Home for Christmas

by Tirrell, Kayla

  Disastrous Dates:

  The Date Maker

  Meet Your Match

  The Grudge Match

  * * *

  Mountain Creek Drive:

  Chasing Love

  * * *

  Collection of Sweet Shorts:

  Home For Christmas

  The Art of Taking Chances

  * * *

  Children’s Chapter Book:

  Help! My Parents Are Zombies!

  2

  The Christ Redeemer Christmas Spectacular

  by Daphne James Huff

  Chapter 1

  Okay, I told myself. It’s only hello. You can say it. One word. Hello.

  Or maybe hi? Is that better?

  Quick, he’s coming, make up your mind!

  He sauntered up to the counter and his deep blue eyes locked with mine.

  “Hi-lo” I said with a smile. It disappeared two seconds later when I realized what I’d just said.

  Hi-lo?? Seriously?? Get it together, Jamie!

  His mouth quirked up for an instant and my heart fluttered. Maybe he thought I did it on purpose and was being funny. Yeah, let’s go with that.

  “Hey,” he said slowly, drawing out the word with a twang that sent the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive. “Can I get a chocolate shake with a scoop of chia, please?”

  He must have been having a bad day. He only ordered that once in a while. Thursday was usually Mango-Peach day.

  “Sure,” I said brightly, pleased with myself for managing a complete word without introducing a second one halfway through.

  I flashed a quick smile before I turned to get to work and was rewarded with a small one from him. It was just enough to set his dimples off, and the butterflies in my stomach broke into a nice little dance.

  As I set the blender on high, I took a quick peek. He was checking his phone with a frown. As usual, he was the only person in the smoothie bar at this time of day. Some days he’d say something about the weather, and I’d say such pithy and clever things like “Yeah” and “I know, right?” all the while my heart beat so loudly in my chest that I was sure he’d be able to hear it above the whirring of the blender.

  But today? Just the frown at the phone.

  I decided to be brave, and be the one to initiate the small talk.

  “Crazy that they’re already playing Christmas music, huh?” I said with a small laugh as I handed him his shake, pointing unnecessarily to the ceiling, where the piped-in instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” could barely be heard.

  “Yeah, not even Thanksgiving yet,” he said in that ‘saying what people expect me to’ way, not looking up from his phone. He set the shake to one side and handed me his money.

  I suddenly felt the urge to cry. Christmas music? Is that best you could think of? Come on, brain!

  I handed him his change without a word, not trusting myself to speak without my voice shaking.

  Get it together! Stop being such a weirdo! Just tell him have a nice day like you do every single day and be done with it.

  “Have a nice day,” he said it first, finally looking up at me, as he slid his phone back into his pocket and took his change. He flashed a sad smile. I returned a sad one of my own.

  “You, too,” I said softly to his retreating figure, not sure he even heard me.

  I sighed miserably and sat on my bench behind the counter at the world’s least popular smoothie bar in Nowheresville, Ohio, wondering how it was possible my life had gotten so bad that I spent every day waiting for these three minutes with a guy who was a complete stranger.

  Chapter 2

  “Jamie, how is it possible that you still haven’t talked to him?”

  My best friend Miranda was sitting across from me at the food court, her usual complaints about her boyfriend and mother forgotten in light of my continued failure to speak to the man of my dreams.

  “I talk to him every day,” I said, sipping my holiday hot chocolate. The mall was getting more green and red every day, and this was the latest offering in the never-ending onslaught of Christmas cheer

  After New Year, I’ll cut out sugar completely, I told myself. I needed to lose the 10 pounds I gained freshman year at college…my only year at college.

  “You’ve said less than a hundred words to him in the past three weeks, that’s not talking to him,” she reminded me.

  “What am I supposed to say?” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Hi, you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, please have babies with me?”

  She snorted into her own holiday-themed beverage. Something mint and mocha that smelled delicious, but I knew better than to try it. Coffee and me just didn’t get along.

  “You’re a very creative and funny person, Jamie, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” And that’s why she’s the best friend.

  “I only laugh to keep from weeping,” I said, quoting one of our favorite Heath Ledger movies. If only she knew the endless internal monologue behind every one of my funny and creative moments.

  “Speaking of weeping,” she said lightly, avoiding my eyes. “How’s your mom doing?”

  I sighed. There was no creative way to make this situation funny.

  “She’s okay,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, and failing. “She misses him. Like we all do.”

  “Were you going to do anything for Thanksgiving?”

  I shrugged.

  “She hasn’t said anything about it. I don’t think my sister is coming down.”

  Miranda sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

  “Did she say anything about you being able to go back to school next year?”

  I shook my head.

  “Those last hospital bills wiped out our savings,” I said. “And without me working, she’d lose the house, too.”

  This was the first time I’d admitted this to Miranda, to anyone. I thought she’d suspected as much, but she looked shocked.

  “Jamie, I had no idea,” she said, taking my hand, her eyes finally meeting mine, crinkled with concern. “Do you need more hours at the salon?”

  I shook my head again, this time more vigorously.

