Mistletoe Over Missoula

by Ellen G Kelley

  “Look, I know. I fucked up. I knew I needed to tell you, and I know you have every right to be angry. That’s why I came all this way to see you…to make this right. Becca, you have to let me fix this.” His voice was laced with desperation. As if his fate hung on my every word and gesture.

  “I shared things with you,” I said quietly as I grew increasingly embarrassed by the memory of the deeply personal emails we exchanged. “I mean, like, really personal stuff. Or at least, I shared it with the ‘you’ that I thought you were when I thought you were someone else entirely.”

  “And I love that you shared all of it. You shared your heartbreak. Your hopes. Your sense of humor. So much of what you shared was what I was feeling, too.”

  “But I wouldn’t have shared any of it at all if I knew who you really were.”

  “I know. I knew it then too. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to stop. I didn’t want it to end.”

  “You mean you didn’t want to lose your muse.” I huffed out bitterly. “You needed some more fodder for your books.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “What was it like then? Did you feel bad for me or something? Want to keep me employed by writing books for me to design covers for. Books that I fawned over and basically became a pathetic groupie for. Christ, I even started to see myself in some of the characters. That’s not a coincidence is it, Harris?”

  “I wrote the first one for me. Because I wanted to see if I could and…because…I was a mess.”

  “A mess? You?”

  “Yeah.” He took a breath so deep before continuing. As if he was about to dive into a pool. “I was watching everyone around me find their happiness. Getting married. Starting families. It started to seem…nice. Something I desperately wanted and just figured out was missing. But, I’ve always been ‘The Heir to the Empire.’ I’m not trying to complain about my family being ‘well off,’ or anything. But it makes it kind of hard to figure out who is there for you and who is there to get something from you.”

  I didn’t dare interrupt him. I stood, stock still, as he paused looking for a sign to continue. I gave him a small nod to keep going.

  “I started writing because it was the one thing I could do that didn’t already have predetermined expectations set for me. As I got further along, it just sort of took on a shape of its own. I set out with no other goal than to just write what was in my soul. And what it turned out to be in the end was a romance novel.”

  He paused to look at me. A look that held both shame and hope. “I didn’t set out to become the next Danielle Steel. I only planned to write about what I felt was missing. Hell, I hadn’t even planned to keep doing it. But then I got your first e-mail.”

  “What?” It was a lame reaction. But it was also all I could think to say in response.

  “That e-mail-as strange as this might sound-your written words were the most real, most personal words anyone had ever exchanged with me. Though it was only text on a monitor, reading it felt like being seen for the first time. I mean fully seen. Not just the parts people want to notice. It felt good to know that there was someone out there who got me. Someone who felt like I felt.”

  As he spoke, he closed the distance between us and reached for me. “I had planned to stop. I was going to stop. But, after you wrote to me…I couldn’t. I kept writing for you. I did it to keep you.”

  “Keep me? You didn’t just write for me…” Still processing everything, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Harris, you started writing about me. About my failures and my flaws. My hopes and...” My voice grew quiet. “My desires. Everything I keep locked up. The stuff deep down in the dark places, that women like me don’t talk about to men like you. You used that. You used me. I became a character.”

  All at once I felt broken after saying the words out loud. Because I was.

  “You became my everything.” Harris brushed my hair back, so he could caress my jaw. “I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to use you. I wanted to celebrate you. I wanted you to read each book and find the woman that I found in those emails. I wanted you to see yourself as I see you.”

  “And do you? Do you see me now?” I searched his eyes combating the tears threatening. “Don’t you see how violated I feel?”

  “Baby, again-that was never my intention.” I could tell that he felt authentically awful. He tried to pull me closer.

  “It may not have been your intention.” I began to push back from him. “But, that’s what you accomplished.”

  “Becca, I said I’m sorry.” With the newfound distance between us, Harris ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “What more do you want from me?”

  Really? Is he mad at me now? Did he actually think an apology was going to fix this?

  “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you,” I spit out and began rifling around for my belongings again.

  “Please, don’t be like that. I’m sorry. Okay? Let’s just both try not to lose our tempers.” He went to move toward me again, but I found my jacket and purse in the ransacked coatroom before he could reach me. With a hasty swat, I swung my purse at him to halt his advance. Smack.

  “I haven’t lost my temper!” I yelled.

  Actually, I had completely lost my temper. But I fully embraced my anger at this point.

  I smacked him with my purse two more times to prove as much. “I know exactly where my temper is. And if you’re still within arm’s reach in the next thirty seconds I’ll show it to you! Up close and personal!”

  “Can’t you see? That’s ALL I WANT!” He matched my volume and my speed as he lunged forward and grabbed both my elbows. As if the skin-to-skin contact would somehow knock some sense into me.

  It didn’t.

  “You WANT me to be pissed at you?” I shot him my best glare. “Well, congratulations! Mission accomplished asshole!”

  “What? NO! Damn it! Becca, I want personal! Things got personal. At least, for me they did. I wanted to see the woman from the emails – up close and in real time. I wanted to make it right. To have a chance to say the words in person.” His volume was returning to normal again. Clearly, he wasn’t as good at holding on to his anger as I was.

