by Carian Cole
I beat Michael home and have almost all the groceries put away when he walks in.
“Hey.” He throws his coat over the kitchen table. “What’s all this stuff?”
I turn and smile at him as I put the last of the canned goods into the cabinet. “I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, which was a total zoo, but I got everything so I can make our favorite dinners since we’re going to be home for a few days for the holiday. I got ham, and I’m going to make an apple pie and a pot roast—”
“Evelyn, I told you I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to take time off work.”
I stand there like an idiot holding a twelve-inch salami in one hand and a block of cheddar in the other. “But you said you were going to put a request in.”
“I know, and I talked to my boss about it, but it’s not a good time.”
My heart is sinking as he stands there eating one of the apples I bought for the pie. I can already see where this conversation is going, and I wish I could press the pause button and just make it stop. Disappointment is like a snake. It slithers in slowly. You can see it coming out of the corner of your eye, but you fear looking directly at it. Like if you don’t look at it, maybe it will turn and slither the other way. Away from me. It doesn’t though. It comes straight on, its tongue snipping out quickly, and attacks.
“I have to go out of town. I’m sorry, Evelyn. There’s nothing I can do. I tried to get out of it.”
I grab the frying pan off the stove, haul it back, and slam it into the side of his face. He crumples in a heap and drops the apple I had gently inspected in the produce aisle earlier, hoping to make him the perfect pie.
I shake my head. He’s still standing there, chewing. My quick fantasy of acting out my wrath on him dissipates.
Anger and disappointment are still there, though.
“Michael, it’s Christmas.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I talked to my mom. She said she would still love to have you. You don’t have to be alone. And I’ll be back the day after Christmas. The meeting is on the twenty-third. I am not going to even attempt to travel on the twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth, so I had the agent book me back on the twenty-sixth. It will probably still be a nightmare, but at least we’ll have the day after Christmas together.”
Oh, yeah. At least there’s that.
I would rather ram a pitchfork up my ass than spend Christmas alone with his family. I will sit here by myself and watch Halo as he plays with the ribbons on the wrapped presents and attempts to knock the tree over. I may even let him, just for the sheer entertainment of it. And cleaning it up will give me something to do.
Michael pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Ev, I know you’re upset and I’m sorry. You know how important this is. I really tried to get out of this, I swear to you. I’ve just worked so hard on this project and securing these contracts. I want the commission. It will help us so much. Please, understand.”
I encircle his waist and hug him back. I do know how important it all is to him. I’m not blind to how hard he works, how driven he is. I admire it most of the time, thankful he’s not lazy or an underachiever. I just hate how it has slowly torn us apart.
“It’s all right, Michael. I’m just disappointed. I was looking forward to a few days of real quality time with you. But you’re right. I’ll see you after Christmas, and we can celebrate our holiday then.”
“Good. Thank you for not throwing a fit over it, babe. I can’t deal with anymore stress right now. I’ll have a really nice present for you when I get back.” He squeezes my ass and let’s go of me to grab a soda from the fridge.
“I think I will stay home, though. I’d rather not go to your parents without you. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay, I’ll let her know. She’ll probably be glad to have two fewer people to have to cook for. We’ll visit them during the week or something.”
I nod, hoping he forgets that visit. “All right.”
“So New Year’s Eve. We’re still going to the VIP show for the band, right?”
I roll my eyes. I have never seen or heard Storm’s band play. I didn’t even look them up online. I want to be surprised when I finally hear his music, get to see him on stage doing what he does best. I want to enjoy every moment of what he does. Michael, however, has been a fan of the band for five years, unbeknownst to me. He can’t wait to see them play live, and I feel guilty and sick about it. How would he feel if he knew one of his favorite guitarists was chasing after his girlfriend?
“Yes, Storm told me it’s all fine. We’ll be sitting with his cousin and his date.”
Apparently, the show will be at a private club, one of the first they played at before they got big, with very limited access to guests. Storm assured me it would not be a crazy packed mess of screaming girls or headbangers and people standing all over the place. Being claustrophobic, I am not a fan of concerts at all, but I’m pretty sure I can get through his show without a panic attack. At least not a panic attack that is crowd-induced. Panic over the situation I’ve gotten myself into is another story entirely.
“I leave in the morning. Why don’t we go upstairs and watch TV in bed?”
I nod, reluctantly accepting the code words for ‘let’s go screw before I leave.’
Chapter Twelve
The day before Christmas Eve, I drag the fake tree out of the closet and assemble it. I debated not putting up any decorations, but they actually do make me happy because many of them belonged to my mother and seeing them out, lit up and pretty, remind me of her. So I embark on putting the tree up, decorating it, and then putting a few small decorations out around the living room. My favorite is a small ceramic gingerbread house and Christmas tree that lights up that I’m pretty sure my grandmother made at a ceramics class.
