Page 30 of Home to Christmas Island
I thought you weren’t really a fan of Christmas, if I remember your exact words correctly. His teeth are clenched, and I know he’s trying to throw me off my game. But I won’t be deterred today. I want to really, really vex him. You know, this perfectly nice man who dresses up as Santa Claus and hangs up community Christmas lights and builds accessible ramps? Yeah, that’s the one. I try not to think of what an asshole this makes me.
Actually, I love Christmas. Didn’t you get my letters? I say, doing my best to pout. He seems exasperated by this, which only eggs me on more.
I get a lot of letters, he says through gritted teeth, as his eyes dart around to make sure no one is watching us. Sighing, he asks, Now what is it you want, Fast Florence? Some thrill-seeking adventure, I’m sure. Then adds under his breath, What I should bring you is a copy of the Drivers Handbook.
I ignore the jab—he’s playing right into my hands.
Well Santa, I’m in need of a new electronic device. He makes a puzzled face, looking at me skeptically from the corner of his eyes, not sure where this is going. You know, I say, holding my hands about six inches apart. It’s about this big, it vibrates—
Jesus Christ, he seethes, but there’s mirth coming through his voice too when he asks, What are you trying to do to me, woman?
His face is so priceless that I can’t even get control of myself enough to finish my joke. But I stop laughing when he says, When are you coming over?
I freeze. What, one vibrator joke and this guy thinks I’m just going to come over?
My body goes rigid in his lap, and I must make a face, because he says, I mean, when are you coming over to see your house? Not, when are you coming over? He says, using a suggestive tone for emphasis, before quickly adding in a whisper, Pervert.
My heart is racing for another reason now, as the anxiety washes over me. Damn him, for not letting me have the upper hand for two glorious seconds. I swallow.
I’m not sure, I—
Bring Alba with you, if you’d like. I’ll be around this afternoon after this is cleared up, he motions to the room full of children. I feel slightly self-conscious that I’m still in his lap, not wanting to think what people would say. But thankfully everyone is too engaged with their sugary breakfasts to notice.
When he finishes motioning around the room, his hand returns and he puts it on my waist. I feel myself relax into the touch, sinking in like a familiar, favourite couch, which I don’t think is the reaction either of us expects.
I peer up at him—my god even sitting down he’s tall—and I know I’m diving into dangerous waters here. He’s not smiling, but seems to be waiting patiently for an answer. And I realize from the expression on his face that he wants me to come over. I wonder if it’s to reassure me he hasn’t completely upended the place, like he wants to prove to me that he’s not such a bad guy. That he’s not some kind of villain to me.
Okay, we’ll come, I say. I bite my lip, feeling nervous. Maybe three o’clock?
He nods, still not smiling, then says, That works. Now please, and I am asking nicely ‘Just Florence,’ get off my lap before I’m labelled the town pedo.
I laugh and can’t help but throw one more line his way.
But I didn’t tell you what else I wanted for Christmas, I say, batting my eyelashes, my tone filled with mock seduction.
He rolls his eyes at me, but gently helps me get down from his lap and back on solid ground. I saunter off to find Alba and Rose, trying not to think too hard about what I’ve agreed to do this afternoon.
Chapter 13
I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING to puke.
We’re sitting in the driveway of the lake house, where we’ve been idling for ten minutes now.
Well, we can’t sit here all day, Alba says. We have to make a move. Either we leave, like assholes, or we go inside.
Am I going to hate it, Albs? Does he have sports jerseys hanging around or dart boards? Does it smell like boy? My voice is getting higher and higher with each question.
She looks at me like I have six heads. No, you idiot, really not that much has changed. He’s spruced it up. There are different paintings hanging on the walls, but no dart boards, I promise.
Wait, when were you even in here? This thought makes me feel a little sick.
She shrugs. He’s had some barbecues over the years I guess, and the first one after I moved home, Dad dragged me along. I could tell he didn’t want to come here by himself for the first time since… her voice trails off, but I don’t need the end of her sentence to know what she means. It makes me deeply sad to think of my uncle, of all people, not wanting to face the ghosts here by himself.
Even being in the driveway is enough to make me feel unbalanced. I’ve been staring at the pathway to the water, our sign still there that reads, Lake this way, followed by a big blue arrow. It looks more faded than I remember, a sharp reminder of all the time that’s gone by since I was last here.
Alba and I both jump as the front door opens. Alistair comes out to stand on the front porch. His Santa suit is gone, replaced with black track pants and a grey hoodie. He’s holding a coffee mug and wearing green plaid slippers, and I wonder if that’s Campbell tartan.
Are you two ever going to come inside? He calls out to us, holding up his free hand in surrender. I promise I won’t bite.