  “I love ya, babe, but I can’t take much more of the old biddies,” I said, with a laugh, trying to make the situation seem less dire than it really was. Working three jobs was rough, but every little bit helped to keep my family going. What was left of my family, anyway.

  “Well, just let me know,” she said. Then, true friend that she was, she changed the topic to something stupid her little sister had done. As we laughed at the ridiculous antics of “kids these days”, despite being all of a few months out of our teens, I was grateful that being back in Ohio at least meant that I could see more of her. Even if the rest of my life was falling apart, she was always there for me.

  Chapter 3

  “Hi.”

  My head snapped up at the familiar twang. It was a little earlier than his usual time, and I had been texting Miranda about possible small talk topics. What’s he doing? I’m not ready! I haven’t even practiced my hello yet.

  My face must have been in some sort of open mouth fish contortion, and he laughed. At me? With me?

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a smile. Hello butterflies, my old friends. Ready to dance? “I just wanted to know if I could put up a flyer?”

  He held out a green and red paper. I read the words “Variety Show” and “Christmas” and looked up at him, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

  “My gran’s church is having their annual charity show, and they’re looking for more people to perform,” he explained, as a slight hint of red briefly touched his cheeks. He was embarrassed about helping his grandmother! Could he possibly get any cuter?

  “I’m not really allowed to put up flyers,” I said lamely, drawing my hands behind my back, and looking down. Stupid Tanya and her rules. Like Smoothie City corporate was going to come out and check on us.

  “Oh, um, okay, don’t worry about it,” he said,
folding it up and tucking it into his back pocket. “Just an Apple-Mango, then, please.”

  He was the only customer who ever said please on a regular basis. So polite. And he helps his grandma. Sigh.

  I set about making his smoothie and tried to think of a reason, any reason, to get the flyer.

  “I could ask my friend to put it up at her salon,” I said suddenly, turning to smile widely. A bit too widely, judging by the blink of surprise he gave me. “I work there. Sometimes. When I’m not working here. How would I work there when I’m working here? But that would be cool. To be in two places at once, you know?”

  Oh. My. God. What. Is. Wrong. With. Me?

  Slowly, a smile spread across his face and he pulled out the folded paper from his back pocket.

  “It’s here in the mall?” he said, completely ignoring my ramblings, and making me love him infinitely more. “I thought I knew all the stores here pretty well.”

  I shook my head.

  “No, it’s in downtown Chester. By the train station?” There was no real downtown, just a street full of stores, the train station and the town hall. But everyone called it downtown.

  “As long as it’s in Chester, that’s a big help.” He looked relieved and smiled. Both dimples. My butterflies were in overdrive. This definitely counted as talking to him. Miranda would be pleased.

  I started to ask if he lived in Chester (was that too forward? Who cares, ask anyway!), but the door opened and a customer walked in. Which reminded me I still had to finish his smoothie.

  I hurried to finish it up and handed it over, as the new customer walked over. A tall blonde dressed for winter in the cutest faux (I hoped) fur-lined coat. I sighed to myself, knowing that it probably wasn’t as warm as it looked, and I’d have to make do with my old lumpy brown one for another few years at least. My year at a private college and three months of my father’s medical bills meant new clothes were hardly a priority right now.

  My sigh suddenly got caught in my throat as she slid her arm around him and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

  “You about done, honey?” Her twang matched his own. On her it sounded grating and dumb. “I finished with the stores on the other side. I’m hungry.”

  “Sure,” he said, handing me the money, keeping his eyes on her. Who wouldn’t keep their eyes on her? The more I looked, the hotter she got. She had the tan skin of someone who doesn’t usually spend their days inside under fluorescents and their winters in the snow. She was made up in what I thought was a mildly trashy manner, but in that annoyingly hot way that made every guy who walked by stare. I was suddenly very aware of how superbly unflattering the neon pink and green of the uniform was to my dark hair and pale skin.

  “Have a nice day,” I said softly, as they walked out, arms interlaced.

  All I want for Christmas is for him - anyone really – to look at me like that.

  I sat down on my stool, phone already out of my pocket, my fingers tapping away to update Miranda.

  * * *

  Jamie: You won’t believe what just happened…

  Chapter 4

  I was going over the flyer/blonde incident for the fifth time with Miranda, but she still seemed much less concerned about his girlfriend than I was.

  “Details,” she said with a wave of her hand. We were at her parents’ salon and I was sweeping while she set an old lady’s hair. “She’s something familiar and boring. You’re different and exotic.”

  “Ohio is exotic?”

  She shrugged and concentrated on the hair for a minute.

  “Where’s the variety show?” she asked, looking around for bobby pins.

  “At the Christ Redeemer Church on Maple,” I grabbed a pack from the counter and tossed them to her. “I’ve never heard of the show before. Have you?”

  She shook her head. Neither of our families was really the church going types, except for weddings. And funerals.

  “Do you think he’s really religious?” I asked, suddenly panicked about my lack of ecclesiastical background.

