A Christmas Date

by Camilla Isley

  “Ask another one of your friends with an eating disorder; I’m sure she’ll look stunning in her dress.”

  “Girls…” My dad intervenes without lowering his paper, using his “enough” tone.

  “Dad, she started it,” I say, realizing I’ve successfully reverted to being a sulky teenager.

  Dad lowers the paper just a few inches and arches an eyebrow at me from behind his reading glasses.

  “Fine,” I snap. “Take her side. It’s what you always do.” And with that, in true adolescent fashion, I leave my breakfast unfinished and storm upstairs to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

  Fourteen

  Frosty the Snowman

  When Diego joins me in my room, I’m pacing around it in circles, fuming with suppressed rage.

  “That was an interesting breakfast,” he says.

  “See what I have to put up with?” I rant. “How spoiled she is, and how my parents always take her side?”

  “Your dad didn’t take anyone’s side.”

  “You only say that because you can’t recognize the subtleties. And then, what did I do, anyway? I ordered a pizza. Big deal. It’s not like I forced her to eat fried chicken, so why should I eat tofu?”

  “Can’t you see your sister is just jealous of you?”

  “Jealous? Why would she be jealous?”

  “Because she spent hours cooking and nobody liked her dinner, whereas everyone came to you to get contraband pizza.”

  “That’s ridiculous. And even if it were true, that doesn’t justify her calling me fat and old. She’s so petty.”

  “I don’t remember Julia calling you fat or old.”

  “But she did, in female code language.”

  “You girls have a secret language?”

  “All gals do; it’s Bitchenglish. Most of the time, when a woman tells another woman, ‘Your new haircut looks lovely,’ what she really means is, ‘Gosh, who is your hair stylist? Better make sure I never go to that butcher.’”

  “And how do you recognize when someone is talking to you in Bitchenglish?”

  “Instinct, and years of faring in the lipstick jungle.”

  Diego drops his hands on my shoulders to steady me before I dig a trench in the floor with my pacing. “Relax,” he says, pinning me in place with those wonderful eyes of his. “You need to get out of the house.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, we should go out,” I agree, trying to ignore the warmth spreading from my shoulders downward. “Where do you want to go? Yesterday was pretty much the whole tour. There’s not much else to do here in winter. I guess we could go to the brewery and get drunk.”

  “At ten in the morning?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, I’m sure getting wasted is socially accepted, regardless of the hour. How else would people cope?”

  “I was thinking of a more wholesome Christmas tradition…”

  “Like what?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Want to build a snowman?”

  “What?” I step back, shrugging free of his hands. “You know I hate all things Christmas, not to mention it’s freezing out there.”

  “Cover up, then.” He smiles encouragingly. “Come on, I always make snowmen with my brothers when I’m home. It’s a tradition.”

  I notice a hint of sadness in his voice. “Are you sorry you can’t spend the holidays with your family?”

  He shrugs. “A little, but I told them it was work. They understand. And I promised to go visit as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  “To the snowman?” Diego asks hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Come on, I promise the fresh air and hard work will make you feel much better afterward. Plus, what else would you do all morning?”

  “I brought a book; I can stay in bed reading with Mr. Darcy. Better use of my time than freezing my ass off in the snow to build a stupid puppet.”

  “Right, especially if you want everyone to think you’re hiding up here.”

  “Hiding? Why would I be hiding?”

  Diego shrugs. “People with a dirty conscience usually do.”

  “I don’t have a dirty conscience. I did nothing wrong…” I’m about to start on a tirade when I notice his foxy grin. “Oh, I see what you’re trying to do here. Sneaky you.”

  He puts on an innocent expression that doesn’t reach his mischievous eyes. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you, Mister.”

  Diego lets all pretense go and flashes me a dashing smile. “Did it work?”

  How can anyone say no to that face?

  Nonetheless, I scowl. “Snowman it is. Are you equipped for the snow?”

  “I have my biker boots.”

