Cruise Ship Christmas: A Holiday Short

by M. F. Lorson

  Kathy looked like she was waiting for someone to pass her the popcorn. She had stayed silent for the duration of our conversation. Moving only when her Pina Colada required sipping, but she was studying our interaction like it was daytime TV. She was growing on me.

  “I guess I should have told you I was on the entertainment staff,” said Baker, a pink tint rising above the color of his shirt and filling his cheeks. Was it possible he was actually embarrassed? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe my one-year dating sabbatical had left me rustier than I thought. “But to be fair,” he continued. “I am paid to help the guests relax and have a good time. The flirting, that was just because I liked your dress.”

  Now it was my turn to blush. Who did he think he was, handing out compliments to sad girls?

  “What is your job anyway?” I asked, ignoring his compliment on the outside. On the inside however, I was boxing it up like a precious keepsake to pull out whenever my self-esteem was on the fritz.

  “Social Coordinator?” asked Baker. “It’s like the lady who decides how often they play ragtime at your grandma’s nursing home.”

  “So you’re saying there are perks to befriending you,” I said with a wink.

  “Sure,” laughed Baker. “Not the same perks as when you thought I was a fellow passenger, but…”

  “I’m willing to settle for extra towels and seconds of dessert,” I said, leaning back in my chair to grab an extra licorice whip.

  “Speaking of perks,” said Baker, glancing down at his watch, “Santa Bingo starts in half an hour. It’s likely to be crowded, but I can probably get you a spot.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down expectantly.

  I grimaced. Bingo was still a sore spot for me.

  “You don’t like Bingo?” He asked, incredulously. “Everyone likes Bingo!”

  Kathy leaned forward. “Traumatic backstory,” she offered, giving her bright red head a sad little shake.

  The two of us had done a lot of talking that morning over breakfast. Mostly she talked, and I chewed, but it was hard to explain my presence on the cruise without throwing Nicholas under the bus where he belonged.

  Baker took a seat at the end of my lounge chair. “Let’s hear it,” he replied, resting his elbows on his bare knees. Apparently, the staff uniform around here was boardshorts and deck shoes. It was very 2006, not that I was complaining. He looked more than alright in his shorts and Wonder Cruise T-shirt.

  I took a deep breath, then made my admission “You’re looking at a woman who was dumped very publicly last Christmas, during Bingo night. Where I’m from, that’s practically reality TV.”

  “Ouch,” said Baker, he kept his dark, sympathetic eyes locked with mine. I knew that look. I had seen it plenty of times over the last year. What was the expiration on life-changing events anyway? I wondered. Ten years from now, would people still need to know what happened with Nicholas, or could I archive that as insignificant after a specific amount of time?

  “Is that why you’re solo on this cruise and not spending the holiday with family?” he asked.

  “Look at you with the deep questions!” I laughed, hoping to deflect the question.

  “Is it?” he asked.

  I bit down hard on a licorice whip, accepting that there would be no detail-dodging with this one. If we were on land, I might have told him to shove it. It was none of his business why I boarded this ship, but this was a getaway. I wasn’t likely to ever see him again. What harm was there in telling the truth?

  “If you must know, yes. I can’t go back now. Every old lady in town wants to marry me off to their grandson.”

  “And you do not wish to marry anyone's grandson?” he asked.

  “Heck, no!” I cried. “I don’t need a matchmaker.”

  “So you have a boyfriend?”

  “No…” I stammered, “but that’s by choice.”

  “I see,” said Baker. I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

  Now would have been an excellent time for Kathy to intervene, but of course, she was all listening ears and no commentary now. Nevermind the twenty-minute monologue I’d endured this morning over bacon and eggs.

  “Look,” I said, playfully glaring at Baker. “For me the purpose of this cruise is to not do Christmas and not to think about my ex.”

  “I can see where you’re coming from. But that is going to be challenging,” said Baker.

  “Why’s that?” asked Kathy.

