Unwrap these Presents

by Astrid Ohletz

  James laughed. “Girl, you could lay out a linebacker with a tackle like that.” To Rae, he said, “C’mon and get some Christmas cheer.” He turned and Rae started after him, glad she’d worn her thickest socks though she knew James or Alex would have loaned her a pair.

  “Cheer’s in the kitchen,” Devya said. She brushed past Rae as they entered the big open space of the modified loft James shared with Alex, furnished with tasteful Ikea and select antiques. Lots of exposed brick, which gave the space a warmth Rae enjoyed. Their table could normally seat eight—three on each long side and one on each end—but tonight it was set for five. A Christmas tree stood near the picture window, and it was like something out of a magazine. Its lights glowed blue and white, throwing reflections off some of the ornaments and Rae thought about seeing Erika tomorrow, and Christmas suddenly seemed okay.

  “Honey, look what blew in,” James called.

  Alex poked his head out of the kitchen. “Rae’s in the house,” Alex teased as he did a hip bump with her. “Get this party started.” He had on an apron to protect his shirt, a light sage. He also wore jeans, but unlike James, who was in his stocking feet, he had house slippers on. Rae was glad she went with jeans herself, though she’d picked a gray button-down shirt, her thumb-of-the-nose to Christmas.

  Devya gestured past him at the interior of the kitchen. “Come and meet a really old friend of mine.”

  Rae was sure her jaw dropped when she saw Erika leaning against the kitchen island, a glass of wine in her hand. She almost felt around with one of her feet to see where her jaw had landed so she could put it back before anybody noticed. And oh, lord, Erika was wearing a different pair of jeans that looked like a favorite pair, from the way they hugged her hips and thighs. She had a white tee on underneath her button-down shirt, a blue a few shades darker than her jeans. But the quirkiest part was her thick red socks. She wondered if Erika wore them and her boots at her New York office.

  “I’m not as old as Dev claims,” Erika said, a really nice smile on her lips that lit up her eyes, too. “And actually—” she glanced at Devya before she looked at Rae again. “We’ve met.”

  “Seriously?” James brushed past all three of them, carrying another bottle of wine. “Where?”

  “At the airport.” Erika gave Rae a little wink. Or maybe Rae imagined it.

  “Yeah. Yesterday, actually,” Rae managed, heat racing from her head to her feet and back again.

  “I want to hear this story,” Alex said. “But first, munchies on the table. Honey?”

  “Be right there.” James finished opening the bottle of wine Rae presumed Devya and Erika had brought and poured another glass, which he handed to Rae before he took a cheese platter out of the fridge.

  “But Devya didn’t actually mention your name,” Erika said, and she shot Devya an accusing look.

  “Forgot,” Devya said with a shrug.

  “I—” Rae started but Devya grabbed Erika’s free hand.

  “I have to show her the view,” she said. “I’ll bring her right back,” she said sweetly to Rae as she pulled her out of the room, an apologetic expression on Erika’s face.

  “Back in a few,” Erika said. “Don’t go anywhere.” She smiled and Rae managed to nod, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

  She turned toward Alex and pecked him on the cheek, to distract herself. “Something smells super good.” Alex was a whole lot shorter and slighter than James, who had played college football and still maintained a physique along those lines. James, on the other hand, was more bookish, though he liked some sports. He played a mean game of racquetball.

  He grinned. “James wanted a Southern dinner.”

  “Oh, no. You did not make fried chicken for Christmas.” Rae brushed past him to the stove, a stainless steel match to the refrigerator and dishwasher. Even the kitchen looked like fabulous gay men from Ikea had designed it. “You did.” She turned with a huge grin. “I will totally marry both of you.”

  “Collards on the back burner,” Alex said, smiling back. “And cornbread.”

  “Squash casserole,” James added from the doorway. “Baked macaroni and cheese.”

  “That’s it. I’m marrying into this family,” Rae said as she took another deep breath, savoring the smells, and remembering how her favorite aunt in Mississippi would cook a meal like this when she and Jeri went to visit as kids.

  “Along with my mama’s sweet potato pie.” James finished.