Hours later, the decorations are up, but the living room is a mess. I put away the storage box and get out the vacuum and figure while I have it out, I should vacuum the couch because Michael is always eating on it. I yank off the cushions and something catches my eye. I turn off the vacuum and pick it up. It’s a gold bracelet with green gems. I stare at it for quite a long time, as if it’s suddenly going to sprout lips and tell me who the fuck it belongs to. It’s definitely not mine. I don’t wear yellow gold. Ever. Not since the eighties. I inspect it closer and realize the clasp is broken.
A sick feeling creeps over me. Something between fear and anger. My stomach is in knots. My mind starts to race like a hamster in a wheel. Who has visited here? Storm? It’s definitely not his. Amy? She would never wear something this gaudy. It certainly didn’t fall out of the cat’s ass.
Maybe it was there when we bought the couch. A salesperson or delivery person could have lost it.
I vacuum the couch a lot, though. At least every other month. I don’t see how I could have missed this before. It was right there when I pulled the cushion off in plain sight.
I hold it up and take a picture of it with my cell phone and text it to Michael with the words: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?
I hurl it onto the end table and put the couch back together again, but not before checking it for more evidence. I find nothing. I lie on the floor and peer under the couch. I see a little something in the back and pull it out. A smile breaks through my anger. It’s the toy Storm bought Halo when I was sick, the one that blinks a red light when it’s smacked by a paw. He must have bopped it under the couch. I gently lay it next to Halo, who has been sleeping through my excursion of decor and cleaning.
My phone beeps.
Michael: A bracelet?
Me: I know that. But whose??
Michael: I have no idea. What’s wrong with you?
Me: I found this in our couch
Michael: So?
Me: Well, it’s not mine! So whose is it?
Michael: I have no fucking idea. I don’t have time for this.
Oh, hell no. I quickly dial his cell number and on the fourth ring, he answers, but his voice is rather hushed.
“I want to know who this thing belongs to, Michael!”
“I told you I don’t know! It’s not mine.”
“Well, no shit! Who have you had here in the house? I clean this couch all the fucking time and this piece of crap bracelet wasn’t there!”
Sometimes, you can actually hear someone thinking. Now is one of those times. I can literally hear his mind thinking.
“Well?”
“Okay, now I remember. Jim was by with his girlfriend. It must be hers.”
Jim is a guy he works with and plays golf with. “When the hell was Jim and his girlfriend here?”
“A few weekends ago. During the blizzard, actually. It must be hers.”
He had friends over while I was trapped in a pick-up truck, almost freezing to death. And dry humping a very sexy rock star...
“You need to calm the fuck down, Ev. I’m working. Put the bracelet somewhere, and I’ll tell Jim we have it. I gotta go.”
Click.
Well, damn.
I feel slightly embarrassed for freaking out. But as I sit here and stare at the bracelet, a feeling of unease is still hanging over me. For the first time since I met him, I’m not sure Michael is telling the truth.
When I’m stressed, I need to do something to keep my mind busy. Many a therapist has told me to channel the energy into something positive. Like aerobics. Taking a walk. Cooking. Cleaning. Sometimes, I take out the Wii and just kill things for a few hours. But today, I do something entirely different with my stress energy. Something unlike me—spiteful sluttery.
I call Storm.
“Hey, I thought you were going to call me yesterday?” I love how he doesn’t say hello. He just starts talking.
“I know, but I got busy. I had to go shopping.”
“Really? Did you go Christmas shopping for me?” His voice is teasing, sexy, and flirty. It floats through the phone and infects me like a virus. Its fever spreads over me, making me warm, making my heart beat faster, and lulling my brain.
“No, I would have no idea what to get you.”
“Just put a bow on your ass, sweetheart, and it’ll be better than any present Santa ever gave me.” My insides go gushy and my pussy twitches at his words.
He continues, “I do have a present for you, which is why I was trying to get in touch with you. When can I see you?”
Now. Tomorrow. Every next day. All the forevers.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“What are you doing tomorrow morning? I’ll be on my way to Grams for Christmas Eve dinner. I can stop by on my way.”
“Um, I’ll be here. You can stop by anytime. But you really don’t need to give me a gift.”
“I already got it. I want to give it to you. Will Michael be there? Maybe I should bring him a bottle of wine or something.” I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.
“No, he had to go out of town for a few days.”
“You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“I wish I was. He had to go out of town for work.”
“That sucks, Evie. It’s Christmas. What the fuck?”
“I’m already pissed. Trust me.”
“Is that why you called me, because you’re mad at him? And yesterday, when I wanted to talk to you, you weren’t mad yet. Right?”
Damn. He can see right through me. I let out a sigh.
“I wanted to call you... I was just trying to do the right thing by focusing on him.”
“I thought you were going to think about us.” Storm has one of those voices that are so expressive I can actually see what face he’s making when he’s talking, even if I can’t really see him. Right now, I know he’s not smiling, and his eyes got a little bit darker, and he’s probably clenching his teeth a little bit.
“Storm, I do think about you, and us and whatever this is. I can’t not think about it. But I am in a relationship with him.”
I must have super powers because now I can also hear Storm thinking.
