A Christmas Date

by Camilla Isley

“That’s only because you’re not a girl.”

  “Thank you, I guess? What do you mean?”

  “Female psychology is more complicated and”—I lift one hand in small increments—“layered. What she did wasn’t great, but it doesn’t mean she’s all bad. One mean action doesn’t define who she is as a person. You shouldn’t punish her for something that has nothing to do with the two of you.”

  “But it does. We wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t randomly decided one day to piss off her sister.”

  “But does it really matter?”

  “Shouldn’t it?”

  “Not really. How many times do people get together for all the wrong reasons? Is dating a guy because you saw him in a bar and found him attractive really any better or more profound?”

  “No idea; I don’t date many guys.”

  I playfully swat him. “Come on, you know what I mean. First dates are superficial and meaningless most of the time. It’s what comes later that matters. Julia is in love with you, and you’re in love with her. The rest, you can work out.”

  “Even if I’m plain and boring?”

  “Oh, you know Julia, my sister doesn’t mean half the things that come out of her mouth.”

  “So, Jules doesn’t really want to date a tall biker with green eyes and dark hair?”

  “I guarantee you she doesn’t. She only wants you…”

  Paul’s phone rings from inside the small compartment between our seats.

  He picks the phone up and stares at the screen. “It’s her. She’s already called a million times.”

  Paul lets the call go unanswered.

  “Please text her,” I say. “Tell her you’re coming home to talk. She’s suffered enough.”

  He considers this, then starts typing.

  “Why are you smiling?” I ask.

  With a devilish grin, he says, “After today, I have enough leverage never to touch a vegan meal again.”

  And at that moment, as he makes the joke, I know he and Julia will be all right. A huge weight lifts off my chest… only to be immediately replaced by another. One relationship salvaged, but there’s still another I have to mend. I give Paul a hug, then climb out and brave the cold back to my own car.

  On the drive home, all I can think about is Diego and what I’m going to say to him. There are no excuses for what I did. I can only apologize and hope he forgives me.

  ***

  At home, Paul makes the mistake of going in through the front door. We pulled up in my street only seconds apart, but as he walked up the main walkway, I snuck around the house to use the back door.

  The short trek through knee-deep snow proves worth the hassle as I gingerly open the rear door and hear my parents assail Paul with questions.

  “…the kitchen looked like a war zone,” Mom’s saying. “You and Nikki were gone.”

  Dad chimes in. “And we couldn’t get Julia to stop sobbing and come out of her room…”

  I don’t wait to hear how Paul is going to dig himself out of this hole. Walking on tiptoes, I slip inside the house and up the stairs to my room with no one noticing me.

  Diego isn’t in my room. And I can’t help but notice the space seems half-empty.

  Because it is.

  All his stuff is gone. His clothes, his bag, his jacket. I take in all the empty spots where his things should’ve been, until my eyes land on a crumpled brown envelope lying on the bed. Propped on top of it is a set of keys—the spare for my apartment that I gave Diego.

  I toss the car keys on my desk and sit on the bed, clutching the envelope in my hands. I know what’s inside; still, I open it and shuffle through the wad of cash. A tight pull in my chest makes it hard to breathe. Even as my face flushes with heat and my palms pool with sweat, I feel cold.

  Diego is gone. The message he left couldn’t be clearer. Nevertheless, I jump off the bed and ransack the room in search of a note or anything else that would explain his absence. But there’s nothing.

  I shouldn’t have left without talking to him. No, I was right, I needed to find Paul and fix things. Diego is the one who should’ve waited for me. No matter how mad he is with me, running away isn’t the answer.

  I fish my phone out of my bag and call him.

  The call goes unanswered.

  I dial his number again and wait in vain.

  On my third attempt, I get sent straight to voicemail.

  Avoiding me, are you?

  Oooooh, but he’s not going to get out of this so easily. Nuh-uh. I mean, he doesn’t have a car or his stupid bike; how far could he have gotten? Not very far. I can still catch him, wherever he is.

