“She’s nice,” I assure her. “She has good intentions just …”
“I know, and I actually love when she does this kind of thing,” she says, smiling. “You’re lucky to have her.”
“Depends on how you define lucky,” I counter.
Mom can be overbearing with me, the baby.
“Look, your life is going to change in ways you can’t understand. I know because it’s been night and day since the girls came into our life. Your parents make it less stressful when they’re around. I’m sure it’d be easier if you had your mom by your side.”
“Once it happens, she’ll be my first call, for now, I’d rather have her in China, or was it first India and next February Thailand? I can’t keep track where they travel anymore.”
“Something like that.” Em chuckles.
My parents travel a lot and even when they send us their itineraries, I lose track of where they went and where they’re going to be. I just know they’re always a call away if I need them.
“What’s going on, Junie?” Mom asks when I enter the kitchen carrying some of the bags.
“Excuse me?”
“Something is happening to you,” she declares.
Call it a mother’s instinct but this woman is like a bloodhound. While growing up, we could never sneak out of the house, break curfew, or lie to her in general.
If Mom knows there’s trouble, she doesn’t let things go until she figures it out. So it’s time to use a truth to cover another one.
“Well, I met a guy last night, I just …” I shrug.
“You don’t think he’s going to call you?”
I know he won’t, but I slump my shoulder and try to look sadder than I feel. It is a little depressing to know sex can be so much better than I’ve experienced before but it’s over.
“He won’t,” I answer. “We didn’t exchange numbers …” Or names.
She gives me that smile that says, it’s going to be okay. You’ll find the guy, no need to rush it. You’re smart, brilliant, and any guy would be lucky to have you. These days it’s harder for you young ones to meet people. I like technology and understand how times change but it’s sad that the connections get lost in the Internet.
She’s been giving me that same speech since I turned thirty. I know it by heart. I can recite it in my sleep. Those words haven’t done anything but make me feel like I have to just hide how shitty it feels to be lonely—while everyone finds their other half.
“When are you and Dad leaving for India?” I ask, trying to change the conversation.
“Monday,” she responds. “We’re actually going to Peru.”
Em and I shrug. Well, we were way off.
Mom hugs me and says, “But if you need us you’re going to call us, right?”
“You don’t have to worry about us, we’re all adults,” I pause, “except Alex. He needs a babysitter.”
Mom places her fists on her hips and glares at me. Not sure if she’s trying to say, leave your brother alone or I don’t believe any of the shit you just said.
“Really, Mom, we’ll be okay,” I assure her.
“I just have a feeling that you’re hiding something from me and I’m giving you space but only for so long.”
“You’re the best,” I declare, hugging her tight. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Sterling
“Where were you on Thanksgiving?” Weston, my brother, asks. “You skipped it again.”
I hate holidays, I don’t remind him.
I’m not a traditional guy. Mom said I rebel against society’s rules and traditions just for the hell of it. But that’s not true. I don’t give a flying fuck about what people want.
I’m my own person. It was the way my parents raised me. Let Sterling figure out his own shit. We’re too busy with other things. Since then, I’ve lived by my own rules.
My parents didn’t realize what they did until it was too late. Bless their hearts. They both died proud of my brother and disappointed in me.
Even when we never agreed about how I lived my life, I loved Mom dearly. She was clueless where I was concerned, but still a nice person. Her priorities never made sense to me.
If she was still among us, she’d be calling me upset because I skipped Thanksgiving. She’d also remind me Christmas is just around the corner. How she’d expect me to go to mass with her. She’d be sending daily reminders to put aside my work because I have to spend some time with the family.
This year I have some plans. Not for Christmas but for the month of December. Well, I hope last week’s one-night stand is willing to spend the next month with me. Beautiful Juniper Spearman. My desire to be with her won over the logic to stay away.
I tried.
The morning after we met, as I gathered the information from the woman who wanted to lease the house on Viking Lane, I figured out it was the same person. I decided not to meet her.
We said no names, no numbers—only one night. I even threw in a fucking month free to make it up to her. I should let things be and leave her alone.
But, fuck, she’s so fucking hot, adorable, and … I can’t stop thinking about her. The best way to spend the holidays is by keeping her company.
Or leaving for Paris and not come back until you forget her. Who will miss you?
The only family I have left is my brother, Wes. He and I are best friends. It’s because he knows me well enough that he shouldn’t be asking about Thanksgiving.
But here he is, in my studio, about to lecture me.
I’m thirty-seven, dude. Too old to give me shit because I didn’t pick up the phone.
I put down the clay with a sigh and ask, “What’s happening?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Abby doesn’t want to say anything, but she wants you to spend Christmas with us.”
Hmm, interesting. Why is he doing this? I look at him and there it is. That frown says everything. He’s doing something he doesn’t want to but has to. The man would do anything for his wife. Even nag me.
“Look, Wes—”
“Hear me out,” he interrupts. “It’s the first year without Mom.”
