Christmas Cliché

by Tara Sivec

  I start up the SUV and shake my head at her. “Are you coming with me or are you going to stand there all day?”

  “You know I have a manicure at five…” She trails off, and I put the vehicle in gear. “Okay, fine! I’ll call Sylvia and reschedule.”

  Millie opens the door and hops in, and I don’t even wait for her to put on her seatbelt before I’m hitting the remote to open the gate and pulling out of the driveway.

  “I’m totally loving this for you, by the way,” she informs me a few minutes later while putting on lip-gloss after she rescheduled her nail appointment, and I head toward LAX.

  Jesus, what in the hell am I doing? Am I really driving to the airport right now without tickets or any kind of a plan?

  “You could use a nice, relaxing vacation on a beach somewhere,” Millie continues as I start to second-guess my decision to just walk away from my life. “Paris exhausted me. I could use some beach time. What are we thinking? Fiji? The Maldives? Maybe a little throwback to the Bahamas?”

  I should turn around. This is ridiculous and irresponsible and so not me.

  My phone starts vibrating and dinging from the back pocket of my jeans, and I lean sideways in my seat so Millie can reach over and get it for me.

  “Where are you? Are you picking up the dresses? Can you grab me an extra-hot, non-fat soy latte when you come back? Seriously, where are you? We don’t have time for you to slack off right now,” Millie reads my incoming texts out loud. “Shall I continue reading them or can I tell those little shits to suck your dick?”

  My phone continues to vibrate and beep with more texts, and I put my foot right back on the gas pedal where I had temporarily removed it, increasing my speed and turning on my blinker for the exit to LAX.

  “That’s my girl,” Millie says with a smile, reaching over and patting my knee. “So, seriously. Where are we going? I haven’t been to Greece in a few months. I just want you to know that I love you, Allie, and I am with you every step of the way.”

  “Good,” I tell her with a nod. “How do you feel about West Virginia?”

  “Stop the fucking car.”

  “I get my drugs from my driver.”

  “Please tell me you are not seriously calling me from West Virginia!” Jamie shouts through the phone.

  I bite my bottom lip as I look out the gas station window, listening to Dolly Parton sing about a hard candy Christmas on the local radio station piped through the speakers. I also watch the rapidly falling snow that has already completely covered my rental in the ten minutes we’ve been in here.

  “What? No! Of course not! I was just kidding!” I laugh nervously.

  My eyes dart over to Millie up by the register when I hear her speak to the gas station attendant, “Little man, can you point me in the direction of the avocados?”

  “There’s no way I drove away from my life with my best friend in the passenger seat, sort of like a hostage, because there was a lot of screaming and swearing and I think she punched me twice, and then hopped on the first flight we could get to West Virginia, with just the L.A. winter clothes we’re wearing. Which, it turns out, is not the appropriate clothing to wear for real winter, and whatever stuff Millie packed in those go-bags, which I’ve still been afraid to open, so I made her grab my phone out of one before we came in here,” I ramble to Jamie with another uncomfortable laugh.

  Internal screaming! What. Have. I. Done?

  I now realize calling my cousin as soon as I found the first place to turn off after we left the airport and saying “Guess where I am?” as soon as she answered wasn’t the best idea.

  Why in the hell did I think any of this was a good idea?

  Before we checked them in at the airport, Millie took my phone from me, powered it down, and shoved it into one of the go-bags she’d packed months ago and stowed in my car. The non-stop vibrating and pinging with texts from my sisters was driving both of us nuts, and I was one ping away from turning around and going back home just to make the noise stop.

  Once we landed and got the last available rental car, I was so nervous driving in snow for the first time in my life—and in one of the worst blizzards the state has seen in years—that it didn’t even occur to me my phone was still in the bag, and I had yet to let Jamie know I was finally taking her up on her offer to visit. A little bit too late.