  Lovely of her to chime in now.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Baker looking from her to me, “because you’re on a cruise ship for a week with a social coordinator from a town called Christmas Valley.”

  “You are not,” I gasped.

  “Oh, I am,” declared Baker, rising to stand. “And if I don’t get to be in my beloved Christmas Valley for the holidays, then you have to at least make me feel good about my job by trying to have a good time.”

  “I intend to have a good time,” I said, raising my drink to my lips. “I just plan to leave the Christmas part out.”

  “You can try,” said Baker, wagging a disapproving finger in my direction. “But you will not succeed. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I’ve got to pass out the secret Santa envelopes and flirt, er, socialize, with the other passengers.”

  Chapter Five

  Secret Santa was mandatory. Despite my successfully dodging Baker and the rest of the Wonder Crew all afternoon, I found myself pulling a stranger's name out of a scarlet envelope by dinnertime.

  “Who did you get?” asked Kathy. We were in the dining hall. All dressed up at a white-linen-tableclothed table for two. Feeling bold, we ordered the surf and turf. Ordinarily I would steer clear of big-ticket items like that, but what was the point of an all-inclusive vacation if you didn’t order the good stuff?

  “Room 205,” I read. “Ms. Montoya likes dark chocolate, romantic comedies, and bubble baths.”

  Kathy scrunched her lips to the side, pausing to think. “That’s too bad. It won’t be fun to watch her open any of those things.” I didn’t have the foggiest idea what would be fun to watch someone open. Our options were pretty much things we had brought with us and items you could find in the gift shop, but I didn’t get a chance to complain about that. Because our server was now at our table, setting the world’s tiniest steak and lobster before us.

  Kathy took one look at her bird-like portion and declared, “I’ll take two.”

  The server’s eyes went wide with surprise, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she poked her steak with her fork, studying as a trickle of pink juice made a run for the middle of her plate.

  “And tell the cook not to be afraid to go too rare next time. I like it close to living.”

  I was impressed.

  “What?” she said as the server made his way back to the kitchen. “I paid an arm and a leg for this cruise.”

  “Nothing,” I replied, grinning from ear to ear. “I just didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Kathy was halfway through her second plate when I thought to ask her who she had drawn.

  She smirked, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Mr. Markus Lewis.”

  “Mister….” I sang like we were in the third grade, and she’d just told me the name of the boy she had a crush on.

  “Yes. Mr. and he is staying in room 301. And,” she said, leaning across the table to whisper, “he is also sitting three tables behind us.”

  I gave a subtle peek over Kathy’s shoulder.

  “With the beard?” I mouthed.

  Kathy nodded affirmatively.

  “Not bad,” I remarked. Mr. Lewis was a salt and pepper type. Mid-forties if I had to guess. A little pudgy in the middle, but he had a nice smile, and I liked his red sports jacket.

  “Ahem,” coughed Kathy. “Your boyfriend is coming.”

  I straightened up in my chair then quickly ran my tongue over my teeth. The last thing I wanted was to talk to Baker with salad in my grill. Baker, who Kathy and I now playfully referred to as my boyfriend. I’d
gone from mildly annoyed by Kathy, to secretly wishing she would move across the country and replace my current dud of a roommate, in approximately 30 hours.

  “Hello to my favorite passengers,” said Baker, winking at Kathy before dragging a chair from the closest empty table and inviting himself to join us.

  “Hello,” I replied, calm and collected. As if Kathy and I hadn’t spent fifteen minutes on the massage tables going over how pretty his teeth were and whether or not that little comment about my dress was a come-on, or just his way of dodging the flirting with the guests accusation. Baker wasn’t in his boardshorts or his Wonder Cruise polo this evening. In fact, I couldn’t spot the company logo anywhere on him.

  I furrowed my brow, examining his mustard yellow chinos and scarlet, short-sleeved T-shirt. “Are you not working right now?”

  Baker gave an embarrassed smile, reaching up to rub his neck. “It’s my night off, actually.”

