Chapter 11
eleven
KIT
‘Tis the damn season - Taylor Swift
For the last ten years, I’d spent Christmas Day the same way: hungover, normally from Elton John’s annual party the night before.
I’d wake up around midday, allergic to sunlight, and hang out on the sofa wrapped up in a duvet until it was time for friends to come over with takeaway. And that would be Christmas over and done with.
This year, however, Jonah had an entire schedule, all written out on a scrap of paper.
We’d been up early to prepare. I peeled carrots and potatoes while he worked on the turkey.
The radio was on all the while, all the old Christmas songs blasting out.
He’d even let me steal one of his Christmas jumpers, the pattern of which was a mix of trees and reindeers.
His was covered in sheep wearing little Santa hats, the tagline reading: ‘Fleece Navidad’.
Over vegetable peels, we’d stolen glances and kisses and been distracted by a mid-morning karaoke to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’, Jonah using a wooden spoon as a microphone.
It was the most fun I’d had on Christmas since I was a kid.
“Right, so that’s the turkey crown in, and the potatoes are boiling,” he said, throwing a towel over his shoulder. I was sitting at the breakfast bar, a glass of white in hand, admiring as he bent down to the oven, placing the food inside.
“I can’t believe you were going to eat an entire Christmas dinner yourself,” I said, looking around the busy kitchen, various bowls and foods all stacked up around the counters.
“I like cooking,” he said, leaning over the opposite side, his hand finding his own glass. “I invited Archie, his family, and some of my other friends over for Thanksgiving.”
“And they didn’t return the invite for today?”
“They tried.” He took a sip of his drink. “I didn’t want to feel like I was imposing on family time.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be.”
Jonah shrugged, a slight look coming over his face. “I think I was worried…I don’t know.”
“Worried about what?” I asked, cautious I didn’t dig too deep.
“Sometimes I feel lonelier, hanging out with another family. Like, even though I’m in the room, I’m still on the outside looking in.”
His gaze caught on mine, and I saw it again: sadness. Seemingly a rarity from the time I’d spent with him, but there all the same, like a discarded box shoved to the back of the wardrobe, only dug out every so often.
“I didn’t want that today,” he admitted.
I thought of my friends back in London, the ones I usually saw for Christmas. Over the years, I’d lost a few to boyfriends and babies, to long family holidays in the Cotswolds or the South of France. They’d all fled the busy London scene for family, and they’d forgotten to take me with them.
Jonah’s phone buzzed on the counter. His eyes glanced over it briefly, scanning the caller ID.
“That’s my sister,” he said, picking it up. “I won’t be long. Can you keep an eye on the potatoes?”
“Sure.” I smiled, watching as Jonah disappeared down the stairs, a loud “Merry Christmas” echoing back up from the hallway.
Instead, my attention turned to my own phone. It still only had a single bar. I tried to think of all the people I could call. Friends, coworkers, old flatmates, my manager. Mum and Dad, although I didn’t know if they were in the country, let alone if they’d answer.
It had been a long time since I’d spoken to them.
Instead, I found myself scrolling down to M on my contacts, an old number I hadn’t called in a long time.
Matteo.
Even his name caused that old wound in my heart to bleed. How deep it still ran even after all these years, and how it would never heal. Not really. As I pressed the call button, I realized this could be my only true Christmas tradition.
Holding my breath, the dial tone rang, each note ringing through my entire body.
“Kit,” he answered, and just from his tone I knew the answer to the question I hadn’t had the chance to ask. Yet, I bit my tongue and swallowed my pride.
“Hey, how are you doing?” I croaked out, barely able to even stay still as I jumped from the stool, pacing up and down the living room.
“Why are you calling?”
My eyes pressed closed, heart in my throat. “I was hoping…I wanted to talk to her.” I winced. “Even just to wish her a Merry Christmas.”
“That’s not a good idea. She’s all excitable; it will be hard to get her to settle down.” I could make out the background noise, busy and chaotic, a child screaming in the background.
“You could put me on loudspeaker,” I offered, my voice pleading.
“We are sitting down to breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I did the math quickly. “You’re in the States?”
He sighed, the background noise falling silent. “I will pass along your message, Kit.”
My fingers curled into a fist. “Did you get my present? I sent it to your address in—”
“Look, if she wants to speak to you, she will.” Every word that came from his mouth reduced me in size.