  “Seriously. Let’s elope. Right now,” she said.

  James laughed. “Let’s crack this wine instead.” He handed the bottle Rae had brought to Alex, who used one of his myriad kitchen gadgets to open it.

  “This is going to be really good with the chicken,” Alex said as he smelled it. “But then, wine is pretty much good with everything.” He set the bottle aside so the wine could breathe. “So. Erika?” He gave her a pointed look and she knew she was blushing. “Uh-huh,” he said. “She’s a good-looking woman.”

  “Seems nice,” James added. “Classy but down-to-Earth.” He stirred the pot of greens. “And single.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “And of the right persuasion. So Devya says.”

  Rae shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, and sipped her wine. He laughed and went back into the other room, much to her relief. She watched as Alex took the pieces of chicken he was frying out of the pan and set them on a plate to drain. “You have no idea how great it is to have this for Christmas,” she said.

  “It’s a nice break.” He looked over at her. “Helps with some of the holiday aversion this time of year. Good food, good wine, good company. Do things a little different, make some different memories.”

  She took another sip. “It’s great. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “If you said no, James was going to go and physically carry you out of your apartment.”

  She laughed.

  “Whether Erika was here or not,” he added, sly. “All right, dinner in about twenty minutes,” Alex announced. “Go on out there and socialize.” He shooed her out of the kitchen, and her stomach clenched in both anticipation and anxiety at the thought of interacting with Erika face-to-face again. Devya was pointing things out to Erika through the picture window on the other side of the room and James was busy with the sound system. Rae joined the two at the window.

  “It’s a gorgeous view,” Erika was saying. She smiled at Rae.

  Devya nodded as she ate a small piece of cheese. “The boys have such a great place. I’m glad you’re here to enjoy it.”

  Same here, Rae thought.

  “And you could have been more specific about your ride to the hotel yesterday,” Devya said, giving Erika an affectionate glare.

  Erika shrugged, sheepish. “I thought ‘super interesting graphic designer’ was pretty specific,” she said.

  “A name might’ve been nice. Though you’re right. Rae is hot.”

  At that, Erika coughed and even in this light, Rae could see her blush.

  Devya laughed and shot Rae a smile. “You were actually the super interesting hot graphic designer,” she elaborated.

  “Thanks,” Rae said, knowing a flush had spilled out over the collar of her own shirt, and glad that by the window, the light was dim. She thought about the drawings she’d done of Erika as a superhero, and the flush spread. She studied the wine in her glass.

  “Oh, I love this song,” Devya said as a slick bass groove emanated from the speakers hung tastefully around the room. “Be right back. I’ll check on Alex.” She went back into the kitchen and Erika cleared her throat.

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to embarrass you,” she said.

  Rae shrugged. “I’m flattered.” She took a swallow of wine for bravery and added, “It’s mutual. Except you’re the super interesting hot literary agent.”

  Erika regarded her over the rim of her glass, a different kind of smile on her lips. Rae flushed again, but this kind of flush was not the kind that showed.

  “So how do you k
now Devya?” Rae asked, trying to lower her pulse rate with distraction.

  “Boarding school in Massachusetts. I was a perpetual Christmas orphan and she was always bringing me to her family gatherings this time of year. Guess that hasn’t changed all that much,” she finished, looking around the loft.

  “Sometimes those are the best Christmases.” Rae looked out the window, all too aware of Erika’s proximity. She picked up a trace of her cologne, sort of crisp and spicy, and looked over at her.

  “True.” She held Rae’s gaze, and even in the softer light on this side of the loft, the expression in her eyes indicated that she was not at all sorry she was a Christmas orphan this year.

  “Y’all dig in,” Alex announced as he emerged from the kitchen carrying a huge platter of fried chicken.

  “I think I want to marry into this family,” Erika said as she followed Rae to the table.

  “Take a number,” Devya said as she put the casserole dish of macaroni and cheese next to the chicken.