  The sinking realization that I knew exactly where to find Paul, but have no idea where to look for Diego, hits me like a hard blow. It doesn’t matter. He has to be around Old Saybrook somewhere. This is a small town; there are only so many hotels he could’ve gone to.

  Fueled by my new purpose, I march down the stairs, forgetting to be stealthy.

  “Nikki!” My mom spots me the second I set foot on the landing. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I-I just need… Diego and I…”

  “Oh, yes, darling. Such a pity he had to go back to New York early. He told us about the casting call for the big job.”

  At least he had the decency to cover up his sudden disappearance with my family, leaving me to explain the fight—the breakup? What is this, anyway? Doesn’t matter; this is not the time to label things. My only concern is to find Diego, explain everything, and beg him not to go.

  Right, finding him. Mom is my best chance at fresh intelligence.

  “Yeah, Mom, he texted me to tell me. He was really sorry, but he couldn’t miss an opportunity so big. I just wish I could catch him before he goes and say goodbye in person.”

  “Oh, he took a cab to the train station only fifteen minutes ago. If you hurry, you should get to him in time.”

  “Thank you, Mom!” I pull her into a bone-crushing hug and kiss the top of her head. “You’re the best.”

  I let her go and rush back outside. I need to get to the station before Diego leaves.

  After ten minutes of frantic driving, I skid to a halt in the Amtrak parking lot, not caring that my car is strewn halfway through two parking spots, or that I could get fined for leaving it like that. There’s only one thing on my mind. Only one man.

  Inside the station, I stare at the departure board and see that the next train to New York is at 5:15 pm. The big, round clock dangling from the ceiling says it’s only a quarter to four. I’ve made it with plenty of time to spare. Now I just have to find him.

  Slightly less panicked than before, I search around the station. The place is almost deserted. There’s no one near the tracks, or in the waiting room, or in the area near the vending machines. I even go as far as checking the men’s room. When I come up empty-handed again, I walk back to the main entrance and up to the ticket booth.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the man behind the thick glass.

  “Where would you like to go, miss?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not here to buy a ticket. I was wondering if you sold one to New York to a friend of mine; he must’ve come here only minutes ago.”

  “Tall guy, dark hair, leather jacket?”

  My chest swells with hope. “Yes, him. Did you see him?”

  “Hard to miss; it was my only sale of the day.”

  “You know where he went?”

  “He left with the 3:32 train to New York, darling.”

  My heart sinks. “Oh. Oh. Thank you.”

  “It was nothing, dear. And happy holidays.”

  Yeah, happy indeed. Holly jolly merry freaking bright!

  “To you, too.”

  I walk away and collapse on the nearest bench, staring blankly at the empty tracks. Diego left. He’s gone. He wants nothing else to do with me. I was too late. I lost him…

  ***

  I sit on the bench for
the longest time. The snowstorm eventually gives way to a timid, pallid sun that starts disappearing under the horizon soon afterward. When it’s all gone, the chill of the station becomes unbearable, and I find the strength to get up from this frozen bench and go back to my car.

  On the drive home, my head goes strangely blank. It’s empty. As empty as my chest feels. When I walk into the house, I lie to my mother and tell her I managed to catch up with Diego and say goodbye. And that, no, I’m not hungry, I just want to rest a little. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask questions about the kitchen fight, or what happened with Julia. I have no idea what Paul told her, and right now I don’t care.

  Mr. Darcy rubs against my jeans, arching his back and raising his tail, wanting me to pick him up. I oblige him and bring him upstairs with me. In my room, I change into PJs and try to coax the blood to flow back to my red toes, rubbing my feet in a blanket and putting on a pair of clean, warm socks. Then I hide under the covers.

  It’s a mistake.