  “Allie Parker, I cannot believe you are in West Virginia for the first time in forever and I’m not!” Jamie wails through the line, the snow falling so hard now that I can’t even see the car anymore through the window. “I feel so bad. I never heard from you, so I just assumed your answer was no, just like every year.”

  I’m trying to pretend like Jamie never said the words “My mother-in-law bought us a trip to Disney for Christmas” a few minutes ago.

  “Don’t feel bad at all! I can’t believe you’re in Disney with your mother-in-law,” I counter. “You hate Disney. And your mother-in-law.”

  “I know,” Jamie groans. “But it was a free trip to Florida in December. I live in the goddamn frozen tundra, Allie. I’m weak.”

  Since I’m currently experiencing this frozen tundra she speaks of for the first time in a long time, I can concur. I just got here and I already want to leave. Even my hair is cold. I want to kick myself in the ass for not thinking this through better. I need layers. And sweaters, and leggings, and fuzzy socks, and hats, and scarves. The twins did a photoshoot in Vale last year. I had to order and pack all the winter shit they thought they needed for the whole eighteen hours they spent inside a ski resort while they were there. If I would have just taken ten minutes to actually think about this ridiculous idea, I probably could have found everything I needed shoved into the back of the twins’ giant walk-in closet, half of it with the tags still on.

  More internal screaming! And shivering.

  “You have a plan B, right? I mean, I know getting on that plane was a spur of the moment decision, but you’re Allie Parker. You make lists about the lists you have to make.”

  “Yes, for Tori and Zoey. I organize the shit out of their lives,” I remind her, thinking about the fur-lined North Face ski coat I ordered that Tori refused to wear because it was “itchy,” and how warm and cozy it would feel right now. “My own life? It’s never required planning or a list. Unless you count the sticky note on my fridge with a list of my Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime Video login information. It’s fine. We’ll just go back to the airport. I’m sure we can get a flight back home.”

  “This place is super cute, Allie, and I’m loving the rustic vibe, but they don’t have fresh avocados. My B-6 is getting low,” Millie says, walking up to me with her designer bag still hanging off of her bent elbow as she glances around at all the junk food like it might attack her.

  Holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder while Jamie starts talking about a plan, I grab the closest thing to me with one hand and Millie’s cocked wrist with the other, smacking the item into her open palm.

  “There you go. Beef jerky. It probably has some sort of vitamin in it. Eat up,” I whisper to her, focusing back on what Jamie is saying.

  “…called The Redinger House, and you’re less than an hour away. Just ask for Jen. We went to college together, and her family is really nice. I’ll text you the address as soon as we hang up,” Jamie finishes.

  “What is this? Is this… meat wrapped in plastic? Just sitting on a shelf?” Millie asks in disgust, holding the beef jerky out away from her between her thumb and forefinger.

  “I don’t know, Jamie.” I sigh, looking back out the window at the rapidly falling snow. “It might just be easier to go back home. Do this another time, when I actually have a plan.”

  Although we both know if I go home right now, I’ll never come back. Something will always come up. There will always be a fire to put out.

  “Have you even looked out the window or checked the news?” Jamie asks as I look away from Millie finally tearing into the plastic beef jerky wrapper to glance out the wi
ndow again. “They closed all the airports in West Virginia a little bit ago. We’re watching right now in the hotel. No flights in or out. Looks like you got lucky and you were on the last flight in.”

  Lucky? Oh no. This is not luck.

  “I love you, Allie, and I am here for you,” Millie says, taking a dainty bite off the end of the jerky. “But I am not flying coach again. There were so many people coughing. The gentleman sitting next to me tried to have a conversation with me. It’s uncivilized. No one should travel that way.”

  This is hell.

  “Listen, I know this isn’t the most ideal situation, since I’m not there.” Jamie laughs. “But going by your cryptic text messages and Facebook PM’s over the last year, I think you need a break. Stay in West Virginia at my friend’s bed-and-breakfast, and then the day after Christmas, when we get home from Florida, come stay with me and spend New Year’s with us, so you can figure your shit out.”

