The Christmas Proposition

by K.A. Mitchell

  I lifted my head. “Why?”

  “Don’t be an asshole. You know why.”

  Well, yeah, I’d wanted to see him again, though I hadn’t known exactly what would happen. For all I knew, he could have shown up with a plus one. Bryce with his arm around someone like Kurt. Someone who’d actually been farther away from Epiphany than Scranton, who knew how to wear something besides thermals and flannels and jeans—or the black apron at Skipper’s. Someone who could actually understand what AHEs and BHAs and drill strings were, instead of someone who only had twenty credits toward an ecology degree at Mansfield State. The idea of that perfect-for-Bryce plus one left a taste far more bitter than come in my throat.

  “You could have called me,” I said. We exchanged numbers along with body fluids back then. I certainly hadn’t moved.

  “Same to you. I tend to take a ‘no’ at face value.”

  “Bullshit.” I sat up. “You’d never have gotten this far if you took no for an answer.”

  Bryce stretched out and tucked his hands behind his head. “Okay. I take your ‘nos’ at face value.”

  Lucky me. A gulf was opening between us, and I didn’t know what to do to close it. If his offer had been less off-hand, would my answer have been any different? Could it be any different now? Cas, the farm, the whole goddamned weight of it choked me sometimes, but what was waiting out there?

  The same paralysis I’d felt when Bryce had explained why he thought weddings mattered filled me again, ice replacing the marrow of my bones, leaving me frozen on the spot. If I didn’t move, I didn’t have to decide.

  “Soft pitch this time, Mel. You gonna sit there all night?”

  That was an easy one to answer. “No.” I forced limbs frozen as much now by the December night as by my indecision into motion, and we both ducked down under the covers.

  Bryce rolled half on top of me and started playing with my curls again. “I know it’s your hair, but don’t get it cut before the wedding.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I could handle that one too. “Okay.”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Bryce borrowed my truck again, bouncing out of the driveway after shoveling in some eggs. My siblings were fairly restrained at breakfast after the catcalls and whistles that had serenaded us out of the living room last night.

  Knowing I had to get started on Tiff’s platform, I was inspired to linger over the paper. The Central Valley Gazette had no major crises to report, though there was a long rambling letter to the editor on how the spreading evil of gay marriage would lead to the corruption of children. Bad enough, then I saw it had been sent in by the mayor. As I tossed it into the recycling bin, Cas refilled her coffee mug and leaned onto the counter next to me with an exaggeratedly dreamy sigh. “It’s such a shame.”

  I took the bait. Better now than later—with a bigger audience. “What is?”

  “That there’s no way to mix your genes. You and Bryce would have the prettiest kids ever.”

  Allie joined in. “Your curls and bones with Bryce’s coloring?”

  “No.” Cas said. “Lose the curls and keep the blue eyes, but with Bryce’s hair.”

  I scrubbed the last bit of egg off my dish, dropped it in the rack and hauled my brother outside to start working on the platform. Most of the time Cas didn’t seem too girly, but I guess girls never got over playing with dolls.

  As we measured and picked out the spots for the posts, Bal asked, “You got any plans?”

  “No, I think this is going to take at least three days, even if it’s not that big.” I pointed over at the larger Nativity platform. We’d helped our grandfather rebuild it over fifteen years ago.

  “I mean, you and Bryce.”

  Was this asking about…boyfriends something brothers did? I hadn’t seen much of Bal after he moved to California. And Stuart didn’t move to town until after Bal graduated. “Not that I know of.”

  “He seems okay.”

  My brother and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could say, Yeah, I may just be in love with him. We have a lot of fun and he’s a hell of a fuck, but there’s no way I’d fit into his life. And by the way, his company maybe turning the next generation of babies born in the valley into mutants.

  If Tiff weren’t going all rabid over her wedding, I could have told her most of that stuff. She didn’t worry how she was going to fit into Kurt’s world. Maybe it was because she was a girl, maybe it was because unlike the farm, which didn’t travel well, she could find a waitressing job pretty much anywhere. But I thought the reason was pure Tiff. She always took life head on. When Kurt asked, she was ready.

