This Christmas by J. M. Snyder

by Неизвестный

  This Christmas

  by J. M. Snyder

  Copyright © 2006 by J. M. Snyder

  Please do not copy or reprint without permission.

  Author: jms@jmsnyder.net

  Website: http://jmsnyder.net

  It's December 24th. Christmas Eve.

  Ned Matthews stands in the frozen foods aisle of Wal-Mart, the only place still open despite the fact that it's barely five o'clock in the evening. Afternoon really, no matter what the gathering darkness outside has to say. Tinny music blares through the store's speaker system, some rock mess that's bothered Ned from the moment he entered the store. Then it was George Michael, bitching about giving his heart away last Christmas; now Britney sings, going on and on about Santa sending her someone to love. Good luck with that, Ned thinks bitterly. It didn't work for him but hey, maybe the jolly old elf has a soft spot for pop princesses, who knows?

  He stares at the ice cream display through the freezer door as if anyone else will really give a shit if he settles for Neapolitan instead of Rocky Road. Neapolitan is his favorite -- he'll eat it stripe by stripe, starting with strawberry then moving onto the chocolate, and finishing with the vanilla when that's the only flavor left. But Rocky Road has more crunch to it, more substance, and if he's going to make a meal out of it, he should get something he can sink his teeth into. In the frosted glass case, his pale face stares back at him, a skinny ghost in baggy clothes that haunts the ice cream aisle. Disheveled mousy brown hair, dark rimmed glasses, a red bow of a mouth where his lips draw together in consternation. Decisions, decisions ...

  A bright laugh washes over him and then he hears his full first name shouted out in greeting. "Kennedy!"

  Annoyed, he starts, "It's Ned." But when he turns to find Bobby Cratchett heading his way, the words dry up and he has to clear his throat to speak around them. "Bobby. Hey."

  Bobby comes up to him so quickly, Ned's sure the guy will breeze through him, just keep on walking, but no. Stopping at the door beside the ice cream, Bobby leans against the freezer and gives Ned the same lopsided grin he used to dream about back in high school. In college now, it surprises Ned that his stomach still flops over at that smile. "So you're staying through the break?" Bobby asks without preamble. Before Ned can answer, he adds, "Me too. My parents gave each other a Caribbean cruise for Christmas. They won't be back before New Year's. No use going use going home to an empty house, you know?"

  For a moment longer, Ned stares at that crooked grin. Then he turns back to the ice cream case as if dismissing Bobby. "Hmm. Sounds like fun."

  An arm nudges his -- if he weren't dressed like the Michelin Man in his bulky winter coat, he might have felt Bobby's hand in that touch. As it is, all he hears is the sound of nylon rubbing together. "What about you?" Bobby asks. "You going home for the holiday?"

  "It's Christmas Eve," Ned reminds him. "A little late for that, don't you think?"

  If his response is chilly, Bobby doesn't notice. In the reflection off the freezer case, Bobby looks like a black hole beside Ned -- his dark hair, tan skin, and dark eyes seem to suck in all the light until he shines with an almost ethereal glow. In high school that hair was worn long, all one length to his chin, a curtain of hair that Ned dreamed of running his fingers through or nuzzling his face against. So thick and strong -- on the soccer field, Bobby wore it tied back in a ponytail like a girl's, but it made him even sexier in Ned's eyes.

  When Ned came to State five semesters ago and found Bobby already a year ahead of him, the first thing he noticed was the hair -- it's now cropped short, a few black inches that stand up as if shocked Bobby had the audacity to cut it down. With the length gone, Ned can now see Bobby's eyes, a deep, clear blue that look like contacts but aren't. And his grin, the way one corner of his mouth rises just a fraction of an inch higher than the other, the twisted eyetooth in an otherwise perfect smile.

  With considerable effort, Ned forces himself to open the freezer door, if only so he won't have to stare at Bobby's reflection. It's been seven weeks since he broke things off with Jake and he won't let himself look at another man, not yet. Not ever. Even if that man is his old high school crush, who lives across the commons from him in the student townhouses and is probably the only person left on campus besides himself this time of the year, who's always been nice to him but never flirtatious, never interested. If only he'd go away, Ned thinks as he reaches for the Neapolitan. He grabs the Rocky Road instead. Just go away and let me wallow in all this goddamn Christmas cheer. Was that asking too much?

