Christmas Cliché

by Tara Sivec

  “Maybe.” I shrug.

  “Go already. I need to meditate. You just don’t know the stress I’m under right now. I’ve been invited to fifteen New Year’s Eve parties. My entire life will be ruined if I don’t choose wisely,” Millie complains.

  Leaving her to her very important decision, Jen lets out a cheer of excitement before turning and speed-walking down the hallway ahead of us. Jason holds his hand out for me to take, and I easily slide my hand in his, pulling the door closed behind me as he leads me down the hallway. Jen is now long gone in her excitement that I’m agreeing to fix their appetizer emergency. He talks about the Christmas shopping he still has left to do, telling me what he already bought for his family and asking for my advice on the few things he still has left to buy. We make plans to go to the other side of the mountain tomorrow morning so we can both shop and get some lunch, but I remind him that I want to make sure Missy is handling the breakfast rush first before we go.

  Seriously, who am I right now?

  It feels natural and right to be holding this man’s hand, walking through his family’s bed-and-breakfast, making plans together like it’s something we do all the time. He even switches sides with me as we walk by the stupid, giant nutcracker in the sitting room, without missing a beat or pausing what he’s saying, just so I’m as far from it as possible.

  Seriously, out of everything, that’s probably what removes the last bit of ice from around my heart. As ridiculous as my fear of nutcrackers is, he moved me away without even thinking about it. He just… did it, while in the middle of complaining about how much he hates wrapping.

  When we finally get to the kitchen and I see Joy frantically trying to salvage the food by rinsing off slices of cheese in the sink, I let go of Jason’s hand to give her a quick hug before gently removing the soggy cheese from her hand and tossing it in the trash.

  “Allie, have I told you lately that you are a Christmas miracle?” Joy asks, giving me a kiss on the cheek before stepping back and wiping her hands on her apron. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take my son with me while you’re saving our asses once again. Give him a few pointers and make sure he doesn’t screw this up.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Jason mutters from behind me, making me laugh.

  Joy leans closer to me and lowers her voice.

  “But just in case he doesn’t take my advice and screws this all up, condoms are in the nightstand drawer of every room. You make sure you get yourself some first,” she says with a wink.

  “Okay, you need to go now,” Jason says, moving around me and behind his mother, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her toward the door.

  When she’s well on her way, Jason is sure she isn’t going to turn around and impart any other words of wisdom, and Joy stops to talk with Jen in the kitchen doorway, he backtracks a few steps until he’s standing right in front of me.

  “What’s the one thing you want for Christmas more than anything else?” he asks.

  “For it to be less peopley outside.”

  “Dammit, that’s what I asked for,” he complains with playful pout.

  “I can’t just blurt out the one thing I want for Christmas more than anything. There’s a process involved. A handshake that is kind of gross but necessary. It’s all very complex, and honestly, top secret. I’m not sure you’re ready for it,” I tell him, smiling to myself when I think about the Christmas wish stick-it, lick-it thing Jamie and I used to do.

  Jason turns his body toward me, closing the final foot between us and reaching up to press one hand to the side of my face, cupping my cheek in his hand. My heart thumps rapidly in my chest as his warm hand holds me in place and he slowly, slowly leans his face closer and closer to mine, until I feel like I’m going to die if he doesn’t put his mouth on mine. Right when my eyes start to flutter closed… and I can feel his breath on my lips… and I can practically taste him… he pauses.

  “Believe me, Allie, I’m ready for it.”

  He says those words right against my mouth before pulling back, dropping his hand, and walking away.

  Jen has to say my name five times after Jason walks out of the kitchen before I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.

  Goddamn Christmas magic.

  Shaking all the dirty, dirty thoughts about her brother out of my head, I put Jen in charge of cleaning up the egg nog mess and throwing everything away, while I take over pulling things out of the fridge and making every yummy appetizer I can think of that will go together quickly and still taste amazing.