  She and Alex loaded the table up, James refilled all the wine glasses, and as Devya directed Rae to sit next to Erika, Rae thought that maybe Christmas didn’t have to suck after all. Erika’s voice and her laugh and the way her dark hair fell around her shoulders made that clear, as did the few instances when her hand brushed Rae’s as if by accident, though the little spark of mischief in her eyes said otherwise. And by the end of the meal, Rae had practically forgotten why she traditionally hated this time of year, and after they’d helped clean up, she was actually disappointed that Christmas Eve was nearly over.

  “Ladies,” James said as Rae, Devya, and Erika suited up for the cold. “Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe I can talk Alex into making it a holiday thing.”

  “That would be totally cool. Devya? How about Indian next year?” Rae adjusted her scarf before she zipped her coat.

  “If we get snowed in again, definitely. If not, we could do it on the day before Christmas Eve.” She pulled her gloves on.

  “I’m in,” Erika said as she finished buttoning her own coat up. “At some point, we can do a New England seafood Christmas.”

  “That would be excellent.” Alex hugged each of them, and James did the same. “Be careful out there and call if you get stuck. We’ll come and save you.”

  Rae glanced at Erika in her long black coat and big black boots, and knew who she’d much rather have pull her out of a snowdrift. “Bye, guys. Merry Christmas,” she said, and meant it.

  “Do you want a ride?” Devya asked as Rae opened the front door. “It’s on the way to Erika’s hotel. Not a big deal.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, give me a minute. I forgot to check something with Alex.”

  “All right. We’ll meet you outside,” Erika said. “We’re dressed for it, after all.”

  “It’ll just be a few minutes.” And Devya left the foyer. She hadn’t put her winter shoes back on yet.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Rae breathed in the icy night air, liking how it was almost like an aperitif. Erika adjusted her scarf and the two of them stood near the main entrance to the lofts, where the glow from the lights inside added a soft yellow to the red of the Christmas lights strung on the awning. Rae was painfully aware of being alone with Erika, and she combed her brain to think of something amusing to say, to hide how nervous she was.

  “I had a thought,” Erika said, relieving Rae of the responsibility to talk first. She stood about a foot away, a little smile playing on her lips. “And maybe I’m being presumptuous, since neither of us is that into Christmas.”

  “Hey, I’m willing to change my mind.”

  “Me, too.” Erika looked up and Rae followed her gaze, to the big bunch of mistletoe that hung above the main entrance. She hadn’t even noticed it going in.

  Erika dropped her gaze back to Rae’s, and what Rae saw knocked anything she might have said out of her mouth.

  “So let me help change your mind,” Erika said softly and then she leaned in and before Rae had time to register anything, Erika’s lips were against hers, soft and warm and oh, so delicious and fireworks blasted down Rae’s spine all the way to her feet. She was sure the snow beneath her boots was melting.

  “That totally worked,” Rae said as Erika pulled away. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure even her heavy coat couldn’t muffle it. “Christmas might be my new favorite holiday.”

  Erika smiled. “Mine, too.” And she kissed Rae again, this time for a little longer, and the tip of her tongue traced a bit of Rae’s lower lip and Erika’s gloved hand gripped Rae’s. Erika pulled away again much too soon but out of the corner of her eye, Rae saw Devya through the glass doors, getting off the elevator.

  “Can I get more of that tomorrow?” Rae asked.

  Erika smiled. “Definitely. It’ll be Christmas Day, after all.”

  Rae was pretty sure that wouldn’t be enough, but Devya was at the door.

  “Okay,” Devya said as she emerged from the building. “I’m parked right over there. You two ready?”

  Rae caught Erika’s gaze. “Totally,” she said. “Totally ready.”

  “Same here,” Erika said.

  Devya gave them both a puzzled look but moved toward her car. Rae didn’t even notice how cold it was anymore and after Devya dropped her off and she was back in her apartment, leaning against her door, her boots dripping on the mat and a huge grin on her face, she knew she had changed her mind.

  Christmas definitely didn’t suck.

  Kitmas on Peacock Alley

  Lee Lynch

  In Memory of Sweet Pea Lynch

  It is Kitmas Eve on Peacock Alley. Hollyday lights twinkle through a fog just soupy enough to mask the frantic activities of a dozen cats preparing our anyule fancy feast. In one and one half hours Santy Cat arrives and street kitties from all over the Mission District and Noe Valley come to Peacock Alley for their edible gift. This is the time we celebrate the union of Santy Cat and her partner Kit Kringle, the sacred matrons of all felinity.