  “Ooh,” I said, inclining my head toward his. “What do the staff do to be social when they aren’t helping everyone else be social?”

  Now it was Kathy’s turn to be impressed. Under the table, I felt her nudge my foot.

  “Well,” said Baker, taking in a deep breath. “I’m glad you asked. I’ve come to your table to ask for help.”

  “Really?” I asked, feeling skeptical.

  “Really,” said Baker. “There is a secret staff party in the lower part of the ship. You’ve seen the movie Titanic?”

  I looked to Kathy to see if she had any idea where this was going, but she seemed as clueless as I.

  “It’s been a decade or so, but yes.”

  “Then, you know the scene?”

  The only scene I remembered from Titanic was the one in which Kate Winslet and Leonardo Dicaprio engaged in a super scandalous portrait session. My cheeks were flaming red.

  “The scene where they all show off their tricks to the other staff members,” said Baker.

  “Of course,” I answered, taking a big gulp of water to hide the mixture of relief and disappointment I was feeling.

  “I need your help with my trick,” he continued.

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “Magic show,” he replied, matter of factly. “The girl I wanted to cut in half had bad shellfish,” he looked down at the demolished lobster shell on my plate before continuing. “I was hoping you could fill in.”

  Across the table, Kathy was shaking from silent laughter. I would have kicked her under the table if I weren’t afraid I would accidentally connect with Baker instead.

  “Seriously?” I asked. I did not want to be anybody's saw-in-half girl, but if that was what it took to steal Baker away off the clock, I might just have to.

  “No!” cried Baker, slapping his knee with laughter. “Do I look like I do magic tricks in my free time?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, “you didn’t look like the kind of guy who participated in group flashmobs either,” but was quickly interrupted.

  “Don’t answer that. I really do need your help, though.”

  “With?” I asked begrudgingly.

  “There is a staff trivia competition on the second night of every cruise. My team is one short, and I can’t lose to my ex again.”

  “Oh,” mouthed Kathy.

  “Oh indeed,” said Baker. “Are you in?”

  “In on a ploy to clobber an ex-lover at a game of wits?” I asked. “You could not have found a more perfect girl for that task.”

  “That is precisely why I thought of you,” said Baker, standing to leave. “I will pick you up at the entrance to Snow Globe City in one hour. Bring all of your emotional baggage.” He was halfway out of the dining hall when he turned to add, “and licorice whips if you have any!”

  Chapter Six

  At first, I felt bad about ditching Kathy for a super-secret staff party, but as it turned out, she had plans of her own for the evening. Plans she wasn’t willing to share with me, though I had a feeling her secret Santa was involved.

  I changed out of my dinner attire and into a pair of blue jeans with a simple white, spaghetti strap, tank top. My aim for the evening was to look effortlessly cute. There was nothing worse than your ex dating a girl who looked like she rolled out of bed attractive. Not that Baker and I were dating. She didn’t have to know that, though.

  True to his word, Baker met me at the intersection between Snow Globe City and the elevators, exactly one hour from when I saw him at dinner.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as we wound through the ship's main lobby, passing hundreds of passengers scurrying toward the evening’s festivities. Baker shoved open the door to the kitchen, motioning for me to go ahead of him.

  “We’re taking a shortcut,” he answered, leading me through the quiet kitchen and down the staff staircase. When we reached the exit, I thought I was going to be walking into private staff quarters, or a storage room turned secret trivia lair. In reality, we ended up on the back end of the theatre room.

  Baker pulled back the thick velvet curtains to reveal two tables just in front of the stage. I recognized a few faces as Wonder Crew staffers and one guy who I was pretty sure I had seen on the poster outside of the theatre, the comedian maybe.

  “About time,” said a woman at the table on the right. She was slim and beautiful. Effortlessly beautiful. With my luck, that was his ex.

  “Yeah, yeah,” answered Baker, sliding into the booth opposite hers. “I had to pick up my secret weapon.”

