I force myself to look away.

We've stopped in front of the Build-A-Bear shop. Clearly, it's a popular destination for Christmas gifts; there's a short queue outside. Through the windows, I watch a teenager around Cece's age pick a dragon and stuff it. They slide a little red heart inside before the worker stitches it shut.

Joe must catch my wistful glance. 'Do you want a Build-A-Bear?'

'No.' I clear my throat, turning back to her. 'So, who's left?'

'Any tips on what I should get Caleb?'

'Get him a sex toy or summat.' I shrug as I take the tote from her again and hook it over my shoulder.

Her brows knit. 'Isn't that a bit weird?'

'For Caleb?' I baulk. 'No. He buys a new penis every year and then makes me sit through an in-depth review. He always gets me condoms for my birthday and they're always weird, like liquorice-flavoured or summat. But I have to use them or it's a waste of money and resources. You've no idea how awkward it is when you're tryna set the mood and your cock starts to glow in the dark like it's fucking radioactive.'

A father walking with his daughter covers her ears and casts me a scandalised glare and I realise we're in the middle of a shopping centre on what might well be the busiest day of the year.

Joe buries her laughter into my chest like leaning into me is the most natural reaction her body knows. It's a temporary lapse caused by her amusement because she steps back, all but horrified, seconds later.

I readjust her tote on my shoulder. 'There's a shop he likes on Oldham Street. After we're done here, I can drive you if you like.'