  The sheets still smell of Diego. Against my better judgment, I grab his pillow and press it to my nose, inhaling deeply. I’m exhausted, ironically, because I spent the night awake making love to Diego, and I can’t wrap my head around how much has changed in such a short time. How can one person go from waking up so perfectly happy, to ending up back in bed less than twelve hours later so utterly destroyed?

  I smell the pillow again, and that does it; tears streak down my cheeks uncontrolled. Mr. Darcy is purring next to me, but the sound’s usually soothing effect is lost on me today. I can’t help but resent the cat a little at how content he looks; he has his half of the bed all back to himself.

  All I want to do is sleep, but my brain is too jacked up to let me. But as my body begins to warm up after being out in the cold for the better part of the afternoon, the heavy blankets and hypnotic purring sound start to win. Weariness takes over, and I doze off.

  When I open my eyes again, there’s a faint light coming in through the windows. How long did I sleep? The bedside table clock tells me it’s half past six in the morning. Oh, so I was out cold all evening and night. I sit up in bed feeling slightly sick and dizzy, my stomach protesting loudly. Figures. I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday at breakfast, when the world still seemed like a good place.

  I sneak down to the kitchen, brew a pot of dark coffee, and eat a leftover cinnamon bun. Before anyone wakes up, I go back to my room. Unfortunately, caged up in here, my brain starts obsessing again. I’d like to be one of those proud women who can flip a switch and immediately move on with their lives after being dumped. But I’m not. So, less than an hour later, I text Diego. No reply comes. I call him once, twice, with no result. I write him an email begging him to pick up the phone. Text him again. Call.

  Nothing.

  There’s only silence on the other side.

  By midday, my depression is turning into seething anger. How dare he sleep with me and then run away the next day without a word? So, yeah, I made a mistake. I wasn’t one hundred percent honest with him from the start. But our relationship became something neither of us expected, and at least I was ready to stand and face my mistakes. Like an adult would. He’s just a child running away.

  Or maybe it was all in my head. He never promised me anything; our being together always had a deadline. Diego just pulled the plug three days early. He probably never imagined a future for us back in Manhattan. He had a little side fun on the job while he was here, and that was it.

  But he gave the money back.

  It doesn’t matter. It’s an insignificant detail. All his other actions speak volumes. He doesn’t want to be with me? Well, then, I sure as hell don’t want to be with him! I’ve been perfectly happy without a man for the longest time, and I was a fool to bare my soul to a perfect stranger.

  I only need to seal my heart back into its bunker and go back to being the rational, sensible woman I was before. Cold, professional, detached.

  Determined to erase any trace of Diego from my life, I rip the sheets off the bed and replace them with fresh ones. I drop everything in the laundry basket and take a long, hot shower, trying to scrub him off my skin. Unfortunately, as I soap up, the light catches on the tiny silver band adorning my left hand. I pull the ring off and eye the shower drain uncertainly. It’d be so easy to let it slip down the tube and make it disappear forever, but silly me, I can’t get myself to throw the band away.

  What is it anyway? A present I bought myself, Diego had literally nothing to do with it. I have witnesses. There are three angry shop assistants ready to corroborate my version. And I like the ring. I slip it back on. The ring stays.

  What about the Harry Potter first edition?

  I’ll sell it off on eBay and make plenty of money off it. That’s what I’ll do.

  I rinse the shampoo off my hair with a vengeance and step out of the shower.

  Wrapped in a towel, I brace my hands on the sink and give myself a little motivational speech, reminding myself I’m a strong, independent woman. So that by the time Mom calls everyone down for lunch, I’m a logical, put-together person again.

  Throughout the meal, I notice Julia seeking to catch my eye, but I stubbornly avoid her gaze. Sooner or later, we’ll have to talk. A food fight can’t be our last interaction. But it’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to having. What I said to Paul is true—one bad action doesn’t make her a bad person. But still, the thought that one of the people who should always have my back was out to get me instead is unsettling.