  Overhead, Britney fizzes out and some boyband tells him he doesn't have to be alone this Christmas. As Ned lets the freezer door slap shut, he tucks the ice cream in his hand basket and turns his back to Bobby. But when he takes a step away, Bobby falls in beside him. "You heading back to the dorm?"

  Ned shrugs. The answer is yes, of course he is ... where the hell else would he go? And why don't they play traditional holiday songs any more? Rudolph and Frosty and "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," shit like that. Nothing sappy, nothing about unwrapping true love or kissing under the mistletoe. Get real, Ned thinks, staring at his shoes and Bobby's keeping stride with them.

  You want true love? Sing about calling up the guy back home you've been dating forever and having another dude answer the phone. Sing about stumbling upon your boyfriend's weblog and finding links to amateur porn sites where he's posted pictures of himself fucking someone else. Sing about confronting him only to be cussed out for snooping. Sing about sitting in an empty dorm room on Christmas Eve, eating ice cream by the gallon and trying not to cry because men suck and life's so damn unfair. Sing about that in your Christmas carol. That's my grown-up Christmas wish.

  At the end of the aisle Ned turns, hoping to shake Bobby. But a hand on his arm stops him. "It's really too cold to wait for the bus," Bobby starts. He watches Ned with those blue blue eyes, waiting. When Ned doesn't respond, he tries a different tactic. "You have a car, right?"

  Ned shakes off Bobby's hand. So that's why the guy's talking to him. Of course. "You want a ride."

  "Only if you don't mind." Bobby gives him that crooked grin again, as if he knows exactly what it does to Ned inside. "Look, I really appreciate it, man."

  Ned sighs. "I was just leaving."

  That smile brightens. "Great!"

  As Bobby follows him to the checkout, Ned wonders what exactly he said that sounded like yes.

  In the parking lot, the temperature has dropped. Ned's car is freezing and a scrim of thin ice covers the windows as if he didn't just scrape them off before he drove to the store. Without being asked, Bobby snags the scraper from where it sits on the floor in front of the passenger seat and attacks the windshield while Ned starts the car. It's colder inside the vehicle than out, but Ned sits hunkered into himself in front of the steering wheel, hands shoved between his knees, heater blasting high even though it's not putting out any heat yet. Every now and then he glances up at Bobby -- that dark skin is ruddy from the weather, those full pouting lips pinked as if chapped. He shouldn't have lingered over the ice cream. Then he'd already be home and Bobby would be waiting for the next bus to campus.

  Where's your Christmas spirit? a voice inside him wants to know.

  Ned shivers in the cold darkness. Ask Jake. The fucker.

  Frigid air blasts into the car as Bobby opens the door to slip inside. "Woo!" he laughs, clapping his gloved fingers together. "Feels like snow out there."

  Ned puts the car into reverse and the vehicle shudders beneath him as he backs out of the parking space. "It's too cold to snow."

  Slowly the car begins to warm up. The inside of the windshield fogs but Ned squints out anyway, ignoring Bobby. Just drop
the guy off, his good deed done, and then get to work on the ice cream that's solid as a rock in the back seat -- that's the extent of Ned's plans for this evening. What a holiday. Why don't they sing songs about that? Tell it like it is ...

  "So what are you doing tonight?" Bobby asks.

  Ned gives him a sharp look, unnerved. "Nothing."

  If Bobby's waiting to be asked the same question, he's got a long wait coming. Ned stares at the road ahead and hums tunelessly beneath his breath to fill the silence that presses them together. Another few miles to campus, two stoplights and one left turn, then he can go back to drowning in self-pity. Alone. But at the turn, Bobby speaks again, his voice easily interrupting Ned's thoughts. "What about tomorrow?"

  "What?" It comes out harsher than Ned intends.

  "Tomorrow," Bobby says again. "Got anything planned for tomorrow? It's Christmas."

  No shit. Ned shrugs but doesn't answer. Feeling his way around the words, Bobby says, "My parents felt bad about ditching me for the holiday. I mean, it's not like I'm a little kid any more, you know? But still. My mom sent me a fully cooked dinner -- spiral ham, homemade mac and cheese, cranberries, the whole nine yards. Just needs to be heated up and it's good to go. Easily enough for two."

