15 #2
I try not to puke in my mouth. The last Kegmas I celebrated with him, I woke up underneath a fully decorated fake Christmas tree that had not been in his living room the night before. I never did ask where it came from.
“Merry Christmas, MG,” he says, handing me a glass of orange juice. “Can’t wait to open the restaurant with you this year.”
Wait, did he say “with you”? Am I opening the restaurant with him?
He lifts his own glass for a toast before I can finish processing what he said.
I take a sip, then nearly spit it back out into the glass.
“Is this a mimosa?” I ask with a wince.
“Hair of the dog,” Anthony says with a smirk.
Ugh. Whatever I drank last night is still wreaking havoc on my system. Yes to the greasy eggs Benedict, no to the brunch cocktails. I lower my glass. “I’m gonna grab water from the fridge.”
“I forgot you don’t like bubbles,” he says apologetically. “I also made my famous Bloody Mary. It’s behind you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing water to start.
His Bloody Mary is good. I’ll have to pour myself a glass once I’m hydrated.
I pause as I watch him bustle around the kitchen cleaning his workspace and am impressed by his initiative.
This isn’t the Anthony I recall in college, and he may still be a party guy, but he’s actually doing something cool with his life, which is really impressive.
“Yo, MG, you okay?” Anthony asks around his last bite of food. “You’re not drinking your Bloody M. How about one of those mocha-choca-latte things? I can ask my dad to open the store to bring you one.”
I wrinkle my nose in confusion before I remember clearly. Right, his parents own a popular café and wood-fire pizza restaurant, Blaze Baby. “No, it’s okay. Nobody needs to go into work today just because I’ve got a hangover.” And because the universe has chosen me to mess with, I add in my mind.
Anthony shrugs. “It’s all good. Perks of being the owner’s son. How do you think we’re getting all the pizzas for tonight? Our manager is dropping them off.”
Wait, if Blaze Baby is nearby, it means Hopewell Crossing is about an hour from here.
Which means I’m close enough to my family to maybe drive over and see them.
The thought brings a sudden flood of tears to my eyes, my heart clenching at how badly I need to see them, especially after everything that’s happened with my last two exes.
“Speaking of…” Anthony glances at his watch.
“I need to meet Steve-O to grab supplies. He’s got some fresh meat and produce I want to use for my amuse-bouches tonight.
Kegmas is going to be sophisticated this year.
” He leans close. “Plus, he’s hooking me up with some rad holiday-flavored edibles from the warehouse.
No more bongs made out of apples and water bottles. We’re classy, baby.”
“Awesome,” I say. If he’s making bite-size dishes for the party, he’s clearly come a long way in his culinary prowess from college. “How long will you be? I might stop at home this morning.”
“Oh yeah.” He tosses a towel over his shoulder as he sets his plate in the sink. “Your sister called me earlier. She couldn’t get ahold of you. You were sleeping like that Rip Van guy.”
I snicker. He means Rip Van Winkle, the guy who slept well into the future. Yeah, that tracks.
I glance at my phone, and sure enough there are a couple of missed calls and texts. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I assumed they were calling about caroling at the hospital, and you told me you didn’t want to go?”
Oh. Anthony is right that I would prefer to not do that.
My chest tightens at the memories of singing with my dad there on Christmas Eve, but after he passed it was hard for all of us to go back.
That, and my stage fright, all contributing to my desire to never sing in public again.
My family hasn’t gone caroling in years, which means this is new. Something must’ve changed.
Anthony rubs my arm. “We’ve got a lot to do with the party, but I know singing used to be a passion of yours. If you want to join them, go for it. But of course we’ll see them tomorrow for Christmas itself.”
After Dale and Flynn’s lack of interest in my family, it’s nice hearing Anthony wants to see them.
And I brim with hope. How amazing would it be for us to spend Christmas with my family as a couple?
I could show off my culinary genius boyfriend who makes the most excellent Filipino food and who’s opening a restaurant.
There’s no way my family could be disappointed in me then.
Unless… I won’t be here for Christmas tomorrow. The time loops have never let me go two days in them. But what if Anthony the cook is the guy for me? Maybe he’s the love Madam Lunas saw, and the way I find myself out of this mess.
If that’s true, then the way out is staying. Choosing instead of reacting? If Anthony is the one, maybe I will be having Christmas with my family after all. So I need to just let the day play out, and honestly, if he is going to feed me amazing meals, that won’t be too hard to do.
“You almost finished?” Anthony points to my half-eaten plate.
“We’ve got a lot to get ready for the party.
” He plunks down a notebook with a to-do list. “It’s got to be extra good this year because a few of my culinary school friends will be stopping by.
I want to make sure I’ve got some killer dishes for them, in addition to my folks’ gourmet pies.
And I want you to take some pictures before everyone eats anything for your socials. ”
“That sounds fun.” Gourmet foods and photo shoots sound way better than the last Kegmas I attended. And in this cycle my social accounts must be pretty big if Anthony is asking me to help promote his cooking. Mental note to check my account later.
“Gonna be great publicity for the restaurant,” he mutters, chewing on the end of his pencil.
I glance at our to-do list. It is quite lengthy. But not every item is daunting. Clean and declutter the main floor is obvious, but I perk up at the bullet that says “decorate.” And smile at the “bake some home-cooked goodness” item.
Baking and preparing Anthony’s home for the holidays actually sounds like a lovely distraction. Mom’s always taken the lead on decorating her house, so having the chance to create my own holiday magic this year feels like something new—something that’s just mine.
“I’ll start cleaning,” I say.
He gives me a thumbs-up and I set off to hunt down his cleaning supplies. In this time loop, if I’m an active participant, perhaps I can avoid all the terrible things happening to me. To quote one of Manny’s old ’90s movies: “There is no fate but the one we make for ourselves.” Right?