  We spend a few more minutes talking about how she’s currently in a worse hell than I am, and when she recounts how someone else’s kid threw up on her on Magic Mountain that afternoon, I think I might agree. Jamie ends the call, promising to send me the address to her friend’s bed-and-breakfast, but I don’t promise I’ll see her after Christmas. I’ve already broken enough promises at this point, and who knows what will happen between now and then.

  “I am not loving the texture of this shelf meat, but I’m not totally hating the flavor,” Millie informs me when I hang up, taking another small bite from the end of her stick. “So, tell me all about the five-star resort you procured for us. Of course we’ll need a butler, and since I’ve never done snow before, a private ski instructor will be a must. This cold air is already wreaking havoc on my facial, so we have to book acid peels in the spa ASAP. Oh, and we should make sure the turndown service includes a candlelit milk bath with organic herbal tea. Let me see, what else….”

  “Ooorrr, we could just stay at a small bed-and-breakfast in a place called Snowfall Mountain, because it’s literally the only form of civilization between here and my cousin’s house,” I tell her.

  The smile Millie had on her face when she was listing off all the amenities of her dreams gets even bigger in the fakest way possible.

  “Loving this!” she exclaims with a little shimmy of her body. “Quaint and rustic. We’ll use one of those adorable wooden outside bathrooms with the moon cut into the door, drink sketchy moonshine out of mason jars, and listen to someone play a banjo around a fire. Become one with nature. Instagram will adore it.”

  “They don’t have outhouses. We’re in West Virginia, Millie, not on another planet.”

  “So you say.” She scoffs. “The little man at the register has no idea who we are. He didn’t even ask for our picture.”

  She looks back over her shoulder and shouts to the man. “Little man! Would you like a photo with us?”

  “Huh?” is his only reply.

  “See?” Millie shrugs, turning back to me. “It’s like we’re on Mars. So cute!”

  “Will you stop calling him little man? He’s over seventy.” I sigh. “This was the worst idea ever.”

  Millie takes another bite of her beef jerky and then grabs my phone out of my hand after it dings three times.

  “Oh look!” she exclaims. “A new text from the Twats of Terror. Allie, come home and wipe our asses!” Millie says in a high-pitched voice as she swipes through the messages I’ve missed on my phone.

  “Give me that,” I mutter, grabbing my cell back out of her hand and looking at the texts. “They didn’t send that.”

  “They may as well have,” Millie says, reaching next to my shoulder and grabbing another beef jerky stick from the display. “It’s only a matter of time before they do, if you don’t get your own life apart from theirs.”

  “You promised you’d keep a good eye on them, Allie.”

  I quickly blink away the tears that cloud my vision when my mom’s voice echoes in my head.

  “They’re my responsibility,” I reply quietly, watching Millie tear into her second shelf meat with glee.

  “You didn’t birth them. They’re twenty-four-year-old adults who need to start taking care of themselves and stop calling big sis every time they need something,” Millie states through a mouthful of jerky. “I love you, but your life makes me sad. And not just because of your fashion choices. You deserve to be happy, Allie. Taking care of your sisters does not make you happy.”

  And this is why I’m friends with Millie Chamberlin.

  “Now, should I call Daddy and have him send his plane? A little bit of snow won’t stop him if I cry a little when I call,” she finishes.

  I laugh and shake my head at her.

  “Don’t give me that look. We’re talking about your sisters’ issues, not mine. I have a therapist for that. Those twats have you. Which needs to end now.”

  My phone chimes a few more times in my hand and I know she’s right. Without letting the guilt settle too deeply in my gut, I quickly copy the address to the bed-and-breakfast Jamie already sent me, put it in a text to Millie, and then power down my phone without looking at any of the messages from my sisters or my mom.

  “This is going to be good for you. I can feel it.” Millie nods with approval. “It could be my skin cracking from the cold, but I’m pretty confident what I’m feeling is nothing but good things ahead for you. But, if we’re going to continue on with this quest of finding yourself, which I fully support btw, then I’m going to need something to help me get through this.”