“Are you still fucking him?”
“Storm! What the hell? You can’t ask me things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rude and private, that’s why.”
“I don’t like the thought of him fucking you.”
“Then don’t think about it. And could you stop saying fucking? It’s vile. Who are you fucking, by the way? I saw your picture on a magazine last week with some chick with tits bigger than my head.”
“She’s no one.”
“Right.”
Our silence stares at each other in the virtual air, battling it out, both of us knowing the fight is wrong, the jealousy not allowed. But it’s there, rearing its ugly, green head. A long tense minute goes by.
“Evie, I don’t want to fight. I just want to give you your present.”
“You started it.” Yes, I am five now.
“Okay, I guess I was out of line. I’m not used to feeling jealous. Give me a break over here.”
“Is she your flavor of the week?”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” he says it triumphantly as if he’s winning.
“No. If she’s what you’re into, that’s great.”
“I want to get into you.”
No one has ever been able to stop my heart with words. But he does, always. I close my eyes and savor the feeling for a few moments. The feeling of being wanted and desired. It’s new. It’s intoxicating.
“If you’re done swooning over me, let’s get back to me coming to see you. I have a better plan now.”
Swooning? I am not.
“I’m afraid to ask,” I say as I fall back onto the couch.
“Come with me.”
“With you where?”
“To Grams.”
“What? No. I can’t go to your family’s Christmas Eve dinner. I don’t even know them.”
“Yes, you can. You’ll have a great time. They would love to meet you.”
“It’s rude for a stranger to show up at someone’s house for a family holiday dinner, Storm. I couldn’t.”
“You’re not a stranger. You’re my friend. My family isn’t like that. Trust me. Christmas is for friends and family. Say you’ll come. You can’t sit there on Christmas by yourself. That’s total bullshit. Do you have anywhere else to go?”
I glance at the little gingerbread house on my mantle. “No, I don’t.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at ten. Everyone will be casual, so you don’t have to dress up or anything. We’ll just be hanging out in the living room by the fire and eating in the dining room. It’s about two hours away. I probably won’t have you back until about nine at night. My Gram likes to give us gifts and stuff, so make sure you give the cat extra food and water. I don’t want you to be worried while we’re gone. I want you to have fun.”
I pick at a stray thread on my sweatpants. Christmas with Storm’s family sounds exciting and a little bit frightening. Sitting here alone sounds worse, though.
“Are you really sure it’s okay?” I ask him again.
“I’m a thousand percent positive. It’s just gonna be my parents, Gram, maybe my brothers and my sister. And Niko.”
I smile at the thought of seeing Niko again. “Only if you’re sure it’s okay. I don’t want to be in the way or make your family uncomfortable. Should I bring anything?”
“Just your ass with a bow on it.”
“Storm...” I warn.
“Okay, okay. We’ll have fun, I promise. I’m glad you’re coming.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to bring Juggsy?” I say playfully. My mood has lifted, and I’m actually looking forward to not spending the day alone tomorrow just being depressed. When I tell Amy, she will be proud of me.
“Remember you just said that, so when I spank you tomorrow, you’ll know what it’s for.”
I change my clothes
five times. I keep telling myself this is not a date. I’m really not sure what this is. I finally settle on a pair of jeans, black boots, and a white V-neck cashmere sweater. I throw a black scarf with tiny sparkles over my sweater. I guess that looks casual and festive. I add a pair of silver hoop earrings and a necklace with a black stone wrapped in white gold wire that belonged to my mom.
Earlier, Michael called and was still mad at me over Exhibit A—the bracelet. I still have a bad feeling about that cheap-ass bracelet, but I’m not going to let it wreck my holiday. I told him I was going with Storm for dinner at his Grandmothers and he didn’t even seem to care. Not that I want to make him jealous, but still. I don’t know if he just doesn’t care whom I spend my time with, or if he’s just so star struck by Storm and likes the idea of me hanging out with one of his musical idols.
Storm shows up promptly at ten a.m. He’s holding a box wrapped with silver paper and a bright red bow. I feel bad I don’t have a gift for him. It’s so awkward when someone gives you an unexpected gift and you don’t have one for them.
“Wow, you look beautiful,” he says when I open the door, and he doesn’t try to hide his eyes roaming over my body.
“Thank you... You look nice, too.” He really does. Achingly so. His hair is shiny and wavy, hanging a few inches past his shoulders. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt, faded jeans, and black motorcycle boots. A silver chain with a large black cross hangs around his neck and he has several sterling silver and black leather bracelets on. I suddenly feel very shy around him. Every now and then, the fact he is famous creeps up on me and makes me wonder what the hell he is doing hanging around with a nobody like me.
He hands the box to me. “Open this now before we go.”
I take it from him, smiling brightly, not able to hide my excitement. I wonder what sort of gift he is giving me. Knowing him, it’s going to be something joking or sexy and inappropriate.
“You really didn’t have to do this...” I tell him.
He’s grinning at me like a little kid. “Open it.”
