Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

by Shyla Colt

  Once I finish my breakfast, I clean up, then saunter—because I refuse to believe I’d reached the waddling stage yet—to my shower. Hot water and lilac shower steamers work wonders to clear my mind and soothe the usual aches that comes with growing a child. After toweling off, I slather my body with cocoa butter and put on my skinny jeans and a long-sleeve, white shirt that highlights my baby bump and new breasts. I’d gone from a B cup to a C cup without surgery. That was a miracle to be celebrated. Slipping my arms into the angular, gray cardigan with fringed edges, I leave the top unbuttoned.

  Turning sideways, I smile into the mirror and snap a photo. There may be faint circles under my eyes, but my honey skin is glowing. I want to document what may be my only pregnancy. Other than a severe bout of morning sickness the first two months, it’d been smooth sailing. But the thought of trusting a man again with not just my heart but my daughter’s feels unlikely. Plenty of single mothers lead a happy, self-reliant life. It wasn’t what I pictured, but I’m nothing if not adaptable.

  I smooth cream under my eyes to hide the lack of sleep I’d gotten the previous night. Appointments always put me a little on edge. The knock on the door announced the devil I can’t shake. Think of the devil, and he will appear.

  Sighing, I slip my phone into my back pocket and slowly walk to the front door. I open it to reveal the blond-haired giant whose piercing blue eyes and perfect bone structure do nothing for me any longer. Clad in a wool coat with an expensive cashmere scarf wound around his neck, he could’ve stepped out of a magazine.

  “You must be spending a fortune on airfare.” I step back, and he walks in, stomping to shake the snow off his boots.

  “Hello to you, too.” The smoldering look that once made me cave during arguments amuses me now. He looks like an overgrown, petulant child. “How long are you going to play this game?”

  “I’m not playing.”

  He ignores me, continuing on as he shrugs off his coat. “The baby is going to be here sooner rather than later.”

  “I know. That’s why we should settle the custody agreement like I keep asking.”

  Scoffing, he unlaces his boots. “How many times do I have to apologize?”

  “You don’t, since it’s a waste of our time and your breath.”

  He huffs, and I hold up my hand. “I saw your true colors, Preston, and it wasn’t just ugly. It was horrifying and abusive. You aren’t the man I thought you were. No,” I shake my head, “that you pretended to be. I will never keep you from our daughter, but I want nothing to do with you romantically.”

  “You’re going to let two years go up in smoke?”

  “Yes, because I can’t help but wonder what else you lied about.”

  He splutters like water went down the wrong way. “Don’t you think you’re over the top?”

  “No, I don’t,” I reply.

  He likes to play on my emotions and make me seem as if I’m throwing a tantrum and being childish. My points are valid. I won’t let him shake my belief in myself.

  “Us separate but civil is what’s best for her.” I rub my belly, taking strength from the innocent life I vowed to protect.

  “No, you want to punish me. What’s best for her is a two-parent home where she won’t want for anything and will get the attention she deserves. What are you going to do? Shove her in daycares all the time?”

  It’s a low blow. I glance away.

  “Plenty of people use daycare.”

  “Because they have no choice. You do. Why wouldn’t you want to give our child every advantage?”

  His words make me feel selfish. I toy with the fringe on my cardigan. Is he right?

  “Marriage, to me, is a partnership. It requires compromise, honesty, and trust. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

  He reaches out and cups my face. “Didn’t I take care of you?”

  “Yes,” I answer, honestly.

  “Did you ever want for anything?” He forces my gaze up to meet his.

  “No,” I whisper hoarsely as my mouth dries out.

  “And you were happy, weren’t you? We were in love and about to get married, Faye.”

  “I thought I was. Now I’m not so sure.” What we had was pleasant. I felt secure and content. But was that love?

  “Bullshit. It’s not like I cheated.” His snarl makes me jump. “I was good to you, and I’m getting tired of this stubbornness you’ve decided to develop.”

  Had I really been such a pushover with him?

