by Liz Durano
When I return to the bedroom five minutes later, Campbell is standing by the window. He drew open the shades while I was inside the bathroom and I cover my eyes as I stumble back to the bed. Outside, the clouds are still gray and thick but it’s not raining.
“Why do I suddenly feel like I just crawled out of my coffin when I shouldn’t have?”
“Because you’re hung over.” He hands me a pair of sunglasses. “Here. Put those on and I’ll get the coffee.”
I prop the thick pillows against the headboard and lean back, gazing at the flannel pajamas I’m wearing. This one has cute Dalmatian puppies running all over it.
“Are these from my parents?”
“Yup, from last year. It’s become a tradition, I’ve noticed.” He hands me a mug of coffee.
“It’s probably because that’s how they remember you every Christmas morning, knocking on our door to see what Santa got us for Christmas... and you, since Santa left you presents, too. Do you remember that?”
Campbell nods. “Of course, I remember. But we’re grown up now and I don’t wear PJ’s anymore.”
“What do you wear to bed?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
I feel my cheeks redden and remind myself to sip my coffee, the vision of a naked Campbell who’s all grown up under the covers making my lady bits tingle. They shouldn’t, especially since he’s my brother’s best friend and up until this morning, I’ve never even entertained the thought.
“You never know,” I say, switching the subject back. “Old habits die hard. They just might get you another set again. Besides, I miss those days when we were still kids and we didn’t have a single care in the world.”
Campbell doesn’t say anything and it hits me. While Jordan and I didn’t have to worry about anything when we were kids, it was different for him. Campbell used to tell us that his best memories came from his interactions with our family and the two years he lived with us after his mom had to sell their house to pay off her husband’s debts. Mr. Murphy had taken a loan on the house without telling her; he even forged her signature. I’m sure it went to his second family, the one he ran off with when he abandoned Campbell and his mother.
I clear my throat. “You still plan on staying the night, right? We’re changing it up a bit since Addison and Jordan will be celebrating Christmas Day with her parents, and so Christmas Day dinner will be on Christmas Eve.”
He sips his coffee. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I pat the space next to me. “Sit with me, Cam. It’s your bed, remember?”
He sits next to me and for the next few minutes, we don’t talk. We’re just two people enjoying a good cup of coffee. I sigh happily, feeling my headache receding with each sip. “You make good coffee.”
“French press.”
“I do instant mostly because I need instant gratification”
Campbell stares at me in mock horror. “Do I even know you? Instant coffee is not real coffee.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
We laugh, back to the same back and forth bantering we’ve always done since we were kids. It used to drive my parents crazy while Jordan would just roll his eyes before telling us to quit it. We become quiet again, our attention back on enjoying our coffee.
“I was really drunk last night, wasn’t I?” I say quietly. “I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself.”
Campbell pats my hand resting on the covers between us. “No, you didn’t. You were just fine. You conked out actually.”
I pout. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“You don’t remember throwing up, do you? I didn’t have to hold your hair away from your face as you threw up in the toilet?” Campbell asks and I shake my head, horrified by the visual his words presented. “Then you were fine. You were just a wee bit drunk.” He holds his thumb and index finger two inches away as I chuckle.
“Thanks for making me feel better. I do feel like shit though.”
“Three drinks will do that to you, Cait, especially if you’re a lightweight,” he says as I glare at him even though I know he’s right.
We don’t talk for the next few minutes again, either too busy enjoying our coffee or probably wondering what to say next. I look around his bedroom, its simple masculine design evident in the heather gray tones of the walls that match the dark gray of the bed covers and the headboard. A large painting hangs overhead. There’s a floating bookcase on one wall filled with architecture and travel books opposite the window that’s covered with floor-to-ceiling wide horizontal blinds. A lone modern chair sits in one corner next to the door leading to the walk-in closet.
“One thing about you, Cam, is that you’re such a perfectionist that even your bedroom is perfect,” I say. “Come to think of it, your whole apartment is perfect. You even have a view of the Empire State Building.”
Campbell chuckles. “That’s what everyone usually remembers.”
“You used to be this neat when you lived with us, too. Remember?” I nudge his shoulder with my elbow. “You had strict rules of me not entering it at all.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s because you used to come in and make a huge mess of everything.”
I make a face. “Oh, that’s right. I was a pest, wasn’t I?” Actually, now that I remember things through the fog of my hangover, I was more than a pest. When I was eight and he was twelve or thirteen, I told my parents I was going to marry Campbell Murphy.
“Nah, you were alright.” He finishes his coffee. “Anyway, when I first bought this place it had so many dividing walls and closets that it looked even smaller than it really was. I knew I had to do something to get the spaciousness you see now. I remember your dad giving me the sledgehammer so I could break one of the walls down.”
I smile, visualizing him with the sledgehammer. Imagining my brother and my dad doing it is easy but Campbell? “And now you’ve got an amazing place. It’s so… so you. Simple yet classic. A bachelor’s pad! That’s what it is.”
I don’t know why I’m blabbering but somehow, his apartment is just the epitome of him as a person. Simple and classic. Trustworthy. Smart. Neat. Gorgeous as he sits next to me in his t-shirt and sweatpants. A bachelor.
