Christmas in LA

by Herb Scribner

  Ryan’s voice escapes from the room, moving in patterns both rapid and slow. A conversation no doubt, but with who? Is this the mysterious Ciera?

  I lean against the corner of the wall, just out of view from inside the common area of the guest room. I place my ear directly on the corner so I can hear more of what’s being discussed out there.

  His pace quickens and heats up, almost like there should be steam spewing from his ears.

  “…But it just doesn’t make any sense? Why would they decide that? No, no, you know why they decided it. Oh, don’t play me. We all know what’s going on here, okay? We all know why they decided to do that.”

  Questions instantly rise in my mind. What did they decide? Who are they? Oh man, I wish so badly that I had context for this conversation.

  “I just don’t understand why we’re going public so soon. I think this is the wrong time. Yeah, yeah, I do. No, it just doesn’t make any sense. I mean, we’ve got enough cash on hand for it, and we have all of that crypto ICOs and everything. But seriously I can’t just sit here and watch my company get sold without my permission. No! No! I won’t let it happen! You better believe I won’t let it happen. Yeah. Yeah, exactly. When I get back from break, when I get back from LA, you know what I’m doing? I’m fighting this! You bet I am. Absolutely.”

  He doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t bid the person on the other line adieu. Simply presses a button, there’s a loud, virtual click, and the living room grows silent.

  Ryan grunts from the bottom of his throat. There’s a crack of lightning as he slams the back of his phone against the counter.

  I can’t let him know I’m here. I peer over the corner and see he’s still facing away from the wall, now holding his iPad, which is opened to some news article that I just can’t read. Wonder what he just read about. Did that inspire the conversation?

  At least now I know a little bit more about what was happening on the phone call. He’s apparently watching his company go public without his permission. That’s a little bit messed up. I’m not a business exec by any means, but that’s no way to treat a founder or CEO or whatever he is.

  I would be frustrated too. If someone took something that I built from the ground up and decided to sell it off to the rest of the world … yeah. Don’t even try. Seriously don’t test me.

  Okay, Noelle Girl. Let’s figure this out. You have to approach him now. You said you’d eat dinner with him, and your stomach is growling. He’s probably wondering why you’ve been in your room so long. But I can’t let him know I heard everything about his company. There’s no way.

  There’s only one way to do this. I take a deep breath to relax my shaking nerves and reverse back toward my bedroom door. Heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe. Come on now. Get back to the room. Close the door. And then come out in like ten minutes. Don’t let him know you’ve been there.

  “I know you’re there,” he says.

  Oops. He knows I’m there. Right?

  “I know you’re there, okay. And I know you heard everything. It’s just … I don’t know what to do anymore. With everything going on, it’s just been a mess. You’ve seen me at probably my worst. This isn’t my normal.”

  What do I say back? How do I respond to all of that? I’m seeing him at his worst? That can’t be a good thing. I pace back and forth while standing on the carpet, waiting to see if the right words come to me. They won’t. Maybe if I wait long enough he’ll start talking again.

  “Alright, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t unload all of this on you. But you know why this is so hard for me, to see this happen. I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he says.

  I still can’t find the right words to say. Are there words that would help this scenario? Probably not. I just have to sit back and listen, until he addresses me directly. I know that seems really weak, but I don’t know him enough. I don’t know him well enough to offer advice about all of this.

  Truth be told, I don’t know enough about his scenario at all. Some of that would help too.

  “And then there’s her.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Rain, but who?” Chives asks, cutting through the air.

  Oh. Oh! He wasn’t talking to me this whole time. He was talking to the drone wasn’t he? Relief clears out my flushed face and now I feel like falling to the ground and dying. Just because there’s no greater feeling than what’s running through me now.

  “Noelle. The girl. She’s so kind and so sweet. I know she has no interest, but it’s throwing me all over the place. Because of Ciera, and the board, and just everything. I don’t know how to feel.”

  “It’s been awhile since you felt anything, sir,” Chives says. “I say embrace your feelings. You never know. She may just be as lost as you are.”

  Chives, without a doubt, is right. It only took him saying it to make me realize it.

  24.

  Okay, Noelle. Don’t panic. Don’t read too much into the feelings buzzing around in your stomach. Don’t think too long about everything that little drone said. Just focus on what you can do.

  Am I getting swept off my feet and I don’t even know it? Those tend to be the best surprises — the ones where you don’t know something is coming and then it completely floors you, kicking you over with a broom, taking you down to the ground. There’s something magical about it. That’s what I’m feeling now. Learning about this man’s struggle, understanding his pain, and learning that he may be a lost soul, one who can’t find his own way.

  I head back into my room and shut the door, pressing it gently into the lock just as it’s shut. I hop onto the bed and roll around, messing up the sheets with rumples that remind me of small hills.

  I grab my phone and slide through the notifications. Nothing admirable in there. Just your typical news alerts and updates. Wonder where Derek is right now. Should I call him back? Should I let him know I’m okay?

