Skipping Christmas
Rebekah Weatherspoon
As the final notes of “Sleigh Ride” play through my speakers, I shut off my car with a groan, thankful as Kris Kringle that no one decided to let their friend or their girl just “borrow” my parking spot—which I pay for—overnight.
My neck, my hands, and my back protest as I climb out of the driver’s seat, the cool California night air reminding me that the day is definitely over and there is nothing but a stop by the mailboxes between me and at least two Christmas cookies, some fresh, hot cocoa, and an even hotter shower.
Every season is a busy season for me. Girls’ nights, baby showers, graduation parties, new jobs, first dates, not to mention the routine fill and the inevitable repair.
There is no rest for professional nail techs, but with Christmas right around the corner, my schedule is booked solid.
Holiday parties, office parties, pictures with the local mall Santa, and don’t get me started on all the Christmas Day proposals around the tree.
I have to keep my clients’ hands looking good for those hard launch moments.
After pulling up the zipper of my oversized pink hoodie, I grab my stuff, triple-checking that I have everything, before my phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans.
I know exactly who it is: the same person who’s been blowing up my phone all day.
I tuck my keys into my bag and pull out my phone.
Mommy said I can use her car.
I’ll get you from the airport.
I shake my head, stopping in my tracks. It’s time to end this once and for all.
Yeah, but how she say it?
I try to keep it light ’cause I know my sister is upset, even though middleman is the job she hired herself for.
She just said I can use her car.
Yeah, and Mom probably rolled her eyes and called me everything including ungrateful, I think to myself.
My fingers hover over my phone. I don’t need to give my sister a hard time.
Amaya is not the problem; our mama is. Amaya knows that better than anyone, but I still need to remind her why I moved three thousand miles away.
As soon as I got a little bit of my own grown folks’ money, I realized pretty quickly I needed to put as much distance between myself and Angelica Wallace as possible.
Call it eldest daughter’s trauma, but I deserve to spend my Christmas in peace—as well as all three hundred and sixty-four days that come before and after it.
I think about what skipping going home would mean and how much I still love my little sister.
What if I fly you out here?
We can do Sister Christmas all cutesy like.
I’ll take you to the beach and the mall.
My stomach swoops a little as I hit send, and I know that there’s a pretty good chance I might cry, so I should probably get inside.
I swap my phone for my keys and let myself into the building.
The lobby is empty, but there’s someone shuffling around in the mail room, muttering to themselves.
I slap on a polite smile, ready to greet whichever of my neighbors is clearly over this day too.
I round the corner, then almost swoon and die right on the spot.
It’s 2A, aka Girl Dad, aka Pretty Teeth, aka the finest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
He’s bent over rearranging a stack of packages against the wall, looking good as always in dark jeans and a black hoodie.
Not that he didn’t look good all the times I’ve bumped into him in his brown delivery uniform.
He’d look good in rags and even better wrapped in nothing but a bow under my Christmas tree.
He spots me and does a double take before he stands to his full height.
He flashes me a blinding smile, his perfectly straight teeth gleaming white against his perfectly trimmed facial hair, and I remind myself for the hundredth time that this man is taken and he has a child.
“Hey. How you doing?” he says, his voice silky and deep.
I want to close the distance between us and cup his cheek as I explain just how good we could be together. As soon as I learn his actual name.
“Hey! They got you stacking boxes on your day off?” A safe, corny reply.
He laughs and adjusts the last two boxes carelessly dropped on the floor. “Nah. Quit that gig, but I still can’t stand when buddy comes in here and just tosses things everywhere.”
“I don’t think it’s him, actