Page 8 of Christmas Crisis
Since the incident in the bed, my brain reminded me, before I quickly shoved the thought away.
A certain rightness settled over me whenever I returned to the Pacific Northwest. Even though I’d lived in California for nine years, it had never truly felt like home. Looking around Leo’s familiar apartment, I realized it was as much a home base for me in this state as my childhood house in Coleman Creek.
I loved Leo’s place. Always had. It was oversized and quirky. Just like him.
Dove-gray walls surrounded the open-concept kitchen and living room. An overstuffed brown leather sectional held center stage in front of the large flatscreen, covered in an array of mismatched throw pillows. An enormous charcoal drawing—a Dalíesque surrealist interpretation of the London skyline—took up almost an entire wall above the small dining table. I’d once asked Leo why he had this weird, dark, pseudo-goth, not-at-all-subtle piece of art in his home as it didn’t seem to align with his personality.
“I didn’t buy it because it spoke to my soul or anything like that,” he’d replied matter-of-factly. “Mostly, it’s because it reminds me of the conversation I had with the artist.” Then he told me about a flea market he’d been to in a little nowhere town in Oregon, where he’d met an elderly painter who had amazing stories about growing up in Castro’s Cuba.
A piece by the same artist hung in the hallway, a bowl of fruit with the apocalypse in the background, and another in the guest bedroom, a sinister vision of a sunrise over a desolate landscape, with a nuclear cloud visible. The first time I stayed over, I put my stuff down on the bedspread and stared at the painting before turning to Leo. “I get you had a moment with the artist, but that looks like a bad metal band’s album cover. If I have nightmares…”
He’d chuckled. “If you have nightmares, I’ll protect you.”
Nearly two years later, I still recalled the way those words made me shudder.
Leo carried my duffel into the guest bedroom while I sat down on the couch. I’d only been awake since my phone started going off that morning, but it felt like weeks.
“You hungry?” Leo asked, walking into the kitchen. “I brought a bunch of leftovers back from my parents’ place. It was only the three of us, but Mom made a huge spread.”
“That would be amazing, Leo-Bear.” Without thinking, I added, “It’s bizarre that I resigned myself to skipping Thanksgiving and now I’m having turkey dinner with one of my favorite people in the world.”
He sucked in his bottom lip, nodding. “I’ll heat up a little of everything.”
“Thanks. Not too much, though. My stomach’s been in limbo all day.”
“Understandable. But you’re here until Sunday, right? We have time to make a dent in these leftovers.”
“Yeah.”
I needed to be back at my desk on Monday morning. Prepared to be an exemplary employee. Shoshanna and Lauren were certain my identity would be revealed by tomorrow, and I didn’t want my bosses to be upset with me once they realized their new marketing assistant was involved in a celebrity gossip scandal. I already felt like I was stumbling at work, still getting my feet wet at the company. The last thing I needed was for this to make things more uncomfortable.
“Were you able to get the weekend off?” I asked Leo.
“I compromised,” he answered, pulling plastic containers from the fridge. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to work a half day, then I got a sub in for Saturday, so you’ll have me most of the time.”
Emotion welled in my throat. Despite our spending the past month at odds, he wasn’t missing a beat stepping up for me now. I twisted my hands together in my lap.
“Listen, Leo. I really appreciate you having me and feeding me, so I think I ought to lay out the reason I’m here.”
He paused in the act of spooning green bean casserole onto a plate. “Alright.”
“Before I explain, I want to be very clear that you can say no. And there won’t be any hard feelings between us. We’ll still be best friends.”
Putting the plate in the microwave, he turned in my direction with a sigh. “I didn’t want to push. But obviously I’m curious.” He sat down next to me.
I straightened my spine even as my right knee bobbed against his. “You get the gist of everything going on with Stone, right? How the part of the internet that cares about these sorts of things thinks he’s cheating on Naomi Butler with a mystery girl who is, in fact, me?” Leo bobbed his head. “Well, Shoshanna—you remember that’s Stone’s assistant—doesn’t think a simple denial is going to cut it. Once they figure out who I am, and they will, it will be even more real. Stone and I have done a decent job keeping our relationship private. You’re the only person in my life who knows about him and me, and he’s been guarded too, so our friends and family will have plausible deniability. But Stone and I haven’t been total mole people, either. There are resort staff and other guests who might have seen us on vacation, and not just on that Hawaii trip. I’ve accepted food deliveries at his house and driven his car to the mall—little things that didn’t matter when no one was paying attention. But now those details might add up.”
“I see,” Leo said thoughtfully. “I suppose there’s no possibility of just telling the truth? Admitting the relationship with Naomi was for publicity?”
“Not that I’m an expert, but that would probably be just as bad as his being a cheater. Either way, the fans would feel duped.”
His mouth turned down. “What’s your solution?”
“To explain to the public that Stone and I are just friends, that there’s no way he and I could be in a romantic relationship because I’m already in one with someone else.” I eyed him.
“Me?”
“Uh-huh. There are so many pictures of us together, and we look so relationship-y.”