  A snowy crossroad appears before me. One direction leads me to Derek, and that’s icy at best. The other directs me toward Ryan, which is dark and frozen over. But does it have to be this way? Can’t I cut through the middle? It’s my life, after all. I should be able to communicate with whoever I want, however I want, in whatever way I want. I shouldn’t have to sit back and bend to the wishes of these men. I can plot my own coarse. I don’t need anyone else’s permission.

  I quickly open a message and send Derek this text message:

  Derek! I’m so sorry I haven’t had a chance to message you. It’s been one hectic thing after another. First the power was out, then I lost my phone. Ugh!! So sorry. I’m doing okay here in LA. Rented a place on Airbnb. Going to the airport tomorrow! Happy to be heading out of this city. I’ll call you once I’m home. It’s just easier that way. I really need to get some sleep and relax, my head is all over the place. [1/2]

  And listen, I know we had some problems when I left. I really want to hear how you feel. I think I’m just so lost right now with everything going on, especially with the holidays. Love has never been easy for me. I just hope we can work through this. I don’t know what to think anymore, honestly. Life doesn’t make it any easier. I swear everything becomes more difficult. But I will call you and we can chat about all of this. How does that sounds? Okay. Talk later! [2/2]

  My finger traces back and forth on the screen, deleting and adding a kissing emoji. But I delete it in the end, I don’t want to come off too strong, especially now that I may not be with him in the end. Our relationship could soon be over. We’ve crossed our final threshold. It’s all over now.

  I toss my phone onto my bed and hurry out the door, this time for the first “official” time. The sky outside has dripped a deep, dark gray, mostly because nightfall has descended behind the clouds. A warm amber glow escapes a light in the corner of the room, spreading its golden shadow across the floor from the corner of the apartment all the way to the kitchen.

  “Well, look who’s awake,” Ryan says, his iPad still dangling in his hands.

  “Yeah, sorry. You
really knocked me out earlier.”

  “That’s okay,” he says. “It’s about time we eat some dinner anyway. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered in.”

  “Oh, so you didn’t cook this time? And here I thought you were going to be a gracious host.”

  “Sorry, but you’re not that lucky. We needed to eat something a little more simple.”

  “So what’s on tap, chef?” I ask, a smile perking up from the corners of my lips.

  He bends down and pops up with a brown paper bag. A red foreign character is drawn on the front of it. I can’t tell if that’s Japanese or Chinese. I ask him and he confirms it’s the latter.

  We settle down on opposite ends of the brown couch. Apparently we feel more comfortable sitting so close to each other than we did a day before. He clicks on the television to the family television station, where tonight’s random Christmas movie plays. We’re getting closer to the actual holiday, which means the movies are a little more exciting than we might have anticipated. This one’s about young boy who spends Christmas all by himself after his family literally abandons him. Oh, and a pair of burglars are trying to steal from his home. Funny. The movie is nearly ending. The next movie will be about those cartoon misfits. Can’t wait for that.

  “So, what are you going to do once you get home?” Ryan asks.

  “Oh, probably just eat dinner with the family. Eat dinner, fall asleep, wake up on Christmas and open gifts. Then we’ll probably eat some more and all of that. We don’t exactly ‘go hard’ on Christmas.”

  He slurps down a noodle from his lo mein. “Yeah, I feel ya.”

  “What about you?”

  He shrugs. “Probably just go back to Utah and spend some time with my parents. They’re excited to see me since I’m always flying around the country for work. They planned a special dinner.”

  “That sounds awesome.”

  “It would be, but, I’m just not really feeling it this year. I’ve just been having some financial troubles.”

  Ah, here it is. The moment where he gives me the context I desire about all of his business ventures. I really want to know what’s been going on with him and his company, whatever it is. Going public is clearly the end result, but what has been happening to lead him to that point.

  “What kind of troubles?”

  “It’s just business stuff,” he says, twisting the dark yellow noodles around his fork. “I don’t want to bore you while you’re on vacation.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well,” he pauses as he slurps down his next helping. He sets the box down on the coffee table. “I’ve just been in charge of my company since the beginning. Me and my mom and my sister invented it, so we’ve been in control. But we recently decided to form a board of directors, in case we wanted to go public. And guess what happened? They shut me out.”

  “Wow. That’s annoying.”

  I already knew what was happening with the business, but it’s an added bonus to know that he’s worked alongside his family and they’re the ones who are shutting him out. Going public when he doesn’t want to seems like a mighty overstep my bounds.

  “So what can you do?”

  He shrugs. “Not much. I mean, we all have work problems. And I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world to be concerned about going public when you already have a lot of money. Like, I probably don’t have to work another day in my life, you know?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I totally get it. I’m made of money too,” I joke, rolling my eyes.

  “It just sucks knowing that I’ll have to allow other people to make decisions for me with my job. Like, that’s what’s really annoying. All of these board people get to decide the fate of my company.”

  I mean, I don’t want to be the one to tell him that there are other ways to insure you maintain full control. But, he probably knows that, right?

  “Wait, you didn’t ask for controlling interest.”

  “It’s complicated,” he says, leaning back, sighing heavy, and focusing his eyes up on the ceiling. Almost like he doesn’t want to talk about all of this. It’s clear he doesn’t.