“Why, thanks, Cait. Are you sure you’re not still drunk?” I can almost swear I see a blush creep on his cheeks as he smiles. “But I can’t claim all the credit. Jordan and your dad helped with the design and the build out. You should have seen this when I bought it. It was so outdated. Your dad figured it would do well as a test renovation project for his company’s portfolio and I was all for it.”
“How come I don’t remember that going on?”
“Because you were buried in college papers,” he says, touching the tip of my nose with his index finger. “Anyway, O’Halloran Builders did an amazing job with this place.”
“It suits you, Cam.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, maybe I should call Roxy and tell her what a dud Malcolm turned out to be. I should have her set me up with someone new. Knowing her, she won’t give up until she finds the right match for me.”
The silence that follows makes me wonder if Campbell heard me but I don’t push it. I must have been embarrassing last night given how many drinks I’d had.
“You done with your coffee?” he asks, getting up from the bed and I nod. “Let me take it to the kitchen.”
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask as he stops by the door and shakes his head.
“No, but you’re right. Maybe Roxy can find you a better match next time. She seems to enjoy playing matchmaker anyway. I think Jordan’s mother-in-law is into the same thing, too. She’s determined to find a match for me one of these days.”
I follow Campbell out of the bedroom, hating that our time together is over too soon. I enjoy being around him. I can be myself and not worry about watching what I say even if sometimes I say the silliest thi
ngs. But I also know that I can’t remain his best friend’s annoying baby sister all the time. We all have to grow up somehow and maybe even move on.
As I walk into the living room, I stop and look around. The rest of his apartment is as perfect as the bedroom, in varied tones of white with gray accent walls, an electric fireplace situated close to the tall windows with their gorgeous view of the city. But as perfect as everything looks, something is missing. “Where’s your tree?”
“What tree?”
“Your Christmas tree.”
He shrugs. “I don’t need one.”
“What do you mean you don’t need one? It’s Christmas, Campbell Murphy.”
“I know it is, but I usually spend it with your family anyway, so I don’t need one.”
“But what happens when you come home?” I ask, pointing to a spot in front of the couch. “It’s empty.”
He shrugs again, rinsing the mugs and stacking them in the dishwasher. “I sleep. I work. I hang out with friends. And when I come home, I play my video games. Besides, there are Christmas trees everywhere I go. It’s no big deal, Cait. It’s just Christmas.”
As I look at Campbell, I can’t believe I never saw it before, the quiet boy who became the man of the house when his father abandoned him and his mother for another woman. Mr. Murphy even bailed out on child support payments the first few months by fleeing to France, forcing Campbell’s mother to sell their house just to pay the debts he left behind. When she found a live-in job as a cook for a wealthy family in the Hamptons, my parents suggested that Campbell live with us for two years until he graduated high school. That way he didn’t have to transfer schools where his mother wouldn’t have been around to take care of him anyway. Campbell worked hard those two years when he lived with us, earning straight A’s and eventually landing a scholarship at an Ivy League university. His mother moved to Miami and lives her own life with her new husband while his father, as far as I know, is still pretty much persona non grata. At least, that’s what Jordan told me once before telling me not to mention Mr. Murphy around Campbell again. Still, this whole ‘it’s just Christmas’ crap is ridiculous and I’m not buying it. Not one bit.
“What do you mean, it’s just Christmas? It’s not just Christmas, Cam. It’s Christmas!” I emphasize that last word in case he didn’t hear me the first time. “We have to get you a tree. Like, we have to.”
He laughs. “No, we’re not. I don’t have room for one.”
“Yes, we are, and yes, you do have room. We’ll find room. So what are your plans for the day?”
“I was going to drop you off and check out the Union Square Holiday Market.”
I clap my hands. “Oh my gosh! Can I come? I need to shop for Jordan and Addy and Piper and it’s my goal not to order anything online this year. I want to support local arts and crafts. Can I? Can I? Can I?”
Campbell looks at me for a few seconds, amused, before he bursts out laughing. But he doesn’t say yes or no.
“Can I?” This time I flash him my best sad puppy dog impression. “Please? While we’re at it, we can even shop for the ornaments that will go on your future tree.”
I even bat my eyelashes.
“Okay then.” He laughs as I wrap my arms around him in a hug. I feel his arms tighten around my waist, his hard chest pressing against my breasts as a tingle travels down my belly. I step away, surprised.
“What?” he asks as I shake my head.
“Nothing.”
His brow furrows as he studies my face, then he shrugs. “Let me get you a towel so you can shower and get ready. I’ll go in after you’re done.”
Half an hour later, I step out of the bathroom wearing Campbell’s robe. It has that clean soap smell that I like so much. I bury my nose in the plush collar and take a deep breath. I can smell him, too, and it’s nice.
“Hey, I’m done in the bathroom,” I announce as he gets up from the couch, the laptop perched on the coffee table. “Wait! Are you working? Isn’t it the weekend?”
“Just sending emails.” He closes the laptop and heads into the bathroom, leaving the door partially open. Soon, I hear the shower running.