I had power in every room I walked into. I chose to be polite, patient even, but when they took too much, I made sure to let them know it. I’d done it back in London, on set with the photographer. With Matteo…well, he had taken my power a long time ago.
“Please, it’s Christmas,” I begged, losing a little more self-respect. I should’ve known, before he’d even answered, how this call was going to go. I shouldn’t have given myself the hope.
Stupid fucking mistake.
“Don’t call again, or I’ll be getting my solicitor involved,” he threatened, his next words so careful. “Maybe even the press would like to know if that happens. You know how they love ‘Wild Child Kit Sinclair’.”
My heart broke, wallowing in my pitifulness.
“Goodbye, Kit.” And then the line went dead.
I stared out the window, the snow undisturbed on the deck. Peace and quiet. What I’d wanted when I came here. How did everything feel like hell now?
“Okay, how are my babies doing in their little jacuzzi?” Jonah shouted, almost too gleefully as he leaped up the stairs.
I whipped around, suddenly remembering the potatoes I was supposed to be keeping an eye on, the pot boiling over on the hob.
“Shit, I left them for three seconds.” I stormed back over to the kitchen, but Jonah was there before me, moving the pot over to a different hob, the water receding. “I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention.”
“It’s fine,” he said, grabbing some more water to top up the pot, lowering the heat slightly before returning it to the hob.
“It’s not fine. What if, I don’t know, I set fire to them?” I grumbled, feeling worse and worse. “I could’ve fucked it all up.”
Messed up his Christmas too. Just add that to my list of screw ups.
“Well, if you set fire to it, I’d put it out and then softly mock you for the rest of the day,” he said, resting back on a counter, the situation contained. “If they got ruined, we’d peel some more. Easy.”
The way he answered all my concerns and made my mess-up small enough to swallow, bite-sized even, made me almost dizzy, the war of emotions still tearing me apart.
“Are you okay? You look a little pale,” Jonah asked as I sat at the counter.
“I’m fine.” I took a sip from my glass, the cool liquid doing a little to simmer the ugly feeling rearing its head within me. “It’s nothing. How was your call?”
He smiled weakly. “It was good. Everyone was round at my sisters for the holiday, so it was a quick catch up before the kids dig into their presents.”
“That sounds fun,” I managed, forcing the image out of my brain. The background of my call, the noise, the family.
What did that feel like?
“Chaos is another word for it.”
“How many kids does she have?”
“Three.” Jonah smiled. “All boys.”
I let out a heavy sigh at the thought. Three boys? My cream couch back home shivered in fear. “I’m terrified for her.”
He smiled softly, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. The sight of him, the strong line of his neck, the way his throat bobbed as he drank. The perfect distraction.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem…I don’t know.”
I shook my head, swallowing down everything that still weighed too much to put into the right words. “I promise, I’m okay,” I insisted. “When was the last time you saw your family? You seem close.”
He took a seat opposite me, that towel still over his shoulder, a kind curve to his lips. “I’ve been here six months. Which might be the longest I’ve been away from them. Even when I was at college, I went home regularly.”
“And when is the book due?”
He grimaced. “Three months ago.”
I made a low noise of warning. “That doesn’t sound so good.”
His head dipped, gaze falling to the counter. “It’s not great.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked, leaning a little closer to him.
“I can’t seem to find the ending.”
“That simple, huh?” I said sarcastically.
“Aren’t most problems?” he said, his eyes fixed on mine. “Simple.”
The photoshoot, that photographer, the fur coat hanging beside the door. All easy problems, all simple solutions. Give up. Let them take what they asked for. And yet that all felt harder.
Jonah’s hand stretched towards me, his fingers caressing the side of my face. The touch was easy and soft, sparking my pulse into overdrive. “Maybe I’ve been procrastinating so I could stay here long enough to run into you.”
“Oh, so your next excuse to your editors is going to be that you were waiting for a girl to move in next door?” I teased, leaning into the touch.
“I needed my muse,” he crooned playfully.
“Baby, I’m no muse.” I laughed, shaking my head out from his touch. “I’m a much better distraction.”
Jonah rounded the breakfast bar, standing in front of me, pressing between my legs. He leaned down, his hand guiding my face up to meet his. “Let me be the judge of that.”
With those words, his lips crashed into mine, slow and aching.