Chapter 1 #2
Slamming it shut, he stepped into the living room. It was bare, other than a few fantasy books and Jake’s gaming system. Which was useless, since he no longer had a television.
Wait. Could he have…? Jake rushed past the space where their entertainment center used to be and into their bedroom.
It was gone. The bed was gone. The mattress was gone.
That dickwad! They’d bought those together. They’d split them fifty-fifty. Where was Jake going to sleep now?
It was all going to be okay. Jake let out a ragged breath. Everything would be fine.
Digging his phone out of his pocket, Jake forcefully tapped out a message to his now-ex-boyfriend.
Where is the fucking bed? I own half that bed.
The three dots appeared, and Jake waited for what felt like an eternity for Phil to respond. Finally, his message came through.
I figure that can cover all the groceries I’ve bought for you over the last six months.
As he read the words, Jake’s skin heated, and a headache bloomed in his skull. There was only one way to answer.
Fuck you.
Without hesitating, he blocked Phil’s number. They’d been living together for three years. Phil had professed to love him. Sure, Jake’s unemployment was frustrating, but this was ridiculous. He hoped he would never see the man again.
More than that. He wished Phil were standing in front of him. Jake had never hit anyone, but he wanted to now. Every molecule in his being desired something horrible and painful to happen to his ex.
He would be fine. Jake would be—
With a hoarse scream, he punched the wall. His hand went through the drywall like a stone dropped into water.
Oh, fuck, no. That was bad. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a violent person. And he couldn’t afford to lose his security deposit, especially not now. Their landlord was a jerk. He’d take any opportunity to bilk Jake out of a few thousand dollars.
Jake would have to patch it up. He sucked at that kind of thing. Home repair.
The drywall had crumpled as his fist hit it. There was almost no resistance. It might as well have been papier-maché.
That was Jake and Phil’s relationship, and he’d missed it somehow. From the outside, it appeared strong and smooth. Not a crack in sight. To all their friends, Phil was the supportive partner, helping his boyfriend through a hard financial time.
But all it had taken was six months of money stress, and the whole thing had fallen apart. What kind of love was that?
A bad one. One he’d been stupid enough to believe in.
It was his failing, after all. Jake had been oblivious, which made sense. He was the broken one. The one who had to take a fistful of pills every morning to control his depression. The one who’d screwed up every job interview he’d gotten. Phil had done the smart thing in leaving.
What would his grandmother say? “He wasn’t good enough for you,” or “Someone better is on their way right now.” Maybe, “You’re not a failure.” Which might be true if Jake were a normal person. But he wasn’t.
No, he was unemployed, mentally ill, and broke. It was all his fault. Who would want to be with someone like him? Hell, he wouldn’t want to date himself.
He also couldn’t afford this apartment without Phil, so he might be homeless. Failure was a justified title.
He was tempted to lie down on the hardwood floor and fall asleep. This was the bedroom, even if there was no bed, and his body drooped from exhaustion. He was about to lower himself down when he heard a soft meow from the doorway behind him.
Turning, an obnoxiously adorable sight confronted Jake. Miranda Priestly, their eight-month-old ragdoll kitten, stared up at him with her gigantic eyes.
Phil had left the cat behind.
Collapsing down to the ground, ignoring the pain as his knees hit the hardwood floor, Jake held out his arms. The sweet kitty ran to him.
They’d only adopted her a few months ago, and despite being the one that insisted they get a cat, she’d never taken to Phil.
Jake had been her person from the get-go.
As he cuddled Miranda Priestly in his arms, the last of the anger drained out of Jake. He didn’t like what remained. How had his life gotten to this point? After his time in the hospital, he’d built everything back so painstakingly. Now it was all gone.
Jake took a deep breath and buried his face in Miranda Priestly’s soft fur. At moments like this, it helped to figure out what to hold on to. His sweet kitten was here with him. They were together.
He forced himself to his feet. What else was left? Carrying the cat with him, he swung open the closet door to find his clothes piled up on the floor.
Phil had taken the damned hangers.
For someone who’d claimed to love him, the man was ruthless. Jake sighed and shut the door, making his way back to the entryway. It was a city apartment, and closet space was at a premium. There was only one other in the whole place, by the front door.
Jake opened the door to the closet, and the knot in his chest loosened the tiniest bit. Phil had left the Christmas decorations.
Not that surprising. Phil had never understood Jake’s obsession with Christmas.
Phil’s childhood had been typical. His family was upper-middle class.
He’d always had a big tree and lots of presents.
Phil had rolled his eyes when he talked about it, like he found it cringeworthy that his mom was so invested in it.
Jake’s mother was already gone by the time he was old enough to remember the holidays. It had been just him and his grandmother, and she’d worked herself to the bone to make them perfect. Every present was thoughtful and special. Every decoration was handmade.
Jake loved Christmas. He wasn’t religious, but he looked forward to the holiday season each year.
As he surveyed the boxes and bags of decorations piled into the tiny closet, a wave of sadness hit him.
The glitter of gold and silver normally made his heart sing, but taking in his collection, he saw it for what it was.
Cheap paint on fragile plastic. The sparkle was a lie.
He wouldn’t have a boyfriend for Christmas.
He wouldn’t get to do all the winter couples activities he loved so much.
No skating in Central Park. No huddling together in the cold as they peered into the windows at Macy’s.