  We were setting the posts, which was a bitch since we needed a pick-axe if we wanted to go deeper than two feet in, when three pickups came down the driveway. Technically, Holly’s Tree Farm was open for business, though we didn’t do much on weekday mornings. Then Tiff’s cousin Phil got out of the first truck, and I knew this wasn’t about Christmas trees.

  “Heard you guys could use some help,” Phil said.

  It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. I’d be convinced there was nothing here in Epiphany for me, that I couldn’t spend another minute surrounded by the kind of small-town, small-minded people who’d told me how pretty I was in the robes, who wrote those letters to the editor, then the same community would offer up people like this. Who came to help because it was the nice thing to do. Because that’s what people in the valley did.

  The other pickup spit out vaguely familiar acquaintances. The doors of the shiny new Chevy Silverado king cab opened and three Buchman brothers and their dad climbed out before hauling power tools out of the back—including a generator. The rumor was that they had earned over a hundred grand for the gas rights on their farm.

  More coffee made the rounds, then everyone pitched in. Cas worked side-by-side with the youngest Buchman, the one who’d been in her grade in school. Watching them, I wondered if I should take a page out of Bal’s book and do the older-brother, what’s-going-on chat.

  Bryce got back a little after lunch. He took in the scene next to the barn with an unreadable expression. When his gaze landed on me, he winked and pulled his cap down low before taking a couple two by fours from where Mr. Buchman was running them through the saw.

  We were about three quarters done when Tiff’s cousin Phil and his friend left, saying they had to get to work, but there was still quite an audience when two more cars rolled in. A white Land Rover with dealer plates and a brand new Range Rover, a gleaming red so dark it was like the black skin of a cherry, and the way even the weak sun sparked the deep wine color in it reminded me of the highlights in Bryce’s hair.

  Bryce went over to the Range Rover and, after signing some paperwork, the man who’d been driving it handed off the keys and got in the Land Rover which turned around and drove off. I guess Bryce got tired of having to borrow my old Ford.

  Bryce waved me over. “Like it?”

  What wasn’t to like? It was fucking gorgeous. Solid, but sleek. It suited him perfectly.

  “Mel?”

  Oh. He was waiting for my answer. “It’s perfect.”

  “Good.” He tossed over the keys and without thinking, I raised my hand to catch them. “Merry Christmas.”

  The Range Rover received an inspection from everyone present, and I found myself under equal scrutiny as the Buchmans and the Dunkels figured out that I was the proud new owner. I could feel the questions in the younger men’s faces, the what-are-you-doing-to-earn-a-ride-like-that in the way their stares flicked over my face, my dick, my ass. Yes, I wanted to say, gay sex is just that horrific that he had to buy me a Range Rover so I’d let him fuck me.

  But in the end, daylight was fading and the platform wasn’t finished so we went back to work, that is everyone except me and Bryce, who insisted I take it for a test drive.

  I eased it cautiously down the drive, wincing at every ping of loose stone on the undercarriage. “I cannot drive a car t
hat costs more than the house I live in.”

  Bryce turned back to look at the farmhouse, which was desperately in need of a paint job, and possibly a new roof. “Well, not if you throw in the acreage.”

  “Thanks a lot. God, what about the insurance?”

  “It’s covered for the next eighteen months. Hell, sell it if you want.”

  After scanning for traffic for an inordinately long time, I rolled out onto Cross Creek Road, heading for the highway. I refused to entertain the million comparisons between this and the truck I’d been driving for seven years. Not the way the leather cradled my ass, or the instant heat floating from the vents, or the rear camera assist, or the light touch it took on the wheel, or the power I could feel waiting for my foot on the accelerator.

  “Why?” I didn’t look at him.

  “It’s Christmas.”

  “Yeah, Christmas.” I tried a joke. “C’mon, it wasn’t that good of a blow job.”

  “Eh, don’t sell yourself short.”

