Christmas Cliché

by Tara Sivec

  Not only do the bedrooms each have a Christmas decoration theme, but the kitchen does as well. A colorful, glittery, Christmas candy theme. There’s a large white tree in the corner of the huge, farmhouse-style kitchen, filled with glittery candy and sucker ornaments. There are sparkly pink and pastel green suckers hang from the ceiling with fishing line. A sparkly Christmas candy-themed village is lit up and spread out around the tops of all the kitchen cabinets, and all the canisters and utensils on the counter have been replaced with pretty pink and light green shiny canisters and utensils, as well as the kitchen towels and oven mitts.

  And right smack in the middle of all of this pastel and sparkle explosion is a hot guy wearing two pink, sparkly oven mitts, cursing as he pulls something black and smoking out of the oven. Turning away from the oven and tossing the small pan on top of the kitchen island, he rests one oven-mitt-covered hand next to it, bringing the other one up to scratch his forehead with the mitt, leaving a bunch of sparkles behind when he drops his hand.

  I cough out a laugh, which makes Jason whip his head up from the smoking pile of ash and look over at me in the doorway. Walking into the room, I stop on the other side of the island, keeping the blanket clutched around me as I lean my elbows on the counter.

  “I heard you moving around upstairs, so I thought I’d reheat your dinner,” Jason explains, pointing aggressively to the unidentified black object on the pan with his oven mitt.

  My heart beats a little faster and butterflies flutter around in my stomach that he would do something like that for me, and that he’s so annoyed with himself that he screwed it up.

  He suddenly realizes he’s still wearing the pink glittery oven mitts and quickly rips them off his hands before tossing them as far away from him as possible. I laugh again when they both land under the kitchen table, way over by the corner eating nook.

  “Jesus, there’s glitter everywhere,” Jason complains with a shake of his head, trying to swipe some of it off the counter where it’s fallen from a glass vase filled with huge, glittery pink-and-green-striped suckers on wooden sticks, made out of Styrofoam.

  “You, uh… you have it right there.”

  I keep my blanket around me with one hand, pointing at his face with the other, laughing when he curses under his breath, reaching up and swiping at his forehead and one of his cheeks. It just makes it worse, since his hand is covered in glitter after wiping off the counter, and I laugh harder.

  “This is ridiculous,” he says with a shake of his head as I get up on my tiptoes and lean across the counter.

  “Here, let help.”

  My fingertips are brushing across Jason’s forehead and down over one of his glittery cheeks before I can even second-guess what I’m doing. I just reached out and touched him, and God does he smell good and look good, and I don’t even realize I’ve stopped brushing glitter off his cheek and my hand is just there. Not moving. Not brushing. Not helping him in any way. Just holding the side of his face.

  Neither one of us moves, and I’m holding my breath as he looks right into my eyes, just a few inches from me, since at some point he leaned across the counter toward me. I can’t tell if he likes that I’m doing this or if he’s standing perfectly still and not breathing either, because he thinks I’m some kind of a psycho, touching a man I just met like I’ve known him for years.

  Wake up, idiot! You’re petting him again, and this time, you can’t blame it on drugs.

  With an uncomfortable clearing of my throat, I quickly jerk my hand away from his face and lean back, pointing down at the charred mess that has finally stopped smoking on the pan in between us.

  “What was that, before you decided to cremate it?” I ask him.

  Jason chuckles instead of calling me a freak for touching him so casually, and my heart beat slows down to a normal rate.

  “Well, part of the chaos happening around here right now is that our cook slipped on some ice this morning and broke her leg in three places,” Jason tells me, grabbing a towel from the counter, lifting the pan, and walking over to a huge, oak garbage can at the end of the island, dumping the charred remains into the trash. “My mom is the world’s best baker, but she’s not a cook. She ordered pizza for everyone tonight, and I was attempting to reheat a piece in the oven for you, but I got distracted with a phone call about our next food shipment.”

  My heart does that stupid pitter-patter thing again, but I ignore it.

