Christmas Catch

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “This is new. I’m not used to you breaking things. When did that start happening?” He doesn’t answer, so I put the first aid things away and come back out. He’s still sitting in the chair and glaring off into space.

  “If you want to be pissed at me, fine. But don’t give me the silent treatment. It’s childish. I’ve told you I’m sorry for everything. When I left here, I wanted a clean break. I didn’t think I could do the long distance thing. It seemed better to cut our losses and not try to keep something going that was doomed anyway.”

  “We were doomed? Who are you to decide that? I would have fought for you. For us. But you just gave up before we even started. Didn’t even try. Just gave up.”

  “That’s not fair.” I pull out the other chair and sit down. Now I’m the one glaring. He’s putting this on me, but he’s the one who didn’t fight the breakup.

  “If I recall, I was the one who ended it, but you said it was fine. You agreed to it. So what the hell, Sawyer? Were you lying to me? You, Mr. Honesty Is The Best Policy? How about we talk about that?” I cross my arms and we glare at each other, both boiling mad.

  He doesn’t say anything and something inside me snaps. I didn’t come here for this. I don’t know what I came for, but I don’t want to do this anymore. I am officially done. Being at home is better than this.

  “Well, if you don’t want me here, then I’m going to go. Bye, Sawyer.” He doesn’t stop me from leaving, and I slam the door. It doesn’t make me feel better. I knew coming home was a mistake.

  Okay, I’ll admit it. I cried on the way back home. There was a reason I ended things with Sawyer. I can’t trust myself around him. Well, no more. If I see him again, I’m running the other way. Stupid small town. THIS IS WHY I FUCKING LEFT.

  I blast The Police and drive in circles through Saltwater before heading back home. I’ve got nowhere else to go, and it’s time to decorate the damn tree. The weather has snapped back to cold and I can smell snow in the air. Yes, you can smell snow. Or at least I can.

  My house does look cozy, with the half-burned out lights sadly blinking on the porch and the lights glowing over the yard. Christmas music is blasting again; I can hear it as soon as I get out of the car. Instead of yelling, I hear laughter. That’s a nice change.

  I wipe my eyes and take a few breaths of the chilly air. It burns in my lungs and dries the remnants of my tears.

  It’s chaos when I walk inside, but joyful chaos.

  “You’re back!” Mom says, as several of my nieces and nephews cover her with tinsel. Drew and Dad are busy trying to turn the tree so the best side is facing out, with contradictory instructions from Dulcey and Stacy.

  “We wanted to wait for you to be here until we started the ornaments.” There is a very specific way that they must be put on, and we’ve been doing it this way since I was a kid. I’d nearly forgotten about the routine, but I smile as I look at the dozens of boxes of ornaments. First, before we do anything, we must pick a color scheme and vote on it.

  Mom holds up a notebook and a pencil and hands it to me. I write down all the possible color combinations. These were agreed upon by my parents (or really, my mother) before we were born. Silver and blue, red and green, purple and white, orange and yellow, red, black and white, orange, blue and silver, green, purple and silver. It’s a very complicated system.

  I call out the colors and everyone votes for their favorite. There is also a lot of “convincing” that goes on. Or I should say, pressuring. It’s like a presidential campaign, with everyone trying to win votes to their side. Once everything is tallied, the winner is red, black and white. This is my personal favorite, so I’m happy.

  Then, we have to get the right boxes, which are all labeled (once again, by my mother) and everyone fights to see who gets to put on the first one. In addition to the colored ornaments, we have strings of lights to match, and all of the ornaments that have sentimental value that always go on the tree, regardless of color theme.

  Drew’s stepson wins the Rock, Paper, Scissors battle to put on the first ornament, which also wins him the crown of Ornament King.

  God, I’d forgotten how much fun this could be. Dad breaks out the eggnog (alcoholic for the adults and non for the kids) and the music blasts and we all share stories about other times.

  It’s like a fucking Christmas card. After the stress and turmoil of dealing with Sawyer, it’s actually nice to be home.

  “I’m glad you’re here, kid,” Mom says, putting her arm around me and giving me a hug.

  “Me too,” I say, and it’s not a lie.

  My plan to avoid Sawyer goes to shit the next day when Mom sends me out for pizza. She’s taking care of all the grandkids while their parents are at work, and the only food that will appease the minions is pizza.

  And, surprise, surprise, who else is getting pizza?

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter under my breath when I see his truck parked next to the pizza place. I sit in my car and try to peer into the building to see if I can see him.

  I crouch down in my seat, so if he comes out, he won’t see me. The door opens and I peer over the dashboard. It’s Sawyer, carrying a stack of pizza boxes. He sets them in his truck, gets in and drives off. Phew.

  I wait until his truck is definitely gone before I go in.

  “Pickup for Mary,” I say to Ray, the guy who makes the pizzas. He graduated a few years ahead of me and the day after graduation he started working here full time. Doesn’t hurt that his dad owns the place and he’s an only child. That seems to be the case in small towns. Boys grow up and are just shoved into the family business.

  “It’s already been picked up,” he says, spreading sauce on a new pie. This is a damn small town but a town that consumes a hell of a lot of pizza. This guy never has a dull moment.