  I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road, especially considering how much of the road the Rover occupied, but I felt him turn to look at me.

  His breath sighed out slowly. “I know it can get bad up here. And not only in the winter. I like the idea of you having something safe to drive.”

  He’d bought me a ninety thousand dollar car to keep me safe?

  In the murky sunset, there was barely enough light to see the color as a green Fiesta flew past us headed in the opposite direction.

  “That’s Tiff,” I said. “Probably coming to check on the work.”

  I turned around in front of Morris’s Salvage and Repair and headed back to the farm.

  When we got in, Bal was offering to run in to town for pizzas for the work crew, but they shook their heads, loading up tools and climbing into their trucks, everyone taking a last look at me and Bryce climbing out of the gleaming SUV before chewing up the gravel as they spun out of the driveway. And just when I thought I belonged…

  Tiff jogged over. “Sweet ride,” she said to Bryce. “Nice of you to let Mel drive it.”

  Bryce grinned. “Oh, I didn’t let him.”

  I heard more steps behind me, and then my evil brother and sister broke into song, “On the first day of Christmas my boyfriend gave to me a brand new Range Rover SUV.”

  It had probably taken them that long to think it up.

  “I hate you all.” I stalked off to the platform.

  Tiff ran up behind me, tucking her arm through mine. “Oh my God, Mel. He bought you a fucking car.” She stretched out her bare fingers, reddened with cold, flashing her engagement ring. “That might just beat my diamond.”

  “Hard to wear though.”

  The space was suddenly flooded with light. My eyes watering, I turned to see that Bryce had angled the Rover toward us, flicking on the bank of lights so we were lit up like an arena rock hair band.

  She stepped up onto the platform and looked out at the blue smudged edge of the mountains, all you could make out in the deepening twilight. “It’s perfect, Mel. Thank you.”

  She hugged me tight. I hugged her back. I’d been a little hard on her in my head, occasionally picturing her with red eyes and a foaming mouth protruding from the shreds of her wedding gown, but that was mostly because my back was killing me after seven hours on my knees hammering—and not the way I could enjoy it. I had to give her credit for pulling it together after the beach wedding of her dreams fell through with only a week to spare. Still, it would be nice if we could get someone to let us hold a reception on Friday night. It wasn’t the number of people, which was small, it was that every restaurant with a room big enough for thirty people was closing early because of the holiday.

  “We’re painting it tomorrow. Red Velvet, as ordered.”

  She held out a hand to me as if she needed my help getting down the two stairs. She was wearing flat soled boots, but who was I to argue? As we started back to the house she said, “He’s wooing you, you know.”

  “He’s whatting me?” I knew what wooing meant, I did a lot of crossword puzzles. I just couldn’t believe she’d said it.

  “Wooing. He’s showing you what he can offer you.”

  “I don’t need an expensive car.”

  “But you need him.”

  I didn’t need anyone, and I had more than enough needs hanging on me.

  I wanted him.

  Wanted him for more than just orgasms, which—don’t get me wrong—I wanted too. But it had been fun working with him today, like we were in it together and he wasn’t a multi-millionaire running a business and I wasn’t a tree farmer who waited tables to make ends meet. I loved him, thought kind of maybe he loved me, but that didn’t mean things were going to work out.

  Tiff stopped suddenly. “You know I love you right?”

  “Yeah,” I answered cautiously.

  “Good. Because no matter what, I am not turning this into a double wedding.”

  “Wedding? Who the fuck said anything about a wedding?” I turned and stomped off. I would have headed into the rows of trees, up the hill and onto the mountain, but it was dark and cold, and I could picture them looking for me like I was a petulant child, so I went into the barn to check on Fred.

  He’d been scratching his back under the hayrick, so he came over to see if I had a better offer. I gave him a good rub on his withers, but he tipped his head and gently used his antlers to nudge me toward the middle of his spine and for a few minutes, we were both content.