No caroling and mulled cider and cuddling under the blankets on Christmas morning.
Shit, he didn’t even have anywhere to go on Thanksgiving, and that was in three days. They’d decided not to travel this year to save money. They were going to do a little roast chicken and some stuffing by themselves in the apartment.
Who called someone in for a job interview the week of Thanksgiving? Not a company that was seriously hiring. He’d never had a chance. He was destined to be alone and jobless for the holidays.
Of course, Phil had probably bought himself a ticket home to be with his family, who he didn’t even like spending time with, while Jake would be stuck alone in New York without even a saucepan to make chicken soup in.
At least the microwave was built into the cabinets, so he could make some instant ramen.
If it hadn’t been, Phil probably would have taken that, too.
Miranda Priestly batted at Jake’s chest as if to say both “don’t be an idiot” and “you’re not paying enough attention to me.
” She let out a little squeak and jumped out of his arms, landing among the bags and boxes.
She sniffed around for a moment, then clawed at one brown paper bag with twine handles.
Jake bent down and opened it up to see what was inside.
It was an old stuffed Santa from when he was a kid.
The thing had seen better days. It was secondhand when his grandmother bought it, and the felt was bald in several places.
Jake didn’t care. He loved the white beard and the big sack of toys.
When you pressed on the belly, Santa sang a Christmas carol.
Jake couldn’t resist. He pushed in at the waist. At first, it made a racket like a cornered possum, loud and off-pitch and…hissy? But after a few seconds, something in the ancient mechanism clicked, and Santa started his song.
It didn’t sound good, that was for sure. Jake wondered if this would be the last year for his beloved Santa. Even so, it did its job. It kept going. No matter how ragged and off-key it was, it still spread the Christmas cheer he loved so much.
Tears welled up in Jake’s eyes. He wasn’t sure that he was capable of that much. To keep going, even when he was broken inside. His internal mechanisms hadn’t worked properly in a long time.
But there was hope in Santa’s creaky song. Jake couldn’t find it in himself. But it lived there in the old toy’s music.
Jake picked Santa up and gingerly placed him on the kitchen counter. Then a strange thought hit him, wrapped in desperation and nostalgia. His body moving almost without his control, Jake rifled through his backpack for a piece of paper and a pen.
Miranda Priestly meowed at him, scratching on the low cupboard where they stashed her food.
“Are you serious? Did Phil not feed you before he left?”
Miranda Priestly let out another adorable squeak and rubbed up against Jake’s leg. He shook his head.
“Just a minute, sweet kitty. I’ll get you your food, I promise.”
But first, he had a letter to write. A letter to Santa.
A wave of self-consciousness washed through Jake. This was so ridiculous, so silly. Why write a letter to a fictional being for wishes said fictional being couldn’t possibly grant? It felt childish.
It was childish, but that was part of what drew him to the idea.
The last time he’d felt truly safe was as a child, his grandmother feeding him hot chocolate as he scribbled out his Christmas list. She’d always make sure he got something amazing from Santa, even when they were living paycheck to paycheck.
So what if it was silly? He was doing it anyway. Phil was gone, but Santa wasn’t, and old Saint Nick would never let Jake down.
Dear Santa—
Jake’s eyes blurred with sudden tears. His grandma and Santa Claus were the only two people who’d always been there for him his whole life.
I know Christmas isn’t for five weeks, but maybe you could deliver my present early this year.
He stopped and stared at what he’d written. What exactly was he going to ask for? What could possibly fix the situation he was in right now?
One step at a time.
I need a place to stay. I have to sublet my apartment, and I don’t have any money for a security deposit and broker’s fee anywhere else. My credit’s shot. So maybe you could come up with a solution? That would be the best gift in the whole world.
Jake was working hard not to feel embarrassed, but his neck warmed as he wrote.
This was ridiculous. Santa was real, Jake believed that, but he was an idea.
He couldn’t magic some gifts into your house.
Yet here Jake was, sending off his Christmas wish in a letter, like a hopeful child asking for the newest gaming system his parents couldn’t afford.
And yet, what did he have to lose? Before questioning himself further, he jotted down another line.
I’d also like a boyfriend who would love me unconditionally. I know that’s a lot to ask, but—
What was wrong with him? Not only was this ridiculous, but Jake was in no state to have a boyfriend. He might never be. He didn’t need another person to disappoint.
Scratching out the line, he scribbled until the words disappeared under a black bar. He was about to fold up the paper when an idea hit him.
And if you could get my grandmother some nice earrings, that would be great. She’s always complaining that she doesn’t have good jewelry for when she goes on dates.
He didn’t like to think of his grandma dating, but there wasn’t a person alive who could get in her way when she’d decided on something. And evidently, his seventy-year-old grandma had decided on getting a man.
Jake shuddered a little at the thought, then quickly shook it off. His grandmother was a grown woman. She’d raised two generations of kids, and she deserved to be happy.
He needed to wrap this up.
Thanks for always being there for me.
Love,
Jake
It was done. As he folded the letter into three, Miranda Priestly hopped up onto the counter and put both of her front paws on the piece of paper.
He shooed her off and stuffed the note back into his backpack. He’d take it to the post office tomorrow. Seeing the kitten’s intense glare, he bent over and pulled out the big bag of dry food from the cupboard. The cat’s metal bowl clanged as the pellets hit the bottom.
“Here you go, Miranda Priestly. It’s just you and me now.”