  Keys jingle, and the lock turns in the tumbler. The door swings open to reveal my brother bursting in like a bull about to wreck china. I’ve never been so ecstatic to see Warren. My brother looks at us and stands to his full six-foot-two.

  “You’re back bugging my sister again, I see.”

  Preston wrinkles his nose as if he smells something foul. “It’s time for her doctor’s appointment. I want to see Brigitte.”

  “That’s not going to be her name,” Warren replies.

  “It sure as hell won’t be Flora.”

  “You seem real certain, considering I’m the one who has to push her out.” I take strength from my brother’s presence.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Preston asks, frustrated.

  “I became a mother. I have a being to try my best not to screw up. That changed me.”

  “Your hormones are making you irrational.”

  Warren growls. “Don’t do that.” He steps in front of me, forcing Preston to take a step back.

  “What? Tell her the truth?” Preston huffs.

  “Screw with her mind. I saw you do it all the time before. But you were so good at downplaying it. You must be desperate because you’re getting sloppy with your manipulation. She seemed happy, and you weren’t around enough for me to really make up my mind about you. Now everything has changed. I see you for the parasite you are. I can’t chase you off because of Flora, but I’m here to make sure you don’t bully your way into getting what you want. You have no power here anymore.”

  Preston eyes my brother coldly. “We’ll see.”

  Warren tenses, and I slip between the two of them. “Hey.” I snap my fingers, and they look down at me. “Don’t let him get under your skin, War. Preston, keep in mind allowing you to come with me to my appointments is a courtesy. One I can rescind.”

  Preston’s jaw tenses. I can see the barely concealed rage boiling inside of him. What would life with this man have looked like? I thank God I won’t have to find out.

  “I’LL BE HERE THROUGH Christmas if you change your mind about visiting with Mom and Dad.”

  “I think it’d be uncomfortable for all of us.”

  “Are you going to keep Bri— the baby away from them?”

  “No, but she’s not here yet.”

  “Fine.” He sighs. “Merry Christmas then.”

  “Merry Christmas, Preston.” I watch him walk toward his car, and my heart aches. This isn’t how I envisioned my pregnancy. I was supposed to be married and anticipating this with the rest of my family. My parents think I’m unrealistic. After a life spent working their fingers to the bone, security isn’t something to be tossed aside over a misunderstanding. They want me to reconcile with Preston. Their disapproval weighs heavily on me.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m not sure.” I tilt my head back and peer up at my brother through misty eyes.

  “Believe me, you lucked up, finding out what he’s really like now. Once he had you across the country in California, it would’ve been next to impossible to leave him.”

  “I’m glad you see it my way.”

  “Look, Mom and Dad just need time. They’re only looking at the financial aspect.”

  I sigh. “We’re not even going to be together because there’s too much tension between us, War. That’s my fault.”

  “No. It’s our parents’ fault for being so old-fashioned. Listen, I have a special gift for you.”

  “You do?” I ask, cheering up.

&n
bsp; “I do. Come on.” Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he guides me away from the doctor’s office and the mess I’ve yet to figure out. He pulls up in front of a pet store, and I frown.

  “What are we doing here, War?”

  “You’ll see. Come on.”

  We exit the car and walk into the shop.

  “Warren, you’re back. Is this your sister?” The brown-eyed beauty with a head full of coarse black curls is a little too excited to see us.

  How long has my brother been visiting ... I squint at her nametag, Riley?

  “This is Faye. Riley here has been instrumental in arranging this surprise for you.”

  I smile. “You don’t say?”

  He flashes me a pleading glance that makes me choke back a giggle.

  “I just gave him a few pointers. Are you ready for the grand reveal?” Riley grins.

  “Yes?” I glance from Riley to Warren.

  “I’ll be right back.” Riley walks away from the register and disappears through a door that leads into the back. A few moments later, she returns with a large, red present with gold stars and a gold ribbon. The lid pops off. A tiny beagle with floppy ears and a small muzzle hangs over the edge of the box, attempting to escape. It yips, and my heart lurches.