  “Well, he said his gran’s church, not his church,” Miranda said helpfully, around a mouthful of bobby pins.

  I sighed.

  “His accent is so cute, I wonder where he’s from,” I said for probably the hundredth time in the past few months.

  The old woman Miranda was working on suddenly looked up from her magazine.

  “Wait, you girls aren’t talking about Betty Mitchell’s grandson, are you?” she said.

  We stared down at her. Chester was a small town, but I’d never seen him around. Since I only saw him at the mall, three towns over, I figured he lived out there. I had almost been able to ask him before she had walked in.

  “You go to Christ Redeemer, Mrs. Cohen?” asked Miranda with a raised eyebrow.

  “Of course not,” she said, clicking her tongue. “But my next door neighbor Betty has been going on and on about this show for weeks, and how nice it is to have her grandson here. Like I need the reminder that my own haven’t been to see me in two years.”

  She bristled as I held my breath, not daring to ask for more information. Even though I desperately wanted it after weeks of wondering.

  “So what’s she been saying about her grandson?” Miranda said, in her light as air hairdresser chatter tone. Oh, she’s good.

  “He’s up here for a while helping her get all packed up for a move down south,” she went on, putting her magazine down to focus on the gossip. “That’s why she’s so nervous about this show she’ll be putting on. It’s her last, so she wants it to be the best.”

  “What kind of performers do they usually have?” I asked.

  “All kinds,” she said with a wave of the hand. “Singers, dancers, a little bit of everything. But the past few years it’s been getting smaller and smaller. She wants this year to be the best ever, so she’s getting her grandson to help.”

  I looked down at the flyer. A thought tickled at the back of my mind. Miranda was giving me a very significant look, but didn’t say more in front of Mrs. Cohen, who was eyeing me with curiosity. She might blab to her neighbor Betty about the random girl in love with her grandson.

  I had been a theater major during my very short stint at college after working on countless shows all through high school. I could think of a hundred ways to help with the show. But that part of my life is over.

  I pushed the tickle away, not wanting to think about the last show I’d performed at, and what had happened right after. I sighed, tucked the flyer away, and got back to sweeping.

  Chapter 5

  Here he comes, right on time.

  I tried not to appear like I was waiting for him. With the Thanksgiving holidays over, he was back to his regular smoothie schedule. I busied myself with wiping down the counter. I turned with a smile as I heard the bell at the door, casually flipping my dark wavy hair over my shoulder. I had only had to practice that move fifty times the previous night to make sure it looked casual. And luckily I’d worked at the salon for a few hours this morning so Miranda had perfected my waves.

  “Hi,” I said, patting myself on the back for sounding somewhat normal.

  “Hey,” he ambled up to the counter, his hands in his pockets and his dark hair deliciously unkempt. His eyes swept across the menu (he must know it by heart by now), and came to rest on me, piercing and hopeful all at once.

  “I put your flyer up at the salon,” I said, finding it a little hard to breathe when he looked directly at me and smiled widely. Cool it butterflies, you’re using up my oxygen supply.

  "Did you ever think about advertising the show on social media? " I asked, trying to imitate Miranda’s airy hairdresser tone.

  He shrugged.

  "Most of the people at her church aren’t really into it, so I didn't bother. Their website is from, like, 1997.”

  "You'd be surprised," I said. “I worked on publicity for some of the shows I did at my college. We never really did a website, just social media, and we had tons of people from
the surrounding area show up. Not just students."

  He nodded, looking thoughtful.

  "You go to college around here?"

  I shook my head and my heart beat faster. Ack, I should have guessed he’d ask this question! What to say?? I hadn't had to explain to anyone new in so long. All my friends here already knew not to ask questions. Except Miranda. And she only got the bare minimum. It was all still too painful to talk about.

  Luckily, he didn't ask anything else. A slight frown appeared causing his eyebrows to pull together, creating a little line in between his eyes. I wanted to reach out and smooth it away with my finger.

  Whyyy does he have a girlfriend?

  As if on cue, she walked in.

  "Austin!" She cried, her voice scolding. Her eyes took me in and narrowed in suspicion.

  If a girl like that can be jealous of someone like me, Christmas miracles do exist and I should start writing a letter to Old Saint Nick ASAP.

  "Why aren't you at the gym?" She said. "I thought you started at ten on Thursdays.”

  She tottered over in her high-heeled, fur-lined boots; stylish yet terribly impractical for Ohio winters.

  “You forgot your lunch and I came to bring it you, but you weren't there. They said you usually come here first for a smoothie.”

  He looked at his watch and then up at me, his face tinged with red. My own was more of a beet red from picturing him working out. There were hints of his muscled body under the thick sweaters he usually wore. Of course, that's where he worked. Perfect hair, perfect body, perfect lips...

  "I have to go," he said. "But I want to talk to you about this social media thing. Could you stop by the gym after your shift?"

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  His girlfriend narrowed her eyes even more and crossed her arms. Chill out Southern Belle Barbie, I just give the guy his daily smoothie. She clicked her tongue. I was tempted to stick mine out, but bit it instead.