  “Well, you get an A for effort. Thank you for trying, but you didn’t have to do that. I’m fine with cold pizza, honestly,” I reassure him as he opens up the fridge and pulls out a pizza box and a bottle of water, setting them on the counter in front of me.

  I stop him again when he goes to a cabinet and starts to pull out a plate and silverware, flipping open the lid as my blanket pools around my lap while I grab a piece, taking a giant bite of it.

  “Seriously, this is good. No one needs plates and silverware for pizza,” I tell him as I chew, taking another bite as he goes back to his spot, leaning against the counter across from me.

  “Millie ate her pizza on my mom’s good wedding china, cutting and eating one tiny piece at a time with her fork and knife, wanting to know what part of Italy the ‘chef’ purchased her produce from,” Jason says, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile, letting me know that after only a short amount of time, he gets how Millie is and isn’t offended by the things she says.

  “She’s my best friend, but we are polar opposites in every way. I like eating cold pizza out of a box and watching Netflix in my pajamas all weekend, and I really don’t care where my clothes come from, as long as they fit and they’re comfortable.” I shrug, taking another bite of the best pizza I’ve ever had.

  “Can I apologize again for being a dick this morning?” he asks softly, my chews slowing down as I watch him from across the counter. “It’s got to be really weird meeting people and they think they know everything about you. I guess I just assumed you being nice was just an act, because—”

  “Because you’ve read the tabloids and watched the entertainment news,” I finish quietly, the last bite of pizza I’m trying to finish turning into a hard lump in my throat I’m having a difficult time swallowing.

  “Bite your tongue. I’m a manly man,” he replies indignantly, making me laugh through the pit of misery in my stomach. “I’ve actually never seen an episode of your family’s show. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Jen and my mom are huge fans. They watch the show together religiously every week, even though—no offense—they can’t stand your sisters. They only watch it for the once-in-a-blue-moon-times you say something off camera. They think you’re awesome. They don’t want you to think they’re some sort of crazy girl fans or whatever.”

  I laugh again and shake my head at him, shocked to find out that Jen and Joy have watched the show, only because they never said anything. I’ve never been around show watchers for this amount of time who haven’t either immediately went off on me for being what they assume is a snobby bitch for not wanting to be on the show, or asking me a million questions non-stop about my sisters and their personal lives.

  “They’re called fangirls,” I inform him with a smile. “And it’s fine. Shocking, but fine. I have zero fangirls. Most people hate me, so this is a refreshing change of pace.”

  My eyes meet Jason’s to find him studying me seriously.

  “My mom and Jen give me an earful every time they see or read something new about you. They get very angry on your behalf. They don’t really say very nice things about you in the media, do they?” he asks quietly, as I feel a whole section of the ice around my heart crumble away.

  “Not really, but that’s my life. Or… it was my life.” I sigh, grabbing the blanket around my waste and pulling it back up over my shoulders when I get a chill, thinking about my shit-show life. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Or what I want to do. I thought I could just run away from everything and forget about Christmas while I figured things out.”


  Jason makes a show of looking around the heavily decorated kitchen as I finish off my slice of pizza, using the towel he left on the counter to wipe off my hands.

  “Yeah, I don’t see that happening during your stay here.”

  We laugh together and I shrug.

  “It’s fine. Christmas is usually depressing for me, so I mostly just ignore it anyway and do all the stuff related to my family’s ridiculous Christmas Eve party on autopilot. It’s kind of nice being around people who actually love the holiday, and family time, and aren’t doing it for show.”

  “Well, just so you know—and I’m being completely serious right now—you showing up here right before Christmas is a better present for my mom and my sister than if the real baby Jesus was just birthed in the barn out back.”

  I can’t help it; I throw my head back and laugh hard.

  “Stop! Now you’re just exaggerating,” I say through my laughter, my cheeks hurting from all the smiling I’m doing.

  “Can you feel that?” Jason suddenly whispers, leaning across the counter closer to me, while I hold perfectly still, trying to feel something.

