Page 50 of Paths

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I look back at the artificial trees, stockings, and Santa tchotchkes galore. “I honestly haven’t thought about Christmas until now. I’ve been … busy.”

“Maya,” he calls for me. When I look back to him, he’s got a small smile on his face and juts his chin to the aisles of holiday décor. “Go pick out what you want.”

I shake my head quickly. “Really, I’m okay. You’ve seen my rental, I don’t have room for anything else in that little house.”

“There’s room.”

“There’s not.”

“There is.”

“Fine, there might be, but I can’t afford it.”

He turns to me fully. “If you don’t go pick out some Christmas crap, I will. Who knows what you’ll end up with, but I promise it’ll include the ugliest shit in this store. If you want to risk ugly Christmas shit around your house for the next few weeks, that’s your call.”

We have a stare down in the middle of Walmart.

“Go,” he insists.

I sigh.

“Go,” he repeats. When I don’t make a move, he does. “Fine.”

He starts down the aisle with purpose and literally starts to grab stuff off the shelves, tossing it on top of the food with barely a glance.

“Grady—you’re going to squish the vegetables.” I cringe when I see what he’s thrown in the cart. “Eww, that is ugly.”

I pull things out as fast as he throws them in. Pink reindeer, singing bears, a stuffed pig dressed in a Santa suit … he’s either got really bad taste or he’s trying to piss me off.

“Nope.” He moves forward as fast as he can, grabbing a box of Pokémon ornaments.

“Stop!” I yell, sort of laughing at the same time. “I just want some garland, maybe some lights and stockings. Nothing,” I wave my hand at the stuff I just shoved back on the shelf, “like this.”

He looks smug, like he won another bet. “Go pick out what you want.”

I move around him to search for prelit garland just so he’ll stop. “This is why you’re a carrot cake. You’ve honed the act of being sweet by being annoying. I never knew such a thing existed. How you do that, I have no idea.”

“I told you, I’m good with women.” When I look back, he’s grinning, proud of himself. “Hurry up, but don’t get a tree. We’ll do that next.”

“I don’t have room for a tree.”

“We’ll make room, but I’ll get you a real one.”

I don’t answer, but stop at the stockings for a quick second, hesitating. I don’t have a fireplace, one stocking would look stupid, and even though he’s been sleeping on my loveseat, I’d feel silly getting one for Grady. Shaking off the thought, I move on, to look at the lights.

“I thought you wanted stockings?” he calls from behind me.

I shrug it off without looking back. “I don’t have a mantle.”

“Maya,” he calls for me and I look back. He doesn’t stop until he gets to me, still pushing our cart. Reaching for my waist, he yanks me in tight, and I’m pressed up against his big, broad chest. “Have you ever spent Christmas alone?”

I sort of frown. Of course, I’ve never spent Christmas alone. Christmas is a production for my mother that she starts planning on Labor Day. The production grows by the year—not that she's ever lifted a finger to do any of it—and none of her decorations have ever come from Walmart.

“It’s shit to be alone,” he goes on, assuming my answer. His expression isn’t as loose and relaxed as I’ve grown accustomed to over the past few days. It’s serious and meaningful. “I’ve been alone for the last five. Even though it’s shit, you do your best to talk yourself into it not being shit, but it is. Even though I’m taking you to see your brother next week, there’s no fucking way I’m leaving you there, which means you’ll be here for Christmas. I don’t want to spend it alone this year. I want to spend it with you.”

I bite my lip to mask my happiness. “You do?”

His eyes drop to my mouth and he frowns as his arms constrict around me. “Don’t do that in the middle of Walmart.”

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