  "Dinner?" Ned asks, as if he's never heard of the word. Was he getting asked out here? Did it count as a date if he only went next door?

  He's just being nice, Ned reasons. It is Christmas -- this must be his act of charity for the year. Ask the loner to dinner, God bless us every one. Aloud, he mutters, "No thanks."

  Bobby's smile slips. "Come on, man. There's a ton of food, honest."

  "I've got stuff to eat," Ned tells him. "Thanks anyway."

  Bobby falls silent. When Ned glances over, he finds Bobby staring at him. "What? I'm sorry."

  "Well," Bobby sighs, "the invitation's open. You're welcome to come if you want."

  They reached the campus. Most of the buildings stand dark and closed against the night, and halogen lights flicker above empty sidewalks. The place is deserted. Ned has no trouble finding a spot close to the townhouses where the upperclassmen live -- his car is the only one in the lot.

  As they climb out of the warm vehicle, the night air envelops them in a bitter, icy embrace. Grabbing his ice cream from the back seat, Ned starts up the sidewalk that leads to their dorms, Bobby just a few steps behind.

  They come to Bobby's place first. Ned doesn't look up, doesn't even bother to slow his steps, but a hand catches the back of his coat and stops him. He turns to find that crooked smile in place again, those blue eyes watching him closely. "What?" he snaps. Then, misreading the look in those eyes, he adds, "You're welcome."

  Bobby nods. "Thanks for the ride. And think about that dinner, will you? If you don't have other plans, I'd love to have you." Ned frowns and almost reluctantly Bobby adds, "Over. For dinner. Tomorrow night?"

  "So you said."

  As Ned trudges up the walk to his own townhouse, Bobby calls out, "Think about it. My offer still stands."

  I'd love to have you. What the hell was that shit? I'd love to have a lot of things in life, Ned thinks, digging in his coat pocket for his keys. Just because it's Christmastime doesn't mean you get what you want. Hell, I've been a good boy all year long and what did that get me? A cheating boyfriend and a broken heart. So your mom sent you a home-cooked meal, so the fuck what? I hope you choke on it.

  Only, if Bobby had asked earlier? Seven weeks ago, maybe. Before this crap with Jake, if Bobby had shown the slightest interest in him? Ned thinks maybe Jake wouldn't have been the only one to stray in their relationship. But he can't trust another again, not yet. Can't trust himself, and that's not fair to either of them.

  At the door to his townhouse Ned stops to fumble through the keys. From the corner of his vision he sees movement that makes him look up quickly. For one brief second he thinks he sees a face drawn in the shadows draped across his door. Jake. An ache rises in him, so palpable it chokes his throat and he has to bite back a sudden sob.

  Jake. Not for the first time, Ned wishes he never found his boyfriend's blog, never saw those pictures. Then he could've believed whatever lie Jake made up to explain the guy who answered the phone, and maybe things wouldn't be great between them but at least he wouldn't be alone. Tonight, on Christmas Eve, of all nights.

  He blinks back tears that threaten to freeze his eyes shut. When he looks again, the shadows have shifted and the face is gone. As he guides his key into the lock, the phone in the kitchen starts to ring.

  Ned reaches the phone just as the answering machine picks up. With the receiver to his ear, he listens to his own voice rattle off, "Sorry we missed you" ... nothing sorry about it. He should change the message, if only while his roommate is out on semester break. "I don't feel like talking to you right now, and don't bother leaving a message because I'm not calling you back. You still there? Hang up already, will you? Jesus, go away."

  He hadn't always been this bad.

  The machine beeps in his ear, then cuts off because he's answered the phone. For a long moment he listens to steady breath on the other end of the line, dread curling into the pit of his stomach. He knows who this is. Hang up, that voice inside him whispers, but his fingers have forgotten how to work and Jake would just call back again anyway. So? Let him call. You don't have to talk to him. Hang up -- "Ned? You there?"

  The sound of his ex-boyfriend's voice is enough to melt those threatening tears. Ned wipes at his cheek, surprised at how hot the damp little drop feels against his cold skin. Keeping his voice low so Jake can't hear the tremor in it, Ned whispers, "What do you want?"