  She turns on the toes of her heels and marches down the aisle of potato chips and right up to the register, tapping her hand against the counter twice when I get up to her. The older gentleman sitting on a stool behind the counter slowly looks up at her from his newspaper spread out in front of him.

  “Excuse me, little man, do you know where we could get some Ecstasy?”

  “Millie!” I bark, grabbing her arm and pulling her back away from the counter then lowering my voice. “You can’t ask a gas station attendant for drugs!”

  “I don’t know how things work here!” she whispers back. “I get my drugs from my driver. Oooh!”

  Her face brightens and she turns back to the man, who is looking at us like he isn’t sure if he should call the cops or not.

  “Excuse me, little man, can I speak to your driver?” Millie asks.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter before apologizing to the poor man as I pull Millie away and toward the door.

  He tells us to have a merry Christmas, and I just wave back as I tug Millie along behind me. I let go of her arm to push open the door and walk right out into Alaska. Or what I assume it’s like in Alaska. I come to a stop halfway to the snow-covered rental, big fluffy flakes falling steadily down around me and piled up on the ground to above my ankles, which does not feel comfortable at all when wearing Converse with no socks, a T-shirt, and a thin flannel I found in my backseat when we got to the airport.

  “It’s fine. We’ll be fine. Jamie said we’re less than an hour from Snowfall Mountain and the bed-and-breakfast and that it’s a straight shot on this road we’re on right now. I’ll just keep driving really slow and we’ll be fine,” I tell Millie, turning completely around in the snow when she doesn’t answer me, to find her still standing in the doorway.

  “Isn’t there someone who can, you know—” Millie makes a shooing motion with her hand. “—move this stuff out of the way so I can get to the car?”

  “No,” I sigh, wrapping my arms around myself and rubbing my hands up and down them to try and keep warm. “There is no one who will shovel a path for you to the car. I’m going to get in and get warm before I clean off the car. Feel free to stand there all day and freeze to death.”

  I turn and run through the snow to the car, hearing Millie shout behind me.

  “I’m good. Don’t worry about me! I am loving this snowy look on you!”

  After I’ve brushed off most of the snow with the scraper the
rental company conveniently left in the backseat of the car and we’re both inside with the heat on full blast, Millie turns in her seat to face me. A Christmas song comes on the radio, and I quickly lean over and punch the button to turn it off, wondering if my mom had to go pick up the dresses for the dinner party that started two hours ago.

  “Stop feeling guilty,” Millie says, reading my mind.

  “I just want to get to this bed-and-breakfast and sleep until Christmas is over.”

  She looks at me with wide eyes and presses her hand over her heart. “You brought me to another planet, and we’re not even going to celebrate Christmas? What kind of a monster are you?” Millie complains dramatically.

  “You’re Jewish. You don’t give two shits about Christmas,” I remind her.

  “Holy shit, I’m Jewish?” she shouts, which makes a burst of laughter fly out of me. She holds the shocked look for a few seconds before letting it fall and chuckling along with me. “See? Doesn’t it feel nice to be happy and laugh? This will be good for you, I promise,” Millie assures me as we buckle our seatbelts, and I ever so slowly start pulling out of the gas station. “But just so you know, last year when I didn’t celebrate Christmas, my friend Piper and I woke up in Ibiza, in bed with a guy who only spoke Portuguese, and I was only wearing a scarf.”

  “Jesus, Millie.” I laugh, gripping the steering wheel so hard I’m afraid I might break it as I ease the car through the snow on what I hope is still the road.

  “I know! It was an off-the-rack scarf. God, it was so embarrassing,” she laments.

  My hands start to sweat when the falling snow begins to create an optical illusion that makes it look like the snow is falling at us instead of on us and I’m driving into a vortex. Glancing at Millie’s phone she stuck in the cell stand attached to the vent, with the GPS and directions to The Redinger House pulled up, I realize we still have quite a way to go in this crap at the speed I’m driving.