  Oh, come on, get off your high horse, a little voice inside my head sneers. You were just as bad when you picked out a fake boyfriend specifically to make Julia jealous.

  I shut my annoying conscience off and excuse myself as soon as I’m done eating. My plan is to spend the rest of today and tomorrow holed up in my room, working, until on Saturday I can finally go back to my real life and to sanity. As far away from family drama and fake-boyfriends-turned-real-runaway-boyfriends as I can.

  Twenty-one

  Silent Nights

  I’ve barely sat down at the desk in my bedroom, ready to fire up my laptop, when a knock on my door disrupts my plan of isolating myself from the world for the foreseeable future.

  “Yeah?” I call.

  Julia walks in, the image of a repentant sister. “Can we talk?”

  Well, we had to face off at some point. Better to just rip off the Band-Aid, I guess. I’ll still have plenty of time to be alone. The rest of my life, actually.

  “Sure.” I shrug and shift my chair so that it’s facing her.

  Julia sits at the foot of the bed. “Let me start by saying I know I can be petty and insufferable at times, and that I’m aware I have a serious problem with not being the center of everyone’s attention.”

  My mouth dangles open. I’m shocked. This is the first time in twenty-eight years I’ve heard Julia admit she has flaws, and that she isn’t always one hundred percent right about everything.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Who are you, and what did you do with my sister?”

  “Why did you run after Paul to save my ass yesterday?” she asks, ignoring my joke. “After the way I treated you.”

  “Because I know Paul; never let something fester with him. He needed to hear the other side of the story, and that couldn’t come from you, not while he was still so mad. Also…” I pause here, undecided if I should say what I’m really thinking. But if we have to have one big, clarifying talk, it wouldn’t make sense to leave my hurt feelings out. “…I’m not in the business of ruining the lives of the people I love on purpose.”

  Tears well in Julia’s eyes. “I never meant to ruin your life or hurt you.”

  “Really? Because dating a guy only because you knew I liked him seems like a pretty good way to achieve exactly that.”

  “When I said ‘yes’ to that first date with Paul, I did it only to annoy you a little. I thought we would’ve gone out once, flirted some, and then
the fling would die there. I wasn’t prepared to fall in love with him so completely after only one date. And after that, I didn’t have the strength to call it off because of you. And I hated myself for putting an even bigger wedge between us. In the past two years, you’ve become even colder and more detached.”

  “Well, can you blame me? And why did you want to annoy me so badly in the first place, anyway?”

  “Because I wanted you to pay attention to me. For twenty-six years, you never so much as—”

  “Please, Julia, not the neglected sister act again,” I interrupt. “I’ve always been there for you when you needed me.”

  “Technically, yes, but was it out of duty, or because you wanted to? I always felt like the sister you were stuck with, as opposed to the sister you wanted, or…” Julia stares out the window across the street. “…the sister you chose.”

  I follow her gaze to Blair’s house. “Is this about Blair again? Julia, I can have a best friend and still love my sister. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

  “Yeah, but since we were kids, you two have always shoved me to the sidelines of your cool lives.”

  That’s such a distorted view of reality, I’m appalled. “Julia, I hate to break it to you, but teenagers don’t like to hang out with younger kids. Two years might seem like a short gap, but it’s not when you’re in high school. And I’m not saying it was very mature of me or right not to spend time with my little sister, but it’s the way teenage girls act. And Blair and I were never such cool kids; you’ve always been more popular than us, even when we were seniors and you were just a sophomore. You were Prom Queen, for goodness’ sake!” I take a breath. “Plus, I don’t share parents with Blair, which makes it a lot easier to be around her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because whenever I look at Blair, I don’t feel like I got the shallow end of the gene pool.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you got Mom’s blonde hair, the better looks, the bubbly personality… I’ve always been the shy introvert, and it didn’t help that whatever I did, you had to go and prove you could do better. Ballet as kids, swimming in high school, life in New York, and then Paul.”