  “Those will get soaked in a second. I’ll see if we can borrow an old pair of my dad’s. What’s your size?”

  “Eleven, eleven and a half?”

  I solemnly swear that I’m not thinking about big socks.

  “Mmm, Dad’s boots won’t fit, then. But maybe we still have something left from Bill, Julia’s ex. He was a half-giant. You have pants?”

  “I can use my riding pants, they’re waterproof.” He fishes them out of his bag.

  “Great. Go get changed in the bathroom and wait for me downstairs.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.”

  I open the door and push him out, hissing, “I’m not bossy.”

  “Sure you’re not.” Diego winks, before turning on his heel and heading for the bathroom.

  I close the door behind him, then search my old closet for snow-appropriate clothing. I find an old pair of cyan and pink snow pants, and an equally old gray fleece. A heavyweight one, so thick you can go outside wearing no jacket.

  I smell it to make sure it’s still wearable. A bit stale, but it’ll do. And the pants have a distinct nineties vibe, but I can’t make miracles. If Ron Weasley couldn’t conjure better clothes out of thin air, neither can I.

  I swap the cat-hoodie PJs for a sweater, change my leggings, and put the fleece on. Dressed like a sixteen-year-old version of myself, I go scavenge in the garage for my old snow boots and gloves, and any footwear that will fit Diego… which I find at the bottom of the shoe closet.

  These were definitely once Billy’s boots; the poor kid used to practically live here before Julia dumped him to move to the city. They’re not in particularly good shape, but they seem solid enough to wear.

  “Here.” I hand them to Diego five minutes later.

  We’re standing in the small hallway next to the back door, pulling on layers of snow gear: hats, scarves, gloves, boots… It’s sunny outside, but the temperature is in the low twenties.

  “Wow,” I say, stepping out as a cold gush of air blows on my cheeks. “Refreshing for sure. So,” I ask, turning toward Diego. “How are snowmen made?”

  “First, we need to find the right spot,” he says, advancing along the walkway that cuts the garden in half. Dad has plowed the way until about three-quarters into the backyard, leaving only the last stretch untouched. “Here.” Diego stops near the giant hemlock that towers over the garden. “We should build it under the shade of this tree so it doesn’t melt right away.”

  I’m thinking that in this freezing cold, we could build our snowman in the sunniest spot and still it wouldn’t melt, but I don’t comment.

  “I’m going to make the bigger body snowball,” Diego instructs. “And you can work on the chest ball.”

  “Okay, show me what to do.”

  He gathers some fresh snow in his hands and starts compacting it into a ball. When the globe is big enough, he starts rolling it on the ground, making it bigger and bigger. I imitate him and come up with a decent-sized, if not as perfectly round, sphere. Diego adjusts the misshapen bits, and then puts my ball on top of his.

  “I’ll make the head,” he says. “Can you find some twigs for the arms and something to make the eyes and the mouth?”

  I move into the wood shack to scaveng
e the twigs, collect two small pinecones for the eyes, and strip a curvy line of bark off a log to use for the mouth.

  “Perfect,” Diego says, assessing the final result. “We just need a carrot for the nose.”

  “I’ll go ask Mom for one.”

  I jog back to the house, and I’m about to enter the kitchen when I overhear my mom and sister talking, so I stop just behind the open door.

  “They look cute,” Mom says.

  “They look weird,” Julia hisses.

  “What do you mean, ‘weird?’”

  “Come on, he’s not her type at all. No stable job, probably no education, dark hair… Nikki prefers blonds.”

  Mostly true, but how dare she?

  “Oh, honey… love is blind,” my mom sighs. “You can’t control who you fall for.”

  “Love, sure,” Julia snaps.

  “What do you have against Diego?”