  “What do you mean? Who picked it up?”

  “Sawyer McCallister. He picked it up and paid for it.” He gives me a look because, of course, he knows all about my history with Sawyer. He waggles his eyebrows and I know that everyone must think that the two of us are back together, just because I’m back. I want to smack that look right off his face.

  “Huh,” I say. “Well, thanks anyway.” He gives me a smile and I leave, puzzled. I drive back to the house and Sawyer’s truck is parked outside and he’s sitting in it. I get out and walk up to the window and he rolls it down.

  “You stole my pizzas,” I say, motioning to the stack of boxes.

  “I paid for them, so technically that isn’t stealing. And I’m also delivering them, so you should be thanking me.” He’s not smiling, but I feel like he wants to.

  I cross my arms and wait.

  “Look, I was getting pizza for some of the guys and Ray told me that you had ordered some, so I figured I would make up for being an asshole last night by doing you a favor.”

  “How’s your hand?” He holds it up, still covered in the band aid I’d put on it last night.

  “It’s fine. Look, I’m really sorry for what I said, and I didn’t mean to attack you and freak out. It was mutual, and if I wanted you, I should have fought for you, but I didn’t. We’re going to be stuck here together in this place for a few days, so how about we call a truce?”

  I lean on the open window. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the curtains flutter as Mom looks out and I know I’m going to get interrogated about this as soon as I walk in.

  “A truce?”

  He nods and sticks out his hand. “A truce.”

  I shake his hand, but let go quickly.

  “Well, delivery boy, how about you help me bring those pizzas in?” I get a tiny smile as he gets out and carries the pizza boxes into the house.

  “I don’t understand why you ever broke up with him, Ivy,” Mom says after Sawyer brings in the boxes and Mom oohhhs and ahhhs over seeing him again. She adored him when we were together, and I know he really liked her too. She was devastated when I told her we weren’t together anymore.

  I wip
e one of the minions’ sauce-covered faces and try to avoid answering, but I can’t, really.

  “There was no point in keeping it going. We were going to be states away, and we would have broken up eventually. I didn’t want to drag it out if it was just going to end.” She crosses her arms and gives me a look I’ve seen so many times.

  “What?” I say.

  “That is a cop out, Ivy Rose, and you know it. You fought so hard to get away from this town that you cut ties with everyone and everything, even us. Even him. I know you loved him. Still do. It’s all over your face.” I turn my head so she can’t stare at me.

  “I’m not still in love with him. That’s why I broke up with him.”

  “Ivy, you can still be in love with someone and not be with them. In fact, I think that happens more often than not.” She grabs a plate that one of the minions threw, midair. She’s that talented.

  “Mom, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” I get up from the table and start collecting the empty plates to toss.

  “There you go again, running away.” Mom’s tone shifts and I can tell that she’s angry.

  I toss the plates and the minions all run to the living room to finish watching the marathon of Christmas cartoons.

  “That’s not fair. Just because I didn’t want to marry some loser guy right after graduation and start popping out babies and live paycheck to paycheck does not mean that I was running away. I left. I wanted more than this,” I say, motioning to the house.

  Mom crosses her arms and her eyes narrow, just a fraction. Great. She’s about to blow.

  “I’m so sorry that what your father and I worked our asses off to provide for you and your siblings isn’t good enough for you. I’m sorry that we’re such a disappointment that you don’t want to associate with us.” Mom rarely gets upset like this and I can see that she’s going to cry, so she heads out the back door so no one will see. I’ve never seen my mother cry. She always leaves before that happens.

  I sit back down at the table and my stomach feels sick. I’ve ruined everything. Sawyer, my family, Christmas. It’s a wonder they want me back. I should just go now, before I do any more damage. Allison will let me stay with her, no questions asked.

  I go to my room and start packing my stuff.

  “What are you doing?” Mom’s voice makes me jump.

  “I’m leaving. All I do is cause problems when I’m here, so I’m going to remove the cause of the problems. I don’t know why you want me here in the first place if I’m so ungrateful.” I throw a shirt in my suitcase, not even bothering to fold it. She comes and stands behind me, takes the shirt and folds it.

  “If that’s what you want. I’m not going to beg you to stay.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Fine.” She takes another shirt and folds it, and then another. The silence in the room is thick and sticky, but I’m not going to break it.

  Once all of my stuff is packed, I close my suitcase. Then mom finally speaks.

  “We miss you. I know you don’t care what we think anymore, but we do. The house isn’t the same without you. When Drew and Stacy come over, there’s always an empty place where you should be. You’re my daughter and I love you and I wish you were around more. I understand that you’re off in school, but at least a phone call. Something. I know you think I’m mad that you left, but really, I just miss you, Ivy. Your father does too, although he’ll never say so. Just try and stay in touch.” She pats my shoulder and leaves while I stare at the suitcase.

  I get three miles down the road when my phone rings from an unknown number. I ignore it and keep driving. Then it rings again. I shut my phone off and toss it on the floor.

  Then a familiar truck zooms up behind me with its warning lights on. What the fuck is this? I flip him off and keep driving. What’s he going to do, run me off the road and pull me out with his chain again?