I glare at him. Mom died two years ago, and I never spend the holidays with them—or anyone.
“Lance is turning four on the thirtieth,” he explains. “And wouldn’t it be nice to spend some time with your favorite nephew—on his birthday?”
“My only nephew,” I correct and sigh. “I’ll be there for his birthday, but can I think about Christmas? I have a ton of work before my next exhibit. You know, it’s in Paris, in February. I could babysit the nephew while the two of you sneak away.”
“Just think about them, not me.”
I nod once but don’t respond.
He’s using his wife and son who I adore with all my heart. Still, holidays are on my top list of why bother? I never enjoyed them while growing up. My parents always organized charity dinners or some stuffy party to celebrate them.
“Here, Abby and Lance made this for you.”
I pull out the box and it’s an Advent calendar. At the end of the year it marks Lance’s birthday.
Low blow, Abigail, low blow.
It’s colorful and from an artist’s perspective, I appreciate the details added by Lance’s tiny hands. The boy has talent and I adore him. We can spend hours coloring outside the lines to his mother’s dismay.
“Thank you,” I say, sounding cheerful. One wrong move and he’s going to start lecturing me about my age and how I should think about my future.
Art is all that matters to me.
My near future is a different story. If I can wiggle my way into June Spearman’s life for just a few days, I can call this the best holiday season. Still, she’s only going to be a brief distraction.
There’s nothing more important to me than being in my studio creating new pieces. My next exhibit. I’m married to my work. The only thing that’s worth celebrating is when I finish a piece and I’m satisfied with my creation.
Finding a partner and creating a family is at the bottom of my priorities. Actually, it’s the last thing I want to have in my present or my future.
Love is too complicated.
Women are pieces of art. Beautiful, interesting, and with soul. It’s not only about their outer beauty but what they actually represent when the artist was making them.
The essence of their being.
One has to learn to appreciate them. Love them. If we can’t, we have to let them go. There’s someone out there who’ll know their worth and cherish them.
Commitment and love are hard. There are two kinds of men. The ones who can recognize the worth of a woman and cherish them forever; and guys like me. We’re the appetizer. The prelude before someone who deserves them comes along and sweeps them off their feet—like they deserve.
No one believes me but it’s true. I tried it once. Be the man who stepped in and tried the courting, flowers, chocolates, and big gestures included.
It didn’t work. Fuck, I was told in many words I was a worthless person who wouldn’t do much with my life. Kara wasn’t much different from my parents.
From a young age I learned to charm the fuck out of a woman, give them an unforgettable night and move on to the next art project.
Except, Juniper Spearman makes me want to stay for seconds and I’m going to do my best to convince her that we can have a few more nights together.
Now, Wes, he’s the perfect guy. Dreamy with all those fucking qualities women love. He lives and breathes for his wife. I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to. I love change. Why would I want to entertain the notion of something permanent?
I could care less about others. I’m in a continuous state of change. I love chaos.
“Just think about it, okay?” he says, taking the wrapping.
I tap my temple. “You got it, Wes.”
He opens his mouth and closes it. “I know it’s been a shitty couple of years but … we miss the old you.”
“The last time I checked, I haven’t gone anywhere. It’s me, just … different.”
“It’s okay to miss her. To grieve,” he says and gives me a hug before he leaves.
Miss her? I don’t miss Mom the way he does. Linda was a different mother to each of us. She always insisted her foster children needed her more than I did because I had everything. I was born an Ahern.
Being an Ahern isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. The Ahern DNA will die with me. It’s worthless.
June
My chest is tight. My throat feels like it’s closing in.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure myself, gripping the steering wheel.
See, this is exactly why I create a routine and follow it. Last-minute surprises give me the hives and a bad case of anxiety.
“Breathe right through it, June,” I order myself, grasping the wheel even tighter as the car next to me slides so close I think it’s going to hit me.
“Bear left,” the fucking GPS says.
“You fucking bear left, bitch!” I yell back.
Can’t she see I’m having trouble navigating while the snowflakes hit my windshield hard?
Who in the world says they’re beautiful and unique? People who don’t have to drive under these shitty conditions.
At least, I didn’t do something stupid like driving from San Francisco to Colorado. Though, I should’ve taken a Lyft and not a rental from the airport.
“I’ve driven around before,” I said.
“This should be easy,” I assured myself.
“The house is just a twenty-five-minute drive according to the website,” I concluded.
Everything I said and thought was wrong. I swear the management company is going to hear from me. If I ever figure out who owns it I’m going to hire a hitman.
Big fail, June. Next time shoot for a place where they have warmer weather. Nothing lower than seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.
Whose fault is this? I blame my brothers. Jackson and Jason. Maybe even Jeannette. They started this whole let’s all be happy movement. It was better when we were all single and heartbroken.
What happened to, we Spearmans suck at love?
Everything started with my older brother Jackson. The asshole who hated relationships suddenly found the love of his life. Not only that, he dared to marry and have twin girls. What happened to loyalty and we’re never going to find happiness?