  “Nothing, he’s absolutely fine. But doesn’t it seem strange to you that out of the blue”—she snaps her fingers—“Nikki suddenly has a boyfriend no one has ever seen or heard of, and suddenly she’s bringing the guy home for Christmas?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to be the single older sister for yet another year, and she asked a friend to do her a favor. I mean, it must be hard for her with me getting married before her…”

  It takes all of my willpower not to go in there and strangle Julia on the spot. I don’t need anyone’s pity, and especially not hers, thank you very much. And what she’s saying stings even more—not only because it’s true that Diego is not my boyfriend, but more so because he isn’t even a friend. He’s just a guy I’m paying five thousand dollars to pretend he likes me.

  “Don’t be silly, Jules,” my mom says. “They’re not friends. Have you seen the way he looks at her?”

  What? How does he look at me?

  “No,” Julia says, echoing my thoughts. “Does he have a special look?”

  “Yes, he stares at your sister the way your father used to look at me when we were young.”

  “Mom, that’s absurd.” Unfortunately, I agree with my sister here. “And Dad still looks at you that way.”

  “True.” Mom giggles. “And trust me, love, I can tell when a young man is in love.”

  “Mom, I think you want to see Nikki married off so much that you’ve put your pink glasses on and are ready to swallow whatever bullshit she feeds you.”

  “Don’t swear, dear, it’s not becoming for a bride. And don’t treat me like an old lady who doesn’t understand how the world works anymore. With age comes wisdom, and I can see a lot more than you think.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not convinced. Have you even seen them kiss, like, ever?”

  “Maybe they’re just private people. Look how cute they are… they’re building a snowman. When did you ever see Nikki build a snowman?”

  I can’t see what my mom’s doing, but I can imagine her pointing out the kitchen window to the backyard.

  “Where’s Nikki?” Julia asks, alarmed.

  With the speed of the best undercover agents, I quickly backtrack to the rear door, slam it shut with a loud bang, and call, “Mom? Are you inside?”

  “In the kitchen, baby,” she shouts back.

  I walk in, plastering a big, fake smile on my lips. My heart is still beating super fast. “Can you gals spare a carrot?” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “We need a nose for our frosty man.”

  “Sure, honey,” she says a bit over-brightly. “You want it peeled?”

  “No, I’m sure Frosty won’t mind.”

  Despite my best efforts, I can’t bring myself to meet Julia’s eyes. I take the carrot from Mom and hurry back outside as quickly as I can.

  “Here’s your carrot,” I snap to Diego.

  “Whoa, what happened to you?” He stops leveling the main body snowball and gets up from his crouch. “You went inside a cute, hopping bunny and came out a roaring tiger.”

  “My stupid sister is putting weird ideas into my mom’s head.”

  He sticks the carrot in the middle of the head ball, making our masterpiece complete. “What weird ideas?”

  “Like we’re not together, and you’re really just a friend doing me a favor pretending to be my boyfriend.”

  Diego flashes me his impossibly sexy grin. “How absurd.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch two heads staring from the kitchen window. Panicking, I quickly grab Diego by the hips and pull him toward me.

  “And what’s happening now?” he asks, the smile never leaving his face.

  “They’re spying on us from inside the house. We need to appear… mmm… affectionate.”

  “Mmm, boss, is it just me?” Diego taunts me. “Or are you taking the opportunity to discretely grope my assets?”

  Accurate, unfortunately. My hands are wrapped around his lower back, well within ass-groping territory.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Emergency situations call for extreme measures.”

  “In that case…”

  And with a devilish sparkle in his eyes, he lowers his hands on my back to return the favor.

  I scowl, although I’m not at all convinced I don’t like the close contact.

  “Want to know what I think, boss?”

  “No.”

  “I think there’s a much better way of convincing your mom and sister we’re legit than discreetly groping each other’s assets in the backyard.”

  “What way?”

  “You should kiss me.”

  If the cold hasn’t turned my cheeks bright red already, they sure are now. “I-I should… what?”

  Diego stares up at the sky. “I mean, we’re not standing under the mistletoe or anything.” He looks back at me, his eyes teasing. Is he flirting with me? Or is he just a really good actor? “But we should make an exception; extreme circumstances and all…” He pulls me closer.