  I can feel my fingers itching with the need to reach out and touch your face again, but that’s about it.

  Clutching the blanket around my shoulders tighter in my hands so I don’t do exactly that, I shake my head at him without a word.

  “I do believe I feel my family’s crazy Christmas spirit taking its hold of you. No one can resist it when they’re at The Redinger House,” Jason says as he looks at me with a smirk.

  “What you’re feeling is probably heartburn from the pizza. Try a Tums,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’m no longer screaming at the sight of Christmas decorations, but that’s about as much progress as I’m willing to make.”

  Even though part of me wants to stay down here talking to him all night long, another part of me wants to curl back up in bed just so I can stare at the Christmas tree lights in the dark.

  I know we just met, but wanna go upstairs and snuggle by the tree?

  “What about you?” I ask. “Didn’t I hear something about you being a Grinch and not in the mood to decorate your place? Maybe you should worry about feeling yourself.”

  I hear it as soon as it comes out of my mouth, wishing I wasn’t such a dork when it comes to the opposite sex.

  Jason rests his elbows in the middle of the counter, sliding them closer and closer to me until our faces are only a few inches apart.

  “You were adorable half-dressed for a blizzard, and when you had to borrow one of my sister’s ugly Christmas sweaters,” he tells me honestly. “But you’re goddamn stunning when you’re relaxed and laughing, and I think being here in my family’s Christmas wonderland has something to do with it.”

  Or you do, you smooth-talking mountain man. I will sit on Santa’s lap and share some eggnog with an elf if you promise to take your pants off.

  “I’m suddenly in the mood to not be so Grinchy,” he continues. “Quick: favorite Christmas candy, and is Die Hard really a Christmas movie?”

  Even though I’m completely self-conscious about laughing after what he just said to me in that low, sexy voice, I can’t help but giggle.

  “Oh hell no! I am not answering that question. Nope, no way.” I shake my head. “Relationships have ended, friendships have died, and wars have been raged over the answer to that question. Nice try.” I laugh again.

  “So you’re saying we have something, and you don’t want to ruin it by answering a question that should be so easy it doesn’t even require thought. Awww, I’m touched, Allie,” Jason gushes, holding his hands over his heart.

  “You’re ridiculous. And you’re right, the answer to that question is so easy that it doesn’t require thought, but I’m still not answering it.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll wear you down eventually. But that means you have to answer the favorite candy question,” he reminds me.

  This one doesn’t require any thought either. For the first time in a long time, I smile when I think about the clear, Christmas-tree-shaped candy jar Granny always had on her coffee table in the living room, filled with every single individually wrapped kind of Christmas candy they sold at the store. There was one piece of candy Granny always bought just for me every year, because I was the only one in the family who loved them.

  “I don’t know what they were called, but they were these circular peppermint chewy taffy things, with a red and white stripe around the edge, and a green tree in the middle.”

  “Ahhh yes.” Jason nods. “I believe those were called Christmas Nougats or something like that.”

  “Yes! That’s them. God, I haven’t thought about those in years. I wonder if they even still make them,” I muse, when it suddenly occurs to me that the house is still really quiet and we’ve been in here for a while without any kind of interruption. “Where is everyone?”

  “Oh, my parents have a barn out back that they remodeled into a sort of makeshift movie theater with a bunch of mismatched furniture and a sheet hanging on the wall with a movie projector,” Jason explains. “Every night after dinner and after everyone gets ready for bed, they can bundle up and walk over to the barn, where my dad plays a different Christmas movie every night. Everyone’s over there watching Scrooged.”

  “Even Millie?” I ask in shock. “You know she’s Jewish, right?”

  “Holy shit, seriously?” Jason laughs. “She was the most excited to go over there and watch a Christmas movie. She even forced everyone to sing Christmas carols for her when they trudged through the snow over there.”

  That’s my Millie, always the life of the party.