At first, it was fine because well, I had my other siblings. But then Jason finds his perfect half.
Assholes!
Just four months ago, Jeannette calls me from Fiji. She married Teagan, her girlfriend.
Bitch, she deserted me.
If Alex finds anyone before I do, I’ll kill him.
Deep breaths, June. Killing isn’t on the agenda.
Stupid hormones are making me moody. I have to remind myself why I’m here, to find your groove—like Stella did back in that 90s movie. It’s the holidays. My favorite time of the year. It’s all about Christmas trees, mistletoe, and Christmas music.
But wouldn’t it be better if I could share it with someone else?
I should be happy just with myself. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing—on my own. Still, there’s something missing, I feel it in my gut and it’s been worse for the past couple of weeks. That empty space in my soul grows wider and I don’t know how to fill it.
Why am I not enough for anyone?
Every guy I’ve dated breaks up with me with the typical line, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
These idiots shouldn’t make me feel inadequate but when the majority is saying you’re wrong, I can’t help but doubt myself. I might have my own business but if anything happens to me tomorrow, no one is going to care. Well, my family but that’s all.
Now, I can have what I need. A family. No man required. Just an anonymous donor.
Next Tuesday, I’m going to the doctor to get knocked up. This time next year, I’ll be celebrating my baby’s first Christmas. Who knows, if I’m lucky enough I might have twins or not.
I’m getting ahead of myself. With polycystic ovarian syndrome, I might have trouble with artificial insemination. I’m prepared for anything, in vitro or adoption. The plan is set up and the wheels are turning. I’m selling my company next year and dedicating my life to creating a family. Unless I die of hypothermia.
It’s bitterly cold and the snow is falling heavily. Thick swirling snowflakes blocking the windshield. Two lights ago, I almost hit a semi because the brakes weren’t responding. According to my GPS app, I should be at the house in a few minutes. Just a couple of turns and I won’t be getting out of the rental until … spring?
I can do it. All the amazing delivery services will be at the tip of my fingers. Do they deliver under this awful weather?
How long is this shit weather going to last?
And fuck, I’m not ready for the storm. I’m wearing a hoodie, and the denim jacket I brought with me won’t be enough. The plan to visit the mall to buy a cute jacket from Burberry is canceled until next summer.
“In one hundred feet, turn left,” the lady who obviously doesn’t understand I don’t have a measuring tape says.
Someone should reconfigure the way the GPS system works. Specifically, how they give directions. How about turn left at the next block? Next light, in two lights? Three blocks. I can see that, measure that. Miles, feet … it doesn’t make sense and only feeds my anxiety.
Costa Rica, that would’ve been a better place to go to, it’s warmer and no one will find me there. How about Australia? I should’ve researched fertility clinics in warmer weather or wait until the summer.
Once I park the car, I pull out my tablet to make sure I’m in the right place. With all the snow, I barely recognize the place. Then I switch to my list of important things I want to achieve during the next thirty days.
I check the email the management company sent with the instructions about the keys. I should’ve asked him to mail them, but this sounde
d so much easier. There are no instructions.
It says, see you when you arrive, June. Maybe someone is waiting for me or the keys are somewhere around the pot or the welcome mat. I should just check. If they’re not there, I’ll call him.
I leave the car running, grab my phone, and lock the door in case someone walks by and drives away with my things. No one answers the doorbell. I wave to the security camera, in case someone is watching but nothing.
Well, I guess I’ll call him from inside the car. However, I realize my stupidity. The keys are inside and I locked it. I try the app to unlock it from my phone but it’s not responding.
I call the guy.
The voicemail picks up. “Hey, I’m not sure what we agreed on but I’m outside the house, it’s cold and my car is locked. If you could please come by to drop the keys or send help, I’d appreciate it.”
I’m tempted to call Jackson or Jason but my stupid phone dies right at that moment. Okay, this isn’t working out. Day one is a failure.
Sterling
I’m taking my latest sculpture out of the oven, when I notice Beckett standing by the door.
“What’s happening, big guy?”
“The camera caught a car arriving at the rental,” he explains, and I smile. “The woman was waving at one of the security cameras.”
She’s here.
I head toward my bathroom and say, “Give me five minutes to shower and change.”
“Why don’t you let me handle this?” he argues—again. “She might know who you are and want something else. We’ve been through these same fucking situations multiple times.”
No, we haven’t done this in a long time. Actually, every time I hook up with someone who fakes not knowing who I am things go fuck ways.
Juniper Spearman has no idea who I am, and she isn’t impressed by celebrities. She’s related to Olympic medalist and X-game sensation Alex Spearman and has worked for several athletes and celebrities. I know her brothers. She wouldn’t be like the others.
“She’s a professional, I can spend some time with her and not worry about some crazy woman parading at my house wearing a wedding dress like last time,” I assure him. “It’ll be fun, let me be, big guy.”
Once Upon a Holiday Page 4