  “Do you get lonely, Fred?” I did. The season would be over soon, and though I figured Cas would be living with me through those long, dark weeks in January and February—instead of at Piney Wood Treatment Center like last year—that promised company wouldn’t compare to Bryce. “I could try to get another friend for you. A goat, maybe, if the reindeer thing doesn’t work out.” Fred’s bells jingled as he gave a particularly heavy sigh. “Yeah. I know it’s not the same. Boy, do I know that.”

  After checking his water and refilling the hayrick, I stepped outside. The Range Rover’s lights were still on to guide me back, and I slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door. Even the muted click as it shut sounded luxurious. I switched off the headights, fumbling through the different positions to get all of them off before turning the key to shut everything down, inhaling the rich smell of leather and new…everything.

  It was a beautiful car. I wanted it. Wanted to crank Killswitch Engaged on the sound system loud enough to make my ears bleed. I wanted to know I had something that would start when I turned the key and that could make it into town in a foot of snow if there was an emergency. But mostly I wanted it because Bryce had given it to me. He couldn’t have staked more of a claim if he’d left hickeys on my neck that spelled out his name. The idea started a low, dirty thrum in my balls.

  So why the hell wasn’t I in the house thanking him for it?

  I caught my own eyes in the rearview mirror and didn’t like the answer in them. I heard it anyway.

  Coward. Pussy. Why did I always have to think everything to death? Why was I always looking for the punch along with the blowjob?

  The spaghetti and meatballs Allie had made gave the kitchen a nice, homey smell, far better than what Cas and I managed, mostly eating out of boxes and cans. I was starving, but I wanted to find Bryce first.

  He was in what I thought of as the office, but what my da had called his study. I could still pick out the cherry-sweet of his pipe smoke from the way it had seeped into the wall. We had a computer on the desk, but Bryce was propped up in Da’s recliner, working on a laptop open on his desk. He must have gotten it on his Range Rover buying expedition—along with the new sweatshirt he was wearing. He held up his hand and I stopped.

  I was about to leave him to it when he looked up.

  “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to thank you. For the car.”

  He smiled. “You like it?”

  I started to roll my eyes, then leered instead. “Wanna see h
ow much?”

  He laughed. “Thank me later. I’ve got some stuff I need to finish up.”

  I ate, I cleaned up, I watered the tree and joined my brother as he showed some family pictures to his wife. Cas waved and said she was going out.

  “How is she really?” Bal asked.

  “As far as I can tell she’s fine.” To his frown I added, “It was pretty noticeable before.”

  “Well next time, call.”

  I had. I guess I hadn’t made the situation sound desperate enough. I didn’t doubt it was Cas’s call rather than my month of begging that had gotten him here to help out now. In the interest of peace, I nodded.

  When Bal and Allie went to bed, I went back into the study.

  Bryce looked up. “Sorry. Need something?”

  “Nope. Will it bother you if I’m on this computer?”

  “No. Not unless you plan on blaring that screaming noise you call music. You know, this valley has better wireless than most of the fucking hotels I stay in.”

  “Well, our accommodations go into a decline as of Thursday. It’s the couch or the attic.”

  Bryce snorted but I could tell I had less than half his attention. The rest was on a flowing graph on his screen.

  I sat at the desk and opened our accounting program, preparing to wade through a pile of receipts. It was already done. Everything up-to-date. Fred’s feed ordered. Seedlings for the spring ordered. I clicked around on the desktop, opening a new-to-me folder labeled “shop.” There were links on how to make wreaths, garlands, that swag thing that Allie and Tiff had been talking about. Links to other tree farms with pictures of their stores selling everything from food to ornaments and lights. A spreadsheet laid out the initial financial outlay, projected first year revenue. My baby sister had been busy.

  I thought about it. We could convert Tiff’s wedding platform to a stand for the wreaths and stuff, maybe turn the Nativity platform into a store. An impatient grunt from Bryce pulled my attention his way, but his eyes were riveted to the screen of his laptop. We might never be able to agree on music, but we’d been working side by side again. It felt dangerously comfortable. Too much like the way I’d pictured things would go when Stuart came home from Penn State with his Environmental Engineering degree.