It was Eve. The tradition for more than 20 years, thanks to my German husband, had been a European-style clan gathering at home. Real candles on the tree, at least 20 feasting around the table and opening presents the night before Christmas rather than on the day itself.This year was going to be different, though. My husband, Christian, and I had been separated for close to three years and I’d had a new man in my life for two. But now my ex had a new, younger woman. This year she was going to be the hostess, in her apartment, and — civilised folk that we were trying to be — my new partner, Ronny, and I were going along with Thomas, the son my ex and I shared.The plan — my plan, at least — was to get drunk as fast as possible. And, no matter how lovely the new man in my life, to do so while looking so good that the old one might feel a stab of regret at what he had left behind.
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