Page 5 of Mistletoe Mistake
Without waiting for my answer, she turns and hotfoots it out of the room, leaving me with only an image of her naked and sudsy, and a bad feeling about how the next few days might play out.
* * *
I am halfway through my second slice when Holly bounds down the stairs in a pair of ass-hugging yoga pants and a sloppy orange sweater that’s falling off one of her shoulders. The scent of peppermint infuses the air around her. I shift in my seat, putting my foot on the coffee table so my leg is slightly raised and hiding my semi.
Her hand runs along the tinsel tied to the banister as she skips down and I notice her roll her eyes.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” She heads straight for the pizza boxes beside my foot and makes a gagging noise when the first box she opens has my pizza in it.
“You rolled your eyes at the tinsel. I’m not sure what an inanimate object could have done to deserve that kind of treatment.”
“It’s a Christmas decoration. It deserves that treatment just for existing.” She takes a seat on the other end of the couch, and sits cross-legged, balancing a paper plate with two of her own slices on her lap.
Her comment rattles a memory loose and I suddenly have an image of fourteen-year-old Holly casually strolling into her family Christmas party wearing aSanta is SatanT-shirt. Her horrified grandparents promptly ushered her out of the party, much to her delight.
“Oh god, Santa is Satan.” I almost choke on a laugh. “I had forgotten all about that.”
A small smile plays on her lips, but she folds them between her teeth in an effort to hide it. “That was one of my better efforts. Nana and Papa were horrified.” She gives up on hiding her smile and giggles. “But Mom and Dad respected my dedication and let me spend the rest of the night in my room.” She grimaces at me. “The grandparents werenotimpressed with that.”
We both go back to our food and, maybe it’s just me, but there’s an awkwardness between us that I hate.
It’s funny, Holly and I have known each other most of our lives, but I can’t remember a single time we have spent time alone like this.
Brandon and I became inseparable the day the Curtises moved in next door to my family when we were eight. Since my parents worked so much we spent most of our time at his house. His mom was like a second mother to me, and even though his dad worked a lot, he was still around more than mine.
My memories of Holly aren’t so clear though. I remember being curious about her when they first moved in. Being an only child, I wasn’t sure how to behave around a little sister, which is how I assumed I should treat her. I always followed Brandon’s lead, teasing her and playing jokes. But the older she got, the less she was around. In fact, the last few years before I left for college, it felt like she was leaving every room I entered.
I remember the dread I felt at the time, worried I had upset her. Selfishly concerned that it would mean my presence in their home would become unwelcome, and I’d have to go back to spending my nights in my own house. Where the laughter and warmth of the Curtises’ would be replaced with silence and emptiness.
Brandon waved off my concerns and assured me it was nothing I had done. I had no reason not to trust him, so I did.
Her awkwardness now though, has all those doubts resurfacing, although this time for very different reasons.
I snag another couple of pieces of pizza and swing my legs up onto the sofa, nudging Holly’s knee with my toes.
“What’s the deal with hating Christmas? I feel like I need to bah humbug you and pelt you with candy canes.”
She immediately perks up. “Do you have any candy canes?”
“No.” I laugh.
Her blue eyes narrow with a glare. “You really shouldn’t get people’s hopes up like that, you know.”
“So, you’re not against all Christmas traditions then? Good to know.” I take a bite of pizza and watch her try to stutter a reply before taking pity on her. “I get it, if my birthday was Christmas Day, I’d hate it too.”
She chews slowly and eyes me suspiciously. Whatever she sees on my face must soothe her, because she shrugs and looks away.
“It’s childish and petty, I’m fully aware of that.”
“Nah, everyone wants to feel special on their birthday.” Honestly? I have no idea if that is true. I couldn’t give a fuck about my birthday, but I’m not liking the look of unease on her face and I’ll say anything to get rid of it.
“It’s just” —she tosses her empty paper plate on the coffee table and turns to face me fully— “your birthday and Christmas are supposed to be the most magical days of the year when you’re a kid.” She pauses, chewing on her lip and staring off, just above my head. “But when your birthday isonChristmas, you kind of lose the magic of both days. Your birthday isn’t special because everyone is too wrapped up in the holidays to really care about it, and then your resentment of Christmas steals the joy ofthatday. It’s like you lose the magic of your childhood way too soon and it’s just sad.”
She exhales out a deep breath and groans. “God, that sounds so dramatic, ignore me.” Shaking her head, she swipes the television remote off the table and turns the TV on.
I sit, staring at her, completely enthralled and a little heartbroken for Holly, the little girl who never experienced the same joy I did in my childhood.