  I am Sue Slate, Private Eyes, and my office, with a sweeping view of the Alley, is my base of operations.

  My brother Dumpster takes a delivery. “Bring the bay scallops in here toot sweet!” he howls around the catnip stogie that lives in the corner of his mouth and is always setting his whiskers alight.

  “Hold your mousies!” growls Bad Tuna Gat, transformed for this day from schoolyard nip-dealer to Robin Hoodwinks. His cohort Roarie dumps the cartload into an orange crate.

  Dumpster checks the load on his clawboard and escorts the strong-paw duo out. Roarie does wheelies with his cart, screeching all the way down Fourteenth Street.

  “All right, you guys,” I say. Instilling discipline into the ruffians of Peacock Alley is not in my job description, but somebody’s got to do it.

  “Let us hustle before the Alice Blue Gowns get a whiff of our contraband and confiscate it.”

  “Yo, Slate!” calls Yellow Ethel. She is a punk street kitty who needs to exchange the chip on her shoulder for a clean and sober chip on her collar. “Is that the last shipment?”

  “If Leonora’s chicken liver sauce is here.”

  Leonora, in apron and bedraggled furs, stirs a hot pot. “Creamed liver sauce! Come taste!” She is a changed woman since she gave up the Feline Potential Movement to join AlaCat after the breakup with Yellow Ethel. I suspect they are flicking tails at each other again.

  Old Miss Kitty herds volunteers into cleaning scallops. She talks a blue streak about her days as a street stripper and meter pole dancer, whiskers all but twirling with gayety.

  “Humphrey!” I shout at a shaggy white elder.

  “Humph, humph, humph,” he says, pretending that he is not eating every seventh scallop as he works. I request Woogie, the pianola player, in tuxedo already, to assist him.

  We are hard at work when into Peacock Alley stumbles the scrawniest pre-teen tidbit of stripey long-tailed fur I ever have seen. She proceeds to teeter to my paws and fall over, bleating an
d looking sweetly up into my eyes as if I am Coddess-On-High.

  “Hey,” says my compassionate brother. “Street kittens aren’t allowed in here till midnight. Is she drunk?”

  The bag-o-bones turns her sweet gaze on Dumpster as if to share her love with him. Dumpster’s head tilts up, his snarly mouth goes soft, and he says, “Aww, ain’t you cute?”

  “You’re all heart, Dumpster,” says Yellow Ethel. She asks the young one, “I seen you around the Mission, haven’t I? Your name is Sweet Pea.” She turns to me. “Her late mom has the distemper. It makes the kittens like this. Fallover problems. No meower.”

  “How do you know her name is Sweet Pea?” I ask.

  “I just know,” Ethel replies with an annoyed swat of her tail.

  “Distemper, did you say?” asks Miss Kitty, paw to her ear, whiskers trembly. “Does the ragamuffin have the virus?”

  Yellow Ethel says, “Do not be alarmed, Miss Kitty. The kittens who survive as long as Sweet Pea are not sick anymore. They are only wobbly.”

  Without warning, the kitten flings herself across the Alley and lands on her back. Her paws kick the air like an upended bug.

  “And have awesome fits,” explains Ethel. She hurries to the kitten and gives her loving licks to clean her eyes.

  Sweet Pea reassembles herself onto all fours and with much cheer staggers back to us, beaming up at Ethel.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Dumpster asks. “Cat got her tongue?”

  Sweet Pea opens her little mouth wide, showing a pointy pink tongue and tiny white teeth. However, no sounds come out.

  “Like, wow,” says Ethel, snapping her halibut gum. “Kit Kringle must be looking out for this one.”

  The door to the storage cellar opens with a flair and who should appear but torch singer Tallulah Mimosa. I admit to the simultaneous arrival of a chorus of angels between my ears at this sight. Tallulah wears my favorite fur pant suit for the occasion: svelte black, gold, and cream. Her black half-mask shrieks allure across the room.