  “Alright. Fine. It’s complicated. But what can you do? I mean, we’re all dealing with struggles and problems with our jobs. We can only do what’s best for our lives. I say, do what you can do. Like, do what you can do to make you own life better. Maybe it’s quitting. Maybe it’s challenging the board. Maybe it’s not caring. I don’t know. I’m a softy. So maybe just figure out what you want out of life and … you know, do that.”

  His eyes never leave mine as I speak with him. He never moves his face, his lips don’t quiver. He sits absolutely still and hears me. He listens to me. He absorbs everything I tell him like a proud sponge.

  “You’re awesome,” he says, pointing his forefinger at me with a smile. “I know that a lot of people would have rolled their eyes and just ignored this, but, I’m glad you told me the honest truth. So many people would just tell me to fight it. I’m glad you said quitting is an option. I’m glad you’re here to help me.”

  “Well, I just don’t care about getting people’s permissions. This may be our only life. We should spend it doing the things we want to do, not working for someone else. Please yourself and your family, no one else. They’re the only ones who matter in the end.”

  Our eyes meet again and that electricity zigzags through my body yet again. There’s something between us that I haven’t felt with anyone. Maybe it’s our cabin fever getting the best of us. Maybe it’s our friendship. Or it’s something stronger — maybe it’s actual affection and chemistry. Maybe it’s something we can’t or shouldn’t ignore. They might really be a power energy here.

  The shared glance is shattered like glass as Chives’s buzz cuts through the air.

  “Cookies anyone?”

  We both look back at the floating drone in the air. A bag of frozen gingerbread cookie molds hang on one of the drone’s legs. A bag full of other ingredients remains in his other hand.

  We join Chives up at the counter. He sprawls out all of the ingredients on the table. There’s a container of red frosting, which we cut into immediately, using full finger scoops to taste test the sugary substance.

  Chives brought over some of the best ingredients possible for this sort of event. Red cinnamon candies, a smattering of sprinkles, tubes to decorate buttons and lines across the body of our cookies. And, to my immediate surprise, he even brought us a thick bottle of creamy and cool eggnog.

  Here we go.

  “Chives,” Ryan says, “let’s hit that Christmas music.”

  And so it begins. The most popular and epic Christmas songs blare out from the speakers placed across the ceilings of the apartment. Each song that filters out has those bouncy jingle heels, the sweet tunes of a choir, the dings and dongs of childhood instruments. Beautiful melodies that help us travel back to the days of yesteryear float along the room, fading into the background in such a beautiful, harmonic way.

  We shove the constructed dough patterns into the oven and cook them. As they heat in the oven, we sip our eggnog, leaving thin, pale yellow mustaches on our lips. We share stories from Christmas’ long ago, laughing with each misstep we took in each story. How funny it is to find someone who’s just as messed up as you. Always thinking Christmas is going to be great, but then getting caught in an epic snowstorm. Buying the right gift for the right person, only to find out they’ve owned it for years. Always finding your desired gift under the tree. Experiencing your first mistletoe while in elementary school. So much brings us together that it begins to feel like we’re two halves of a whole who have only recently reconnected with each other.

  The oven sounds off and snaps us out of our storytelling time. The cookies are done. Finally. The Chinese food just wasn’t enough to fill me up. We decorate the cookies together and smile the entire time. Decorating each gingerbread cookie like their own unique human. Candy buttons, white frosting attire, sprinkles for eyes. A scoop of the red frosting for hair.<
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  We let them sit on the counter as they cool. We want them to soften up before we throw them down our gullets. Ryan leans against the counter, holding the icy glass of egg nog in his hands.

  He raises it.

  “Thank you for being here.”

  I clink his glass with mine.

  “And thank you.”

  We both sip from our glasses, our eyes locked together like a string of Christmas lights.

  25,

  The movies roll on, and neither of us make the bold move to changing the channel. When the Christmas movies spew out like snow in a nor’easter, it’s impossible to slow down. One holiday flick after another. Time passing is barely noticeable.

  Commercials offer breaks between the movies, which gives us a chance to talk about the little things. I learn more about his history and who he is as a person. He grew up in Erie, Pennsylvania, a town that is both a port city and a rusted-down former high point of manufacturing. His house wasn’t luxurious, really just a box with beds inside. But it charged him to bring himself out of squalor. Find something to make himself successful and then embrace that for the rest of his life.

  College came for him rather easily. University of Pittsburgh. While there, his life ballooned. He met the right people who inspired him to keep working hard. Something he never got back home. Time passed and he started enjoying his engineering and business classes. He double-majored in both, a rare accomplishment for many students. Each of those degrees required a certain level of commitment, so he decided to embrace both full on. Having skills in both areas would help push him to the top of the business chain, specifically somewhere in the tech field.

  Whispers hovered above him during his college days about the tech field, specifically businesses in Silicon Valley. He heard about all these tech firms growing their social networks and softwares as a service. And so he did the same, but his cunning conservative attitude sparked an idea. California was too expensive. There’d be no way to make money if he embraced it. So instead, he found the Silicon Slopes — an area in northern Utah — where he could make the most bang for his buck.