  “Say what exactly?” I spat at him, mocking his deep male voice. “Oh, hey. Sorry about pretending to be someone else for two years. My bad.” I sensed my mockery would rile him up, but I was beyond caring. “Well, I want to say quite a few things to you too buddy. And it’s a hell of a lot more than Feliz Navidad!”

  “I wanted to say, I LOVE YOU!” he shouted.

  I did NOT see that coming.

  As I stood dazed, Harris began again more calmly. “I wanted to say ‘I love you, Becca.’ That I’m in love with you. That every word, on every page I write is for you. That every “happily ever after,” I dream up is a prayer for what I want to have with you. That I want you. That I will always want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted to tell you that my life…my life is empty if you’re not in it.”

  Oh, sweet holy shit!

  Chapter 9

  I am standing in the post-coital crime scene of two co-workers that also doubles has a coat check with my entire being frozen–staring at a man so damn beautiful that it borders on inhumane. A man who just dropped the most amazing “L” bomb that has ever been dropped on any woman EVER in the entire history of the “L” word.

  The very same man who I thought was a woman. A woman who wrote the most incredible stories about the kind of man who I have always wished would be standing right in front of me. I was looking into the eyes of every girl’s fantasy, and he was professing his love to me.

  I could have melted right then and there.

  I could have kissed every inch of his body until it was Christmas morning.

  I should have kissed him.

  What did I do?

  I went a different route. I went with assault.

  “Oh, come on man!” I slapped him again with my purse. From the
look of complete surprise on his face, this was not the reaction he was expecting. I’m pretty sure he also didn’t expect me to keep doing it.

  “Seriously!” Slap. “Who talks like that?” My purse smacked him again. “How am I supposed wage any sort of defense…” Slap. “When you go all Notebook on me?” Still clutching my jacket and purse strap, my arms dropped to my sides with exertion.

  A smile slid across Harris’s face as he spoke. “I’m told the best defense is a good offense.” Head cocked to the side, he hunched his shoulders and gave me a small smile.

  “Don’t make me laugh. This isn’t funny.” I was fighting a smile and trying really hard to stay serious.

  “I don’t have a playbook for any of this, Becca. I just knew that I finally had to get in the game.”

  “Ugh. Okay, enough with sports analogies.” Trying to keep up with everything that had happened in the course of one night was exhausting. I was practically panting at this point. I clutched my side as if I had just run a half marathon.

  “Then tell me what you’re thinking.” Harris braved taking a few steps closer to me. “I just laid all my cards on the table, and I’m man enough to say that I’m scared shitless right now.”

  He slid the jacket and purse from my hands. He then replaced the empty space with his steady grip. “Talk to me. Please?” He was now close enough that I could inhale his scent. Harris Redmond smelled of clean linens and dirty thoughts. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I wanted to remember that scent forever.

  “Okay. Let me do a quick recap of tonight. Then maybe you’ll understand where my head is at.” I released another deep breath and took an equally deep one in. Then I dove in.

  “My best friend shanghaied me into coming to this guaranteed train wreck disguised as a party. Effectively breaking my two-year Christmas boycott. I’ve been plucked, painted, bedazzled, and shined up to look like a walking hood ornament. I dodged the drunk IT guy using mistletoe like Rohypnol, only to run smack dab into my ex and the pint-sized twatwaffle he cheated on me with. Who coincidently, just got back from Europe (a trip that I had been planning for years by the way) sporting an engagement ring the size of a frickin’ Yule log!”

  At this stage of my summary, Harris was fighting to hold back his laughter. Seeing his growing amusement only fueled my fire.

  “Then you swoop in like “The Ghost of the Best Wet Dream Ever.’ With your manly, man hands and your…your Crest commercial smile. And you’re all…like…this smooth talking, touching, kissing, sexy, smoothie, smoother type. And I…ah hell. I fold like a cheap card table.”

  With this new collection of words, Harris was full on beaming at me. He wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter.

  Not a wise choice at the moment.

  “After letting the man who turns out to be my boss stick his tongue down my throat, I cuddle up next to a buffet of deep fried finger food to eat my feelings. I then set up camp and began thoroughly testing the limits of my lactose tolerance while continuing to eye-guzzle you from across the room. Then ‘Buzz-Kill-Beaumont,’ decides to word vomit the truth about your romance-writing alter ego all over me. And now…now I…” I stood there inhaling and exhaling ragged breath after ragged breath. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with him. I just stood there with my eyes glued to his chest, hands shaking in his, letting the raw truth I just spoke wash over me.

  “And now?” he said gently. His hands moved to cup my face and lift my head to meet his searching eyes.

  “And now, I don’t know what to do next, Harris.” My response was honest. This was the most confused I had ever been, and there was no sense in trying to hide it. I mean. What could I even say?

  Part of me wanted to not say anything at all. At least not with words, anyway. I had no doubt that it would be the easiest thing in the world to fold myself into his arms and let him try his best to kiss the pain away. I also knew that if I did that, I would willingly submit to anything he would ask of me.