  Through it all, Jen asks me about my life in L.A., but not in a pushy “I’m a fan and just want know intimate details” way. She’s honestly interested in me, and what I like to do, and what my interests are. We talk about guys she dated before Brian, and we laugh about the handful of duds I’ve dated who made me want to swear off men forever. I admit to her that I’ve never met anyone like her brother before and it scares the shit out of me. She tells me she’s never seen her brother like this with anyone, and that it scares the shit out of her, because she doesn’t want to see him get hurt. I love that she’s honest with me, and I love that I instinctively know I can be honest with her.

  I cook, and Jen helps where she can, and we talk, and we laugh, and we offer advice to each other, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I have what I’ve always wanted from my sisters. Someone who also cares about my life, and my feelings, and what I want.

  I’m sorry for what I said when I was hangry, Christmas magic.

  “Shhh, math.”

  “I don’t know why I’m stalling. He’s hot. And he’s sweet. And he likes me. But I don’t know what I’m doing. I should have practiced more,” I mutter, the glass moose mug filled with spiked eggnog pulled out of my hand right when I was bringing it up to my mouth.

  “How many of these have you had?” Millie asks, setting the glass down on top of the bar in the finished basement of The Redinger House.

  “Not nearly enough. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you were standing here talking to two very enormous cats that should maybe try Keto,” Millie says, nodding to the two large animals asleep on top of the bar right in front of me.

  “Fa and La are very good listeners,” I tell her, running my hand down the orange, tiger-striped fur of whichever one this is.

  “You’re also still fully clothed down here with everyone else playing Bunco, when the man who has been eye-fucking you across the room all night disappeared upstairs a few minutes ago,” she adds, picking up the moose mug and shoving it back into my hand. “Drink up. Or better yet, chug it. Pretend like you’re twelve and at your first fraternity mixer.”

  I do as she says, downing the delicious, creamy, nutmeg drink that Joy put someone else in charge of making, who had a very heavy hand with the brandy, but also had a heavy hand keeping the lid on the blender, thank goodness.

  Glancing around the finished basement when I set the empty glass down, I smile at everyone in Christmas pajamas and bathrobes, who are spread out around the room in groups of four at various round card tables, rolling dice, and laughing and yelling, while Christmas music plays from a Bluetooth speaker over on the food table.

  The basement decorating was definitely left up to John, and John filled it with every Budweiser Christmas decoration he could. There’s a tree decorated with empty beer cans, and a garland of beer bottle caps. Empty beer cases with huge bows on them are under the tree, beer can lights are hung all around the room, and various Budweiser signs that light up, with the iconic Clydesdale horses dashing through snow, are hung on the walls around the room.

  With the sounds of everyone talking and laughing while playing Bunco, and watching everyone inhale all the appetizers I made, it almost feels like I’m back in my granny’s basement during our family’s annual poker party. I love that I’m finally enjoying all these memories now, instead of constantly pushing them away.

  “If you’re going to continue standing here, tal
king to animals instead of going in search of our other team member, who still hasn’t returned from upstairs since the last round ended, then I’m going to walk away, because it’s too painful to watch.”

  Leaning over one of the huge cats who doesn’t even lift his head or blink when she has to slide him down the bar and out of her way, Millie grabs a bottle of beer from an ice bucket, turns, and walks back over to the other side of the basement, holding the bottle in the air.

  “I don’t want to make any of you uncomfortable by getting a glass, so I will drink this beverage from its bottle, just like an ordinary person!” she announces as I turn back around to look at Fa and La.

  Everyone cheers for Millie and I shake my head, glancing over at the stairs and tapping my nails nervously against the top of the bar while I wait for Jason to reappear.

  “God, what is wrong with me?” I ask the cats.

  Neither one of them moves or answers me.

  Another checkmark in the plus column, since I am not drunk, and this is not one of those Christmas movies with magical talking cats who work for Santa that will fix my Christmas woes, contrary to what Millie thinks.