  Nope, what he’s going to do is pull alongside me, motion for me to pull over and put his life and any other drivers on the road, in danger. I have no choice but to pull over to the side of the road as he pulls in front of me. Could this qualify as stalking? Not that the cops would do anything about it. They were too busy busting people for smoking pot and then stealing it and smoking it themselves. Seriously.

  I turn off my car and wait for him. I lock all my door and keep my windows rolled up. I keep my glare on as he gets out and walks to the passenger side and taps on the window. I stare straight ahead. He knocks again.

  “I’m going to stand here until you let me in and it’s fucking freezing, Poison.” The combination of not wanting him to get frostbite and the use of the nickname makes me lean over and unlock the door. He gets in, rubbing his arms.

  “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there.” I wish I could let the comment go, but I can’t. And he knows that, because he knows me.

  “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  He laughs and blows into his hands.

  “I have no idea. So, where the hell are you going?”

  “Um, I’m not going anywhere, and it’s none of your business even if I was. Stalker.” I’m still staring out the windshield even though he’s turned toward me.

  “I’m not a stalker, your mom called me.” Of course she did. I knew she wouldn’t let me get away that easily. She’s sneaky, that woman.

  “And why did my mother call you to run me off the road?” He clears his throat.

  “Well, she didn’t call me to do that. She just called me and said that you were leaving and I might want to do something about it. She really doesn’t want you to go.” I finally turn toward him.

  “Is she the only one?”

  “Ivy.”

  I raise my hands and smack them on the steering wheel. This back and forth is killing me.

  “Don’t leave like this. Stay with your family. I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t bail on them because of something that might have happened with us. I mean it.” Ugh, why does he have to be so convincing? I know running back to Columbia is childish, and that I’ll regret not spending Christmas with my family.

  “Whatever,” I mumble and turn the car on. “Get out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I hate it when he calls me that and he knows it. He shuts the door and I peel out, turning into the first driveway I can find so I can turn around and go back home. Sawyer waves at me as I drive by him and I flip him off again.

  “Let’s get this straight,” I say when I walk back through the door with my suitcase, “I’m back because it’s my choice. Not because of anything anyone said or forced me to do.”

  Mom just nods and turns to hide a little smile as I go to put my crap back in my room.

  I feel so awful about leaving and bailing on my parents, I decide to make them dinner. I only have a few choices, so I go for macaroni and cheese, since pasta is buy one get one free at the grocery store. I also get the last head of lettuce and the last apple crumble pie from the tiny bakery in the back.

  I don’t run into Sawyer this time, and I’m glad. When I get back to the house, Mom informs me that she’s taking the minions to go play at the Saltwater School playground for a while. She says it’s because they need to get out, but I think it’s so I can have some time to myself. I never got much of that growing up. I might have only had one brother and one sister, but there were always other people around. Once again, that’s what living in a small town is. Everyone has their own house, but your friend’s house is always open to you, and vice versa. What’s mine is yours. I always hated it when I’d think I had the house to myself and someone would stop by and I’d have to chat, but it did mean that I never felt alone. Lonely, yes, since I didn’t feel as if I had much in common with everyone here. Still, they treated me like one of their own.

  You can take the girl out of Saltwater, but you can’t take the Saltwater out of the girl. I’d tried, and failed.

  I spend my alone time at the house taking a long shower and then starting dinner, playing the classic rock stati
on from the old radio my parents keep in the kitchen. I’m grooving and grating cheese for the pasta when there’s a knock at the door.

  I knew this was too good to be true. I go to answer it before whoever it is just lets themselves in. I’ve had that happen before, which taught me to never walk around in a towel in my own house. I unlock the door and open it. Sawyer.

  Of course.

  “Is this you leaving me alone? Because you seriously suck at it. Also, shouldn’t you be at work? Do you EVER work?” I put my hands on my hips and wait for the explanation.

  “My mother sent me over, okay? Put your daggers away. I’m just here to pick up a crockpot.” Sure he is. I roll my eyes, but let him in.

  “Do you know where it is?” I ask.

  “No, but she said that your mom had put a note on it.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. Mom hasn’t said a word about it, and I’m guessing this is another part of some convoluted plan to get me and Sawyer to spend time alone together in the hopes that our hormones will take over and we won’t be able to help ourselves, Sawyer will convince me to stay, we’ll buy a cottage and have lots of sex and babies.

  That’s their plan, but it’s not MY plan. It ain’t gonna happen. Not in a few days. I can’t give up what I already have at Columbia.

  Sawyer follows me back to the kitchen and we start looking for the crockpot, but it’s nowhere to be found. Big shocker.

  “I don’t know where else to look,” I say, banging the last cabinet closed.

  “What are you making?” he says, leaning against the counter. He doesn’t seem too upset about not finding the crockpot. If it were really missing, I’m sure his mother would have his hide if he came home without it. Or at least she would have, before she lost her husband . . .

  “Mac and cheese. I’m sorry we didn’t find it.” I don’t want to talk about what I’m making. I kind of just want him to leave so I can continue to enjoy my solitude.