  A few minutes later, Jason apologizes when he gets a call from work, and the house starts coming back to life when a few people who cut out of the movie early come back. Knowing I won’t be able to sleep for hours after the nap I took, and not wanting to go find Millie and interrupt her good time so I can dissect every single thing Jason said to me tonight, I head back upstairs, figuring I’ll do some more reading and relaxing.

  When I get upstairs and everything Jason said to me tonight is still playing on a loop in my head, I grab the red gift bag off the dresser and pull out the stocking with my name on it.

  “You’re goddamn stunning when you’re relaxed and laughing, and I think being here in my family’s Christmas wonderland has something to do with it.”

  No one has ever called me stunning in my life. Hearing his voice in my head, so honest and filled with conviction, makes me want to believe him. And maybe give a little bit of this Christmas spirit a try.

  Without giving it another thought, I fling open the bedroom door and hang my stocking outside on the handle.

  “I love you, but you have no game.”

  Waking up the next morning, I’m happy to see it’s no longer snowing when I look outside. Not that I minded being stuck inside with nothing to do but sleep, read, and chat with Jason, but it would be nice to get some fresh air without worrying about dying.

  I check out my reflection in the mirror above the dresser, wondering what the hell Jason saw in me when he said I was stunning last night. Thankfully, I always carry my makeup staples in my purse: cover-up, blush, one tube of generic mascara that gives Millie an honest-to-God anxiety attack where she can’t breathe when she sees me use it, and classic cherry ChapStick. My thick brown hair is pulled up into my usually messy bun, and I’m wearing another pair of leggings and a hoodie from Jen. Honestly, I don’t care if we never make it to the other side of the mountain to shop. I hate shopping. I’d be fine just borrowing Jen’s comfortable clothes. I wasn’t lying when I told Jason I like comfort over name brands.

  I do look more relaxed, I notice, leaning closer to the mirror and not seeing the bags under my eyes that are usually there. Whatever. He’s hot. And a general contractor, which means he’s probably good with his hands. I’m sure he’s not hurting for female companionship. He probably says stuff like that to all the women in his general
age range who come here. Just because no one has ever said anything like that to me doesn’t mean anything.

  Turning away from the mirror with an annoyed huff that I was actually worrying about what I looked like in case I might run into Jason, I fling open the bedroom door, stopping short when my Christmas stocking smacks against the wood with a thunk.

  Only a stocking with something in it would make a sound like that. I try to play it cool as I reach my hand into the red-and-green-knit stocking, but I actually bounce a little with excitement when my hand wraps around what feels like pieces of individually wrapped candy. Pulling my hand out, the smile on my face turns into a mouth-dropped-open gasp when I see what’s in the palm of my hand.

  Red-and-white-striped, plastic-wrapped peppermint taffy, with green trees in the center.

  He put Christmas nougats in my stocking.

  Another piece of ice melts away from my heart, and I quickly drop all the nougats back into the stocking except for one, unwrapping it and popping the chewy peppermint into my mouth as I head downstairs to the kitchen.

  I wave to a few guests I met yesterday who are enjoying their coffee as I walk through the sitting room and smile to a few others I recognize hanging out in the dining room. I head down the hallway toward the kitchen, where I hear a whole bunch of pots banging and a few voices.

  “…has something to do with Allie.”

  I stop abruptly right outside the doorway when I hear my name.

  “Mom,” I hear Jason say, her name coming out of his mouth like a warning for her to stop.

  “I’m just saying, ever since that young woman showed up, you’ve been here helping an awful lot. And yet, nothing seems to be getting done.”

  I hear Jason mutter something that sounds like a few curses, followed by Joy laughing.

  “Oh stop. You know I love seeing your handsome face here as much as possible. And what have Jen and I been telling you all these years? I knew those tabloids were a bunch of trash and she was nothing like her sisters. She is so nice and so pretty! Not fake-pretty like her sisters, but really pretty. I see why you haven’t gone home yet since she got here. Jason, sweetheart, I love you, but you have no game. Let me ask her out for you.”