chapter 39
[Angelica]
I hate that I snuck out of Ashford’s, but when I heard soft voices and light music, I panicked.
I slipped into my uniform and slunk down seven flights of stairs until I reached the first floor. Thankfully, the same security guard was present at the State Street entrance to let me out of Ashford’s.
“Merry Christmas,” I muttered to the poor man working an overnight shift on Christmas Eve.
I’d been there. Knew someone had to do it. First responders like me. And medical staff. And security personnel.
I took an Uber back to the fire department to retrieve my car with blurry eyes both from exhaustion and an aching heart.
I couldn’t shake this sudden foreboding sensation that last night Jude was telling me goodbye, when I only wanted to keep saying hello to him over and over again.
The way Jude clung to me. The way he took his time. His patience was unparalleled considering he never goes slow. Every sexual encounter with him has been a rush, but last night, time stood still.
In that stillness, I felt him slipping away.
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I invited Jude to spend the day with me, somehow knowing he won’t accept the invitation. Sensing I was pushing him too far.
A man can only change so much.
Once home and showered, I pull up the invitation for Jude to spend Christmas at Gran’s, seeing it’s been read, but not responded to. The pit of my stomach feels like I’ve eaten an entire fruit cake.
When I get to Gran’s, it’s still early, but her living room is an explosion of gifts, from big to small, and everything in between.
While the packages are wrapped in brightly colored paper decorated with snowmen, reindeer, and elves, I envision every present I purchased for Gran and Gertie.
The gifts I picked out myself . . . while shopping with Jude.
Hardly a month has passed since that day, and yet, it feels like a lifetime ago.
Our story will be one I tell in the future: The Month I Loved a Grinch.
Because I’d fallen in love with Jude Ashford. The new Jude. The one no longer a spoiled, aloof teenager, nor a short-sighted businessman, but the one who transformed into something more.
The one who embraced my family while baking cookies and donated half a million dollars because I missed a fundraiser. The one who took care of me when I was sick and paid for all my Christmas presents. The man who made a little girl smile in a hospital bed and kissed me like it wasn’t pretend.
He felt something, right? Something more. Last night certainly felt extra.
As I sit on Gran’s worn couch, I hear the rumble of feet racing down the stairs from Christmas’s apartment above. Gran and Gertie stumble from the kitchen, each holding a cup of ambition as they’ll need it to get through the chaos of the next few hours.
Dane will be here later with his girls.
Beau and Belle are off on their honeymoon.
And while I’m not alone, loneliness blankets me.
I wish Jude was here.
+ + +
The next few hours pass in the chaos only Christmas brings.
Squeals of delight. Pressure to immediately put items together. “Do you have batteries?” is said three times because someone forgot to purchase them. The pile of wrapping paper grows like a building blizzard.
Once the kids are content, Gran and I head to the kitchen, where I start making breakfast. Every movement is labored. Every motion rote.
Pancake making. Bacon sizzling. Coffee brewing.
“What’s wrong with you?” Christmas asks, finally entering the epicenter of Gran’s home.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Santa doesn’t come to those who tell a lie,” my sister teases.
“Santa already came,” I mutter, and the one thing I wanted didn’t arrive.
“What’s Jude doing today?” she asks, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring herself another mug.
“He doesn’t celebrate.” I sigh, whisking the ingredients for pancake batter faster.
“What do you mean he doesn’t celebrate?” Gran asks, from somewhere behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to see Gran and Gertie sitting at the kitchen table, which already holds a stack of plates and silverware for dinner later today.
A roast will go in the oven soon. Mashed potatoes were previously made, frozen, and were now defrosting on the countertop.
The green bean casserole needs to be made. Rolls, too. Salad.
“Angelica,” Christmas says, pulling me from the ever-present list of things to do. “What do you mean Jude doesn’t celebrate?”
She eyes me suspiciously.
“He just doesn’t believe in the day, I guess. Retail is a hard industry, and the season sucks the energy out of him.” I shrug, although I don’t firmly know Jude’s reason for not participating in this holiday.
Her brows furrow.
“That’s nonsense,” Gertie says from her seat at the round table. “There’s always a reason to celebrate a day, Christmas or otherwise.”
“Well, I guess, he goes with otherwise and not Christmas.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly defensive. He has a right to peace and quiet and to be alone.
Suddenly, it hits me.
Jude will be alone. All alone. What will he do today? How will he pass the time?
I spin to face Gran. “He’s going to be alone,” I whisper.
Gran sits straighter, reading something in my face. “Invite him to come here.”
“I did,” I admit, my throat clogging with the reminder he didn’t accept the invitation.
The kitchen is silent for a minute before Gertie says, “Well, if he won’t join the party, the party should join him.”
“Gertie,” I groan. “I can’t invade Jude’s space.” He doesn’t want to be with me today.
But then what was last night? The romantic setup. The chocolate and champagne. The strawberries and cream he’d painted over my body.
A shiver ripples up my spine.
Did he want to be alone? Or was last night his quiet plea to be with someone? To celebrate with me?
“Gran . . .” Suddenly, I’m setting down the pancake bowl and swiping my hands on a dishtowel. “I think I need . . . I should . . . I might . . .”
“We’re right there with you.” Gran is the first to jump up from the table. Opening the fridge, she’s already pulling out the butcher-paper wrapped roast and the bag of fresh green beans.
“What are you doing?” I chuckle anxiously.
“If he won’t come here for Christmas, we’ll take Christmas to him.”
I glance at my sister who hollers toward her sons. “Everyone pick two items and then get dressed. We’re going on a holiday adventure.”
“This is crazy,” I state, staring at my sister and then turning toward Gran.
“Any crazier than Beau getting married two days ago to a girl he met while drunk on a plane?” Christmas snorts, patting my shoulder.
Beau is always going to one-up the rest of us.
And I watch as my family goes into snowstorm mode, packing up our meal, and gathering the boys and their new toys, before we head out to Christmas’s van in hopes of restoring the holiday for Jude.