  “I’m not forcing you to kiss me,” I say. “It wasn’t in our contract, and I promised you no physical interactions, and—”

  “Nikki,” he interrupts. He’s never said my name with such intensity. “Shut up.”

  And to make sure I do, he presses his lips onto mine. And it’s no stage kiss. There’s tongue, and there’s heat. So much heat I’m afraid poor Frosty will melt after all.

  Gosh, how long has it been since someone kissed me like this? Has anyone ever kissed me like this? I can’t remember… Right now I can’t remember anything; my brain is melting, and my knees are turning into a wobbly mess. I remove my hands from his butt and wrap them around his neck—to pull him closer, or to support myself, I’m not sure.

  “Err-emm,” someone clears his throat behind us.

  I quickly detach myself from Diego and turn around to find Dad staring at us from the backyard threshold, arms severely crossed over his chest.

  “Lunch is ready,” he announces.

  Oh my goodness! I can’t believe my dad just did that! Worse than when I was a teenager and he would signal my date that making out time was over by turning on the porch lights.

  “Guess they bought the show.” Diego winks at me and affectionately pats my rear end before preceding me into the house.

  So it was all just for show?

  I can’t help but feel disappointed as I follow him inside.

  But for the rest of the day, Diego keeps throwing me flirty stares, which I find myself willingly reciprocating. What’s happening to us? What’s happening to me?

  I feel different. I don’t hate Christmas that much anymore. And I don’t miss work at all. And whenever I stare at Paul and Julia together, I no longer feel a stab through the heart.

  Today has been so weird. Like, take this afternoon. Dad roped Diego into going with him to the store to get more firewood, and Mom and Julia went out grocery shopping because Mom’s pantry wasn’t equipped to meet all of my sister’s vegan needs. So
Paul and I were left home alone for a couple of hours. We hadn’t been alone for that long in ages, and after only fifteen minutes of him talking about his job non-stop—as I said, he’s drifted into the most boring, corporate, figures-oriented branch of marketing ever invented—I found myself zoning out more often than not. Whereas, back when we were in college, I used to hang from his every word.

  Could it be that after such a long time apart, I no longer know Paul? That the man I thought I loved no longer exists? I mean, what happened to the boy who used to stay up all night discussing politics and higher ideals with me when I didn’t have class in the morning and he did? Or to the guy who used to fall asleep in my bathtub on the weekends because he was too drunk to aim for the couch? Or the dude who forced me to crash strangers’ parties just because it was fun? The man standing before me earlier today just seemed so boring… Oh, did I just call Paul “boring?”

  Really, what’s happening to me?

  I can’t say, exactly. I just know that tonight I’m a lot more nervous about sharing a bed with Diego than I was yesterday.

  Fifteen

  The Night Before Christmas

  In my room, I change into my cat PJs while Diego is in the bathroom and wait for him to come to bed already stashed under the sheets. And, I’m not sure why, but I even go as far as picking up Mr. Darcy from the comforter and relocating him to the armchair in the corner. Unhappy with the move, the cat curls up and stares at me in resentment.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  When Diego comes in, the absence of the cat from the bed is the first thing he notices.

  “So his royal highness is not gracing us with his presence tonight?”

  I shrug. “Sharing a bed with us is an honor he doesn’t bestow easily. Mr. Darcy likes to keep his subjects on their toes. Don’t you?” I add in a silly voice.

  The cat throws me a you-traitor stare, whips his tail in the air once, and then settles his head on his paws, probably deciding that ignoring me completely is punishment enough.

  “Oh, you’re such a sourpuss,” I tell him.

  But as Diego climbs into bed next to me, the cat drama is quickly forgotten. My whole body tenses under the covers for no reason. There’s enough free space between me and Diego that not an inch of our bodies is touching. Still, there’s a strong warmth emanating from his side of the bed, as if the air surrounding him was shimmering. Or maybe I’m making the air shimmer with heat whenever I think about that kiss today.