  “This little guy is ready to be taken to his new home,” Riley says.

  “With me?” I ask.

  “Yes. He’s waiting for a name.”

  I walk over to the box. “Hi.” He yips and licks my nose, making me laugh.

  “He’ll be good company, and young enough to grow up with Flora.”

  “Do you want to go home with me, sweet boy?” I scratch behind his ears, and he opens his mouth wide in a puppy smile. “Yeah, you do.” I lift him up into my arms. He snuggles into my neck, and my heart is gone. Any thoughts of extra responsibility being a bad thing vanishes. There is no way I’m letting this adorable puppy go back into that cold, steel prison and wait for someone else to take him home.

  I smile up at Warren, who laughs. “I think we can safely assume she loves him.”

  “How could I not?” I sway back and forth as my maternal instincts fly into hyperdrive. “What’s your name, buddy, huh?” I stroke his short fur, giving him scratches. “You’re so cuddly. Monty.”

  “That’s a great name.” Riley leans over the counter on her elbows.

  I smirk to hide the smile on my lips as she gazes at Warren with apparent interest.

  “What do you think, Monty? Do you like that name?” I pull him back to look up at me. He wags his tail wildly. I take it as his version of yes. “Monty it is.” I busy myself with getting all the essentials necessary, all included in Uncle Warren’s present.

  JAMES

  “Go home, Jen.”

  “Doctor Bailey, I can’t leave you with this mess.” She gestures toward the inventory we’ve yet to put up.

  “It’s okay. I can stay late. You’ve got a family to get home to, and a late night waiting for little ones to sleep so Father Christmas can arrive.” A pang of longing hits as I think of her children. I’d often thought I would have my own by now. Life doesn’t always work out the way we’d like it to, though. So here I am in my mid-thirties with a successful practice, but no wife or children in sight.

  The brunette cocks her hip and frowns. “You work too hard.”

  “The same could be said for you. Go on now. I have no one waiting at home for me. I’ll have this done and close the office in an hour.”

  “I’m going.” She points her finger at me. “But note I leave under protest.”

  “Noted, Jen.” I smile as she walks toward the office to retrieve her coat. Hitting the remote start, she begins the process of thawing out her car during December in Annapolis, Maryland.

  “I can help until my car is warm,” Jen says.

  “I appreciate it.”

  She nods. Jen is my veteran vet assistant. In her mid-thirties, she’s been at enough offices to know her way around a practice. With love for both animals and their owners, she’s got a real knack for calming anxious owners. She’s been a godsend from the moment she set foot in my practice for an interview. I leaned on her plenty over the years to keep the younger, less experienced vet techs on the right path.

  I’d focused all my attention and energy on succeeding in the business. Now I had a list of loyal, local clients, a decent reputation, and a growing practice. I’m at the point where I can hand over some of the control, but I don’t because there’s nothing else for me to do with my time. Most of my friends are coupled and settled down with kids. Which makes our get-togethers few and far between, or uncomfortable as I play the third wheel, or poor sod they’ve decided to pair up again.

  The time passes swiftly, and I walk Jen to the door, locking the main entrance behind her. With the supplies replenished, I sanitize the room and turn off the lights. My phone chimes, and I smile at the name appearing on my screen. My brother, Thomas, must be at my mother’s with his family. I try not to feel bitter about my parents’ decision to relocate to the motherland. After all, Thomas was the one to give them not only one grandchild but three with his wife, Angelina.

  I answer the duo ap and smile at the face so similar to my own. Thomas’ wheat-colored hair is cropped close to his head, and his wide-set, green eyes identical to our mother’s gleam with mischief and joy. Fatherhood suits him more than I ever could’ve imagined. He’d been a bit of a rolling stone, never settling down or showing an inclination toward wanting the family life until he met Angelina. The sounds of rustling paper and jubilant, tiny voices make my heart swell.

  “Jamison, wait for Charlotte,” Angelina fusses in the background. I hear my father’s robust laughter and shake my head.