  I should have gone upstairs right after Jason did. The Bunco round was over, and we had a few minutes before the next one started. We both got up and headed over here to the bar to get a drink, when he suddenly said he’d be right back and ran his hand along my lower back as he turned and walked away.

  Was that a sign? Was that a sign I stupidly missed, because I don’t know how to human?

  I stood here talking to the cats, the spot on my back where he touched me tingling the entire time, and I waited too long. Now if I go up, we’ll probably meet on the stairs and I’ll have to make up some sort of reason why I’m going up when he’s coming down.

  “Whew, that eggnog is going right through me!”

  “Everyone decided to move game night upstairs. And by everyone, I mean me.”

  “Wooohooo, we’re going streaking in the quad!”

  The Bunco game behind me is going hot and heavy, no one giving a shit that our team had to sit this round out, since we were missing a player. With a sigh, I turn around and start to head to our empty table.

  “Allie.”

  Pausing, I quickly whirl back around and look at the sleeping cats on top of the bar when I swear I hear someone say my name, quietly, and kind of muffled.

  “Santa?” I tentatively ask the cats before shaking my head at how ridiculous I’m being right now after all of that stupid Christmas magic talk.

  How pathetic is it is that my first instinct was one of the cats said my name?

  I start to turn back around, when I hear it again, louder this time. And sounding like it’s coming from above me. Stepping right back up to the bar, I lean over the top of it and look up, noticing a square cut-out in between the light fixtures that hang down over the bar.

  “Um, hello?” I timidly speak up toward the ceiling, quickly glancing around to see if anyone is looking at me, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

  Right now, I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing, and just how much brandy really is in that eggnog.

  I hear a low chuckle I immediately recognize.

  “Jason? What are you doing? Where are you?” I laugh right along with him as I speak louder up into the hole in the ceiling.

  His voice rumbles through the opening, a little louder this time.

  “Okay, so, I had this idea, and it sounded really romantic in theory, but now I feel like an idiot,” he speaks, making the smile on my face grow even bigger.

  I hear a loud thunk, and then a few muttered curses from Jason echoing down to me.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine. Just hit my head. Might be a little concussed,” he mutters, my hand covering my mouth to smother my giggles. “Anyway, are you alone down there by the bar?”

  I take another quick look back over my shoulder, and not one person is looking this way. There is a heated race for first place, and everyone wants it.

  “Yes, I’m alone. Where are you?” I ask him again.

  “Fun fact, The Redinger House was originally built with a laundry shoot. Which my parents never used, as you can imagine, since my dad had the bar built right under where the clothes should come out, the hole that you’re now probably looking at. My mom thought the little door in the bathroom off the living room was adorable and refused to have it covered up.”

  “Jason, are you sitting on the floor in the bathroom?” I ask toward the ceiling, the idea that he wedged his body down there in that small room just to talk to me through the laundry shoot making my heart go all pitter-patter in my chest.

  “I am. But wait, there’s more!” he shouts down to me, making me laugh out loud. “Remember when you told me that story, about your bad experience with a laundry shoot? I guess I just wanted to give you a good laundry shoot memory, to erase that bad one.”

  Nope, forget what I thought earlier when Jason moved me out of the way so he could walk closest to the nutcracker. This is the moment when every last bit of ice, and anxiety, and nerves completely melts away from me.

  “I know we’re doing this a little backward,” Jason continues, as I sniffle away the emotion he made well up inside me. “You’re supposed to be up here, and I’m supposed to be down there. But, I figured if you were up here, you know… going to the bathroom—because why else would you be up here in the bathroom?—and you suddenly heard someone say your name in a deep, disembodied voice from down below, it would be a little jarring.”

  Laughter bubbles out of me, and even though Jason can’t see me, I still shake my head at him.

  “When I told Millie my plan, she offered to make sure you were standing by the bar when I ran upstairs,” he explains.

