Chapter 7 #2
I slide open the back door, and the first thing I notice is twinkling lights glowing through the gauzy curtain of the pool house window. They’re in a triangle—almost like a Christmas tree. It’s only the first week of October. Halloween would make more sense, if that’s your thing.
On my way around the pool, I spot what looks like a full-sized pine behind the curtain. And there’s a wreath on the door—tasteful, not the plasticky red-and-green kind, but definitely Christmas.
The biggest shock, though, is the song Stella’s blasting: “Fa-La La-La Land,” my eighteen-year-old voice hitting every high note of the song I can’t stand.
The music hits like a punch. Stella knows how I feel about that song. I told her. And she’s playing it loud enough I couldn’t miss it if I tried.
My temper spikes. I turn to head back inside, then remember: Know your worth. Stella should want to keep me happy as much as Danny should, especially after her bull-and-heifer speech. If I don’t say something, I’m letting her walk all over me the same way she says Danny does.
I knock hard—mainly so she can hear me over the music. I keep my voice steady. Yelling’s not my style, and I’m not keen to prove her right about me being a grump…though boring isn’t an upgrade.
The door swings open. She’s in cut-off shorts and a baggy sweater with a giant reindeer hanging off one shoulder. My eyes drop to the big furry boots.
“Oh, Rhys!” She taps her phone, and the music cuts.
“I told you how I feel about that song,” I say—too loud—trying not to stare at her collarbone. But when I meet her dark eyes, wide with surprise and concern, the heat drains away. What’s left is just…hurt.
“I know. I’m so sorry.” She opens the door wider and waves me in. “I didn’t think you would be back until much later tonight. ‘Fa-La’ is always the first song I play during the Christmas season. I figured I’d get it all out of my system while you were gone, then not listen to it again.”
“Hmph. I’d like to never listen to it again.”
Her mouth tips into an apologetic smile. “I know you hate it, but the truth is…” She practically vibrates trying to hold it in. “I love that song so much! It’s the perfect happy start to Christmas.”
She bubbles over like a shaken soda, but I’m barely tracking the words. The room steals my attention. The studio looks completely different from what I imagined.
Nearly every flat surface has a Christmas…something. Santa pillows on the sofa. Santa figurines on the tables. Santa prints on the walls. Even Christmas tea towels in the kitchen.
In two weeks, Santa’s workshop has relocated from the North Pole to Malibu.
“You took a bit of a turn with the décor since the last time we talked,” I say slowly, still taking in the rosy-cheeked Santas and the lights.
Stella follows my gaze and gives a nervous giggle. “The Santa stuff is all temporary. I’ll put it away after Christmas.”
“I didn’t realize the Christmas season started in October.”
“If you don’t really celebrate the holiday, it doesn’t. But for everyone else, it starts October first. I’m a week late getting my decorations up.” She clomps across the room in those boots, lifts a plastic bin, and brings it to me. “You wanna help?”
“There’s more?” I stare into the box—baubles, snowflakes, a mess of trinkets in bubble wrap. “You just skip over Halloween and Thanksgiving?”
Halloween’s not big in Australia, and Thanksgiving doesn’t exist at all, but I’ve been here long enough to know Americans love both.
“No, I’ve decorated for Halloween.” She points to a picture of a little girl in a long white dress with a red ribbon at the waist, a ring of candles on her head, smiling like she’s won Christmas.
It’s obviously Stella—the smile gives her away. What’s less obvious is how it isn’t another Christmas decoration. “What does that have to do with Halloween?” I ask.
Stella looks from me to the photo like it’s obvious. “I’m in my Halloween costume. I went as a little Swedish girl.”
“To be clear, you’re dressed as a little Swedish girl at Christmas—for Halloween?”
Stella nods enthusiastically, and I swallow a laugh.
“I love Christmas. What can I say?” she says with a smile and a shrug.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Of course you’d think it’s weird, but who doesn’t love Christmas? Besides, you know, people who don’t celebrate it for religious reasons.”
“You mean like half the world?” I grumble, lifting an ornament from the box. “Where do you want this?”
“It’s got to be more people than that, right?
” She points near the top of the tree where she can’t reach.
“I mean, I don’t think many people celebrate Christmas in China or India, and there are billions of people there.
So, you know… Santa deserves to have at least one superfan to make up for all the people who’ve never believed he existed. ”
I hook the ornament on a branch, then face Stella. “And that superfan is you?”
Her lip quirks. “Jealous I’ve moved on from being a rabid fan of yours?”
I search her face, looking for a clue to what she’s getting at.
“That’s what you called me the first time we met—in the hallway outside Dex’s apartment—a ‘rabid fan.’”
That gets a proper laugh out of me. “I’d forgotten that. Reckon I owe you an apology.”
She lifts a shoulder, not quite meeting my eye. “I reckon we’re even since you hooked me up with VibeHouse.”
I grab an ornament to put on the other side of the tree, where she can’t see me smiling. “Reckon I am a bit jealous I’ve been replaced by a guy who’s fictional and older than dirt.”
Stella peeks around the tree to give me a stern schoolteacher look. “Rhys, it’s October. We’ve entered the Season for Believin’. Any talk of Santa being fiction will be ignored and/or mocked.”
I scoff, but there’s no holding back my grin.
Somehow, Stella’s worked her usual magic, and every bit of hurt and irritation I lugged in is gone.
What’s left is the fizz of champagne bubbles in my chest. Her excitement over the simplest things is contagious.
If I didn’t love Christmas before, I’m getting there now.
I might not even hate “Fa-La La-La Land” quite so much, knowing it makes her happy.