I can’t explain it but I’ve always felt safe around Campbell. Maybe it’s because he’s my brother’s best friend and my unofficial ‘other’ brother. I can be myself around him, not worried about being too smart for my own good. I can be weird and nerdy, too, and he totally gets it only because he’s just as nerdy. He used to program video games in middle school and for a while, we all thought he’d find a job with some gaming company but he ended up working in finance instead.
I slip on the dress I wore the night before, glad I’d picked one that wasn’t too short. With the forecast calling for rain last night, there was no way I was wearing something too short or stilettos for that matter. Instead, I’d worn knee-high boots with my dress which work out perfect for today’s excursion to the holiday market. Satisfied with the way I look, I step out of the bedroom and head toward the living room. But I stop when I see him through the gap in the door.
Wearing only a towel around his hips and his back toward me, Campbell is standing in front of the mirror brushing his teeth. I stare. Forget the nerd. Since when did he get all bulked up? I can see the muscles on his shoulders and back ripple with every movement, the unmistakable indentation of one muscle to the next tightening. Even his buttocks look perfect from under the towel. When he runs his fingers through his dark hair, I can’t help but stare at his back and the way his broad shoulders taper to slim hips. Goodness gracious, but the sight of Campbell Murphy all grown up is enough to chase even the worst hangover away. When my gaze moves upward on the mirror, our eyes meet and he winks at me.
“Oh! Sorry!” I mumble, walking away. I head to the kitchen to get a drink of water, needing something to distract me. I down the full glass of water in one gulp, blowing out a breath as I stare at the blank spot next to the electric fireplace. But all I can think of is Campbell naked, no towel this time.
What if he’d turned around?
I shake the dirty thoughts of Campbell out of my head. He’s my brother’s best friend, for crying out loud, and I have no business thinking he’s anything but that. It’s exactly the reason why I feel so comfortable around him, because I trust him just as much as Jordan trusts him, too. Even my parents trust him.
Doing anything with him outside the realm of friendship can never be on the agenda at all. Well, unless we get stuck on a deserted island somewhere and we get bored. But there’s only one problem: we’re not on a deserted island. And I’m definitely not bored.
“Hey, you ready?”
Campbell’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I nod, pointing to the empty space in front of me. “I was just thinking the tree would look good over here. Maybe a Fraser Fir only because they’re the best in my opinion. Maybe five or six feet tall? What do you think?”
Campbell is wearing black jeans and a light blue shirt that plays off his blue eyes. His hair is still slightly damp and an errant curl has made its way to the middle of his forehead. “I think you’re right. I’m actually glad you brought it up. You always had the best ideas, Cait.”
More like insist on it, I almost add although I’m glad he’s being a good sport about it. He could easily have said no. But I’m blushing and I hate it because it’s as if I’ve suddenly lost control of my body. There are butterflies fluttering about in my belly, too.
“Oh, gosh, Cam. Thanks!” I giggle only to feel the pounding inside my head resume. “Ouch!”
“You’re welcome.” He takes my coat from the rack in the hallway, cocking his head toward the door. “Care to have breakfast first? That should help with your hangover.”
Four
I never planned on getting a Christmas tree, not when I spend every Christmas with the O’Halloran’s and their tree is amazing, covered with everything from Jordan’s paper chain from first grade to Caitlin’s glued-up stick manger from fourth grade, every single ornament ca
refully stored in their attic. There are even a few of my own creations, like a hardened clay reindeer and one that looks like the Empire State Building missing its antenna.
Their tree is also lit up with enough lights that it could be mistaken for a beacon by intelligent life in outer space. But I don’t care. It’s a tradition for the O’Halloran family, one that I look forward to every year, and when I get to start my own family, I’m going to do the exact same thing.
That way, I get to honor them for everything they’ve done for me, treating me like I’d always been part of their family. I even have my very own stocking hanging from the mantel that Mrs. O as I call Mrs. O’Halloran sewed for me when I was twelve.
That was when my parents’ problems began, when Dad didn’t come home some nights, claiming he was traveling. Only he wasn’t. He’d started seeing someone he met at work and eventually lived with her, balancing his life between our house and hers all under the guise of traveling for work until he couldn’t do it anymore. When I turned sixteen, he left Mom a note saying he’d found someone else and that they were moving to France where she had family and property. We’d find out later that he had two daughters with her, my half-sisters although I’ve never met them.
There were no other goodbyes other than that stupid note he wrote for Mom. He couldn’t even be bothered to write me one. For the next four months, Mom had to scramble to make ends meet because he was always late with his child support payments that we eventually had to sell the house when the creditors came calling.
That’s when I moved in with the O’Halloran’s while Mom found a live-in job as a house manager in the Hamptons. It would prove to be two of the best years of my life. It was pure chaos in the O’Halloran household but it was a good chaos—a happy one. Sure, Jordan often got into trouble and Caitlin would stay past curfew, but it wasn’t anything major. Certainly nothing like my dad abandoning his family to run off with his mistress.
But I tell myself to stop thinking about the past, not when my present looks darn good in the form of my best friend’s sister sitting across from me and talking my ear off about her latest dissertation, something about dopamine levels and Alzheimer’s disease.
