Page 20 of Holiday Star
“Come on. What’s inside?” I stretch my neck, trying to peek over the top of the pages, but he jerks the book away. He holds it face down, tight to his chest, and glares at me.
He can look pissed off all he wants.
I’m not scared of Caleb Lawson.
“Tell me what it is,” I badger him, almost enjoying the irritated way he narrows his eyes at me. He’s fun to poke at, like a grumpy bear, and I’m bored, trapped in the house with this broody, uncommunicative man.
“Some notes. Flight times and other junk.” Caleb relents and flashes the book at me, exposing it for a brief few seconds before ripping it away.
I get a glimpse of flight times written on one page, just like he said. The other page is covered by his hand, I think deliberately.
That’s where he’s hiding something. On that page.
Now I’m the one who’s annoyed, but I let it go.
Caleb can keep his secrets.
10
I’m at the box of memorabilia again. Sorting through it. Figuring out which parts of my past to keep and which to get rid of. I pick up the set of paints and stare at it, weighing it in my hand before putting it back down.
Grunting, I move the heavy cardboard box off the tall stack to access the one beneath it.
This next box is full of Christmas decorations. Mom probably got these out before she got the news about the transfer to Japan. Tinsel and garland tangle with a string of colorful lights. Plastic angels and snowflakes press together. A rosy-cheeked Santa Claus has a smattering of glitter in his hair.
Whoever packed this box must have been in a hurry. It’s like they threw everything in here without thought, haphazard. I pull out the string of lights and untangle it from the garland. There’s a complicated knot in the strand, where the bulbs have caught on one another. After several minutes of struggle, I still can’t straighten them out.
Caleb has his earbuds in, jittering his leg and bobbing his head to whatever music he’s listening to. When I walk over and tap him on the knee, he pulls the earphones out and looks at me questioningly.
“Here, make yourself useful.” I toss one end of the lights at him. He’s startled but catches the strand before it smacks him in the face.
“I need you to hold that part steady while I unwind this side,” I instruct.
Begrudgingly, he holds tight, as I struggle to thread the wire through its snarled loops.
“Maybe we should decorate?” I muse out loud as I work. “There’s a ton of stuff in this box. We could put it out. Make the house more festive.” I look at him. “What do you think? Wouldn’t that be nice?”
A shrug like he couldn’t care less. “I guess so.”
His apathetic routine is starting to grate on me. It’s bad enough that I don’t have my family here with me for the holiday, but now I have to spend my time with this Scrooge? I rub my fists into my eyes, feeling alone even though there’s another person in the room. I had so looked forward to this vacation, but nothing is turning out the way I thought it would.
“What?” I demand, my voice cross. “Do you have something against Christmas, Mr. Grinch? Don’t you put up lights and decorations at your place? Or are you too fancy for that? Let me guess, Christmas trees don’t go with the minimalist chic aesthetic of your penthouse. Is that it?”
His anger matches mine. “You have a lot of preconceived notions about me.”
“Like you don’t have preconceived notions about me, too,” I counter. “Let me guess, to you doctors are predictable and nerdy.” I flinch internally, thinking this is exactly how I don’t want to be described.
He crosses his arms over his chest, still managing to hold onto the lights. “I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. That first night. You looked at my research papers and said they were boring.”
“I did not!” His voice rises. “I said they looked complicated, not boring.”
“Whatever. Stop changing the subject.” I raise an eyebrow. “Am I right?Doyou decorate for Christmas ordon’tyou?”
“I don’t.” Before I can claim victory, he quickly adds, “Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m never home for Christmas. I’m always traveling.”
“Always?” I question, doubting. “Like every single year?”