  I look back over my shoulder at Millie, and she winks and then makes a very obscene gesture with her hand and her mouth.

  “Technically, she didn’t offer. I had to pay her a lot of money to make sure you were standing in that spot, but it was worth it. I hope,” Jason says down to me.

  “It was definitely worth it,” I reassure the hole in the ceiling.

  “Okay, let me finish this laundry shoot memory on a high note,” he says, clearing his throat before continuing. “I’m going to be completely honest here, Allie. I had nothing else planned other than timing this just right and saying some stuff that would hopefully make you smile instead of make you sad. I’ve run out of stuff, and now I’m just a dude, curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor. I’m going to come back down there now.”

  “Or, I could come up there,” I blurt, biting my lip and wincing as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

  “No, stay there,” he says back down to me, deflating my ego until it’s nothing but a puddle on the ground like a snowman in April. “I mean, I want you up here with me right now. Jesus Christ, you have no idea how much I want you up here with me, but that’s not why I did this. I don’t want you to think that. I’ll come down.”

  God, how does he do this? How does he always know what to say to me?

  “I love that you did this for me.”

  “Okay, good,” he says with a relieved sigh. “I’m coming down.”

  I hear him curse through the shoot.

  “Did you hit your head again?” I laugh.

  “Can I be completely honest?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s just say I really did not anticipate how good you would look in those pjs tonight. Or how many times you would bend over the food table. Or how much I would think about those things while I was up here talking to you. Or just how tight and thin the bottoms I’m wearing are. Sooo, I tried to get up, and realized I’m gonna need at least five to ten minutes of absolute silence, where I can calculate really hard math problems in my head, and then I’ll be down,” Jason finishes in a rush.

  “Hey, Jason,” I shout up to him.

  “Two, carry the four… wow, you do not listen to rules, do you?” he complains. “Now you just tac
ked on another five minutes. Shhh, math.”

  I don’t know how he doesn’t it, but once again, being with this man, even through a laundry shoot, makes me smile so hard my face hurts.

  “I just wanted to say that you definitely made me smile instead of being sad, and you absolutely gave me a much better laundry shoot memory to replace the bad one. And I really hope you stop doing math, because that’s going to put a serious damper on things when I get up there in thirty seconds.”

  Without giving him a chance to respond, I race around the end of the bar and take the stairs two at a time, running through the dark kitchen, around into the dark dining room, and picking up speed through the dark living room, skidding to a halt in the middle of the room in my fuzzy Christmas socks when Jason appears in the doorway between the living room and the bathroom he was just talking to me in.

  “I can’t believe you came up here,” he whispers in awe.

  “I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t.” I smile.

  We stand here staring at each other, both with goofy smiles on our faces, with just the glow of his family’s mismatched Christmas ornament tree over in the corner of the room between us.

  I’m not sure who moves first, but before I know it, we’re crashing into each other and Jason’s mouth is finally on mine. It’s everything and it’s nothing like I imagined. It’s better. It’s so much better. Our lips fit together perfectly, our tongues move seamlessly in sync, and God bless America, can this man kiss. He’s lifting me up, and my legs are around his waist, and the kissing never stops, even as we laugh into each other’s mouth when Jason bumps us into walls and furniture, trying to maneuver us back into the bathroom without turning on any lights.

  We both stop laughing when my back is pressed up against the wall inside the bathroom, the door is locked, and Jason’s hands and mouth become very intimately acquainted with every inch of my body for the next hour.

  He touches me in all the right places like a fucking pro, and he makes sure I come first—several times, thank you very much—like a goddamn gentleman. It definitely doesn’t feel like we haven’t done this before with each other. There’s no awkwardness, there’s no guessing if we’re doing something right, or if my body is making some weird noise it shouldn’t. There’s nothing but good, old-fashioned screwing in the upstairs bathroom of his family’s bed-and-breakfast, while they are unknowingly playing Bunco, like innocent, jolly elves down below.