  The people at our table all shifted to the right, making room for the two of us to join them.

  “You know it’s against the rules to bring a passenger,” the woman warned.

  “And you know, the rules are bull,” said Baker, cocking one eyebrow at her from across the room.

  “As thrilling as this friendly competitive banter is, could we get down to business?” asked the man at the end of our table. His head had been down when we first took our seats, but now that I got a good look at him, I was shocked to discover the captain of the ship sitting directly across from me, a cold glass of beer between his hands.

  “Don’t look so starstruck,” whispered Baker, “he’s more of a handicap than an asset.”

  The captain cleared his throat, “Ahem, I heard that.”

  “It’s true,” laughed the woman next to me.

  “Alright,” said the comedian, hopping up onto the stage. “As always, the rules are as follows. No shouting out answers. Phones are to be kept in your pocket or turned off at all times. No questioning of the host. What I say goes.”

  There was a collective groan from the group.

  “You better have done a better job fact-checking this time. I will never forgive you for claiming REM’s first hit was ‘The One I Love.’” Called out the woman I suspected was Baker’s ex.

  “That’s her, isn’t it,” I mumbled.

  Baker smirked, “It is. And it would bring me a lot of joy if you could help me beat her this evening.”

  “Never gonna happen,” she called from across the way. “Never. Going to. Happen.”

  I looked back and forth between the two of them. There was far too much silliness in their banter for there to be real animosity between them. Real animosity was logging on to the US Postal Services website and having all of your ex’s mail forwarded to his emotionally distant mother. Not that I knew anything about that.

  “How long have you been broken up?” I asked.

  Baker paused for a second and tilted his head to the side as he did the math in his head.

  “28, maybe 29, years,” he said. “Cecile, in what grade did you break up with me for stealing your chocolate milk?”

  “Third,” cried Cecile. “Best decision of my life.”

  I glared at Baker. “You tricked me.”

  “I did,” he laughed. “But I didn’t lie. She is my ex, and I do want your help beating her.”

  Across the room, Cecile shook her head like this wasn't the first time she’d heard this line.

 
; I could have been mad. I could have stormed out of the room, grossly offended by his trickery — shame on him, luring me in with the false promise of revenge-seeking behavior. But then I would have missed out on all the fun. And dang it all, I was having fun.

  We answered questions ranging from pop-culture to obscure British literature. I dominated in the music category and nearly choked on my rum and coke listening to Baker try and list all 32 teams in the NFL.

  “No dear,” laughed the comedian when all was said and done, “I’m afraid the Portland Pyros is not a real team. Once again, Cecile’s team takes home the coveted trophy.”

  The trophy, it turned out, was an old bowling award someone had picked up at a thrift store. Each cruise, the winner added something to it. There was already some astroturf glued to the bottom to represent the golf tour from three months back, a tiny lei around the bowler’s neck from the Hawaiian islands cruise, and now—thanks to Cecile—a small, ugly Christmas sweater. I snapped a picture with my phone of Baker and her pretending to fight over it.

  The two of us took the long way back to my room, circling the walking path that stretched from the bow of the boat to the back end, where the water churned in and out of the ship's motor.

  “I’m glad you came,” said Baker.

  “Me too,” I replied, daring myself to steal a glance at him as I said it.

  “I mean, I’m glad you came on this trip at all,” said Baker, pausing to face me at the bow of the boat.

  It was our first quiet moment together, and it shocked me how badly I wanted to reach up and place my hand on the firm corner where his square jaw met the curve of his neck. Maybe he was thinking it too because his eyes locked on mine with an intensity I had forgotten existed between a man and a woman.

  A moment longer, and I was sure he would kiss me. What a story to tell my mother. A gorgeous stranger, pulling me close, the Carribean breeze tugging wayward strands from my ponytail, as the two of us studied one another’s features in the moonlight. She would have eaten that up.

  But then a cabin door slammed behind us, ruining the moment as a couple who’d had one too many complimentary beverages stumbled into the spot beside us.