  Jake's smile is evident in the tone of his voice. "Ned, hey. I saw your mom the other day at the post office and she told me you weren't coming home for the break. Everything all right?"

  Just peachy. Ned sighs, too weary to go through this charade. "Jake," he starts, and then says again, "What do you want?"

  "Just called to talk," Jake murmurs. Then softly, he adds, "I miss you."

  Bullshit. But Ned's wanted to hear those words for so long now, he can't speak when they're finally out in the open. As if afraid Ned will hang up at any moment, Jake hurries on. "Look Ned, I'm sorry things got this way between us. We used to be so good together. What happened to that?"

  "Oh, you don't know?" Ned finds that hard to believe.

  Jake's voice murmurs through him. "I never meant to hurt you."

  Ned is fully aware that this isn't an apology for fucking around -- just for getting caught. "I have to go."

  "Wait."

  Ned listens to Jake breathe into the phone and tells himself to hang up but he can't. Finally, when it's clear Jake is waiting him out, Ned asks, "What?"

  "I miss you," Jake says again, in that damnably soft voice of his. "I miss us. Don't you?"

  You're playing with me here, Ned thinks, hating the fact that he's too weak to put an end to this conversation. Like a cat with a mouse, Jake. You want both sides of the coin, a steady relationship and a piece of ass on the side. "I miss trusting people," Ned tells him. "I miss believing a guy can like me, only me, and not need to fuck someone else when I'm not around. I miss that, Jake. And you know, that's not something you can just kiss away and make better."

  Jake has no reply for that. Ned didn't think he would. His ice cream is melting, damn it. "I really should go."

  "Wait," Jake says again. "Ned, look, I'm sorry, okay? I don't know how else to say it to make you hear it."

  Try believing it first -- Ned isn't buying this impromptu phone call. Jake's lonely and wants someone to cuddle, and apparently his latest fling isn't available so he's trying to fall back on Ol' Reliable here. Well Ned's not going for it, not this time, not ever again. "It feels so funny not being with you on Christmas," Jake's saying. "Last year I came up there and stayed the weekend with you on campus. The first time we ever hooked up was this time of the year. Remember?"

  Ned closes his eyes against the images that flood his head -- the
two of them entwined on the sofa, naked beneath a heavy afghan. Jake's hand trailing through Ned's hair, rubbing patterns into his skin, massaging his scalp. Ned's arms around Jake, hugging him close, their thick lengths pressed together and slowly growing hard between them. The kisses that kept them warm, their bodies tight against each other, the damp sheen of sweat along Ned's back when they made love. It had been love, to him. Remember that? he wants to ask Jake, but doesn't.

  At his silence, Jake's voice falters. "You're alone, Ned. Right?" Receiving no answer, he asks again, "You are alone?"

  Thanks for pointing that out, Ned thinks. Into the phone, he announces, "I'm hanging up."

  "I can be there in two hours," Jake reminds him. "Or you can come over here. I'd like to see you again, Ned. If only to clear things up between us, you know? We can't leave it like this."

  Why not? Ned is quite content to cut Jake out of his life. "I don't -- " he tries, but his voice breaks and he resists the urge to slam the phone against the kitchen counter in his frustration and pain. "No, Jake. It's not -- just no. Goodbye."

  "Ned!" Jake calls out, frantic. "Listen -- "

  But Ned's heard enough. He hangs up the phone, putting a little muscle into it to get a really satisfying sound as the receiver slams into the cradle. He's not buying Jake's crap, not tonight, not ever again. So he's lonely. So what? Join the club.

  Almost immediately, the phone rings again. Ned thumbs the cord out of the cradle, cutting it off in mid-ring. "Fuck you," he says to an empty kitchen.

  His voice seems to hang in the air and he wishes he hadn't said anything out loud so he makes a lot of noise to chase the words away -- taking off his coat, getting out a spoon for the ice cream, slamming drawers and rattling the plastic bag from the store. He imagines he can feel the phone waiting with breathless anticipation for the next ring that will never come. If he plugs the cord back in, he's sure Jake will be there on the other end of the line. It takes all the strength he has to resist the temptation of lifting the receiver to find out.