  The other part of me wanted to ask if he was allergic to nuts. That part of me, was still pretty pissed and contemplated ripping off his “chestnuts” and feeding them to him.

  Two years!

  Two years he exchanged e-mails with me under an assumed name. Long e-mails where we discussed at length our ultimate turn ons and put-offs. Short e-mails just to say hello. Funny e-mails about everything from horrific blind dates to terrific first kisses. Sad e-mails sent to a cyber friend seeking a sympathetic ear and some sage advice.

  With every e-mail exchange, Harris learned everything that made me tick. But with every passing minute tonight, I learned that everything I thought I knew was a lie.

  From the moment I set foot inside the resort, it had been one landmine after another. I may not have known where my head was in all of this, but one thing was suddenly all too clear. I HAD to get the hell of here!

  “I should go,” I said quietly but abruptly. With frantic speed, I gathered my belongings again and stepped away from him as fast as I could. I needed the distance. To not feel his body heat radiate through me.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could muster the words I bolted from the room.

  Chapter 10

  I left Harris Redmond-the man who had just professed his love for me-standing in the ransacked coat room as I raced down the stairs like a reindeer on fire. I gave a quick look over my shoulder to see if I was being followed just for good measure. People had been getting the drop on me all night, and I was tired of it. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I practically speed-walked through the lobby. I only hoped that I could reach the exit before I changed my mind.

  I looked over my shoulder again, and, to my surprise, felt a pang of disappointment that no one was in pursuit. A part of me was bummed Harris didn’t come after me.

  Of course, he’s not following you. You just completely rejected him you idiot!

  After one bares their soul like Harris did, who in their right mind would chase after someone who took the heart they were handed and stomped on it? Certainly not a disgustingly wealthy and unfairly handsome CEO. I bet all he has to do is smile and women begin chucking their panties at him like they’re at a rock concert.

  I wonder if someone is throwing their panties at him right now.

  Deep in thought–picturing Harris turning his charms to a new target–I continued both my breakneck pace and the looking over my shoulder. That’s when my disastrously distracted self, collided with another body. The force of the collision was impressive. With an abrupt smack, one ankle twist, and two perfectly exclaimed curse words–we both tumbled to the ground in a jumble of limbs. Instead to the soft caress of Harris’s lips, I found myself kissing the rock hard floor. My compliments to the resort janitorial staff for keeping the floor so remarkably clean. Good thing, too, since as I just examined it up close. With my face.

  With all the grace of a pregnant walrus, I began peeling myself off the floor and the unknown limbs from on top of my body. My partner in pain let out a deep groan of discomfort. He sounded like my ankle felt. A hint embarrassed and a lot in pain. I came to rest in a sitting position and got my first full look at my accidental assailant.

  Of course he’s wearing a Santa suit. Forget about grandma getting run over by a reindeer. I was just mowed down by Santa Claus. Complete with itchy white beard, fur-frilled frock, and cookie-loving heft. And that tubby judgmental bastard just sprained my ankle. I am now officially scoring this night at a 10.5 on my Weird-Shit-O-Meter of all time sucky-ness.

  “Ho, Ho, sorry little lady. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Save it Santa. You don’t have to stay in character for me.” I spit out a little more sharply than intended. Better backpedal a little bit. “Besides, I should have seen it coming.” Saint Fake-Nicholas didn’t respond. He just looked at me confused. “Well, I had heard Santa Clause was coming to town. I just didn’t that he’d be landing on top of me.”

  My remark was met with a rolling wave of laug
hter. At least, Santa had a sense of humor. I was on a roll. Why stop now? “Sorry if I rung you in your Silver Bells.”

  I know…I know. I had to go there. Just go ahead and put me down on the naughty list with a permanent marker. But after the night I’ve had, it was either make light of the situation or have a complete breakdown.

  His laughter was now a thunderous bellow that bordered on obnoxious. I may be feeling completely wrecked – in more ways than one right now–but, at least, I still had my sense of humor.

  “Ms. Becca Morris, you are ever the comedian.” The man in the Santa costume spit out through his laughter.

  Wait a minute…back up. How the hell does this guy know my name?

  Is it possible for this night to get any weirder?

  Now it was my turn to stare in confused silence. Taking stock of my growing concern, the Santa impersonator clarified my unspoken question.

  “Relax,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m just a delivery guy. I work for ‘Dramatic Deliveries.’ It’s cheesy, but, we deliver as different characters. I’m a theater major at the university, so I also get credit for it. This time of year the costume is Santa. Though I also do a killer Zorro around Valentine’s Day,” he said with pride. Instantly some of the tension in my face eased.

  “I have a delivery for a Ms. Becca Morris,” he began again. “The client provided a photo so it would get delivered to the correct person. I was on my way to find you at the Red Reads holiday party as per my instructions.”

  “I see” I replied with relief. “I don’t suppose it’s an ankle brace is it?” I winced as I began to roll my ankle around to test how swollen it was.

  “I wasn’t given details, I’m afraid. Judging from the size of the box, though, I would say probably not.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Hold on. Let me find it for you.” He began rummaging through his bag of goodies.