  “Merry Christmas, mate,” Thomas says.

  “Merry Christmas. Is the gang all there?”

  Thomas’ smile wavers slightly. “Except you.”

  “Next year.”

  “You said that the year before.”

  “Ahh, but this time I mean it. I’ve got the practice settled enough to leave during the holidays without fearing it’ll all come crashing down around my head.”

  Thomas chuckles. “I’m going to hold you to that. Wait.” He frowns. “Are you still at the office?”

  “I’m actually closed for the day. We got a delayed shipment of supplies in, so I stayed to store them.”

  “You work too much, James.” His voice is soft and kind, and I hate it.

  “Is that my boy on the line?” my mother asks, saving me from ruining Christmas by spewing the vitriol gathered on my tongue. Seeing the brother who never had an interest in domestication live the life I’ve always dreamt of can be soul-sucking. I swallow down the bitterness and smile as my mother’s face enters the screen.

  “Mum.”

  “There’s my boy. Happy Christmas.”

  “Happy Christmas, Mum.” I see the additional lines around her smile and curse time for moving so fast. When I was younger, my parents seemed eternal. Now I see them aging with every year.

  “Can you hear the hubbub these three little monsters are causing?”

  “And you love every moment of it, don’t you, Nan?”

  She laughs. “I do. It’s like seeing you and your brother again. But that little Charlotte is something.”

  “Charlotte’s the oldest. She has to keep Jamison and Graham in line.” I sink into the chair behind my desk in my office and click on my green banker’s lamp.

  “Indeed.” My father’s face appears on the screen.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hello, son. How’s life across the pond treating you?”

  “Good. I was just about to leave to start my holiday.”

  “That’s good. I worry about you and all those hours you put in.”

  “It takes a lot to get a practice up and running. Now I can ease off a bit.”

  He nods. “I understand the ins and outs of the business. But I want you to know that time can’t be regained. Make sure you’re living l
ife outside of work, yeah?”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Good. Now how are you spending the holidays?”

  “Doing a lot of nothing. Catching up on the tele, visiting friends. That sort of thing.”

  “Any dates?” Mom calls.

  I roll my eyes. “No.”

  “What? Three grandchildren aren’t enough for you, Mum?” Thomas calls.

  “No,” Mum responds without missing a beat, and I laugh.

  “See what I’ve been putting up with for all these years?” my father asks.

  “It keeps you young, Reginald.” Mum’s sassy response reminds me of why I’m still single. If I can’t grow into that, I’m wasting my time. My last relationship failed because she didn’t want to wait for the white dress and babies. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could do all of that and focus on my practice. I want to be a present parent. She’s happily married now, and I don’t begrudge her the life she’s built for herself. I just want to find my happy ending, too.

  “Guys, come say hello to your Uncle James.”

  The pitter-patter of feet over the carpet makes me laugh. Cherub faces press together as they battle for screen time. The chorus of, “Hi, Uncle James,” melts my heart. Not seeing them is the biggest drawback to remaining in America. Dad relocated us when we were in our teens for a once in a lifetime promotion and remained until he retired.

  “Hello, my favorite nieces and nephews. Are you keeping everyone on their toes?”

  The resounding, “Yes!” is accompanied by snickers and groans from the adults. I spend thirty minutes talking to them before saying good-bye, and I leave the office, feeling lighter and slightly melancholy.

  AS I PULL INTO THE drugstore for last-minute snacks, the snow is coming down in large flakes that are sticking. Raising my hood, I lean into the wind, whipping and moaning like the ghost of Christmas past, and enter the blessedly warm safety of the store. Stomping my boots on the rubber mat at the entrance, I take down my hood and walk to the alcohol section. Tonight, I’ll make mulled wine, light the fireplace, and indulge in the biscuits and Jammie Dodgers my mother frequently sends me. A little taste of home will chase away the holiday blues in no time. Grabbing a mini cart, I take my time perusing the shelves. I’m not opposed to a little retail therapy, and drug stores have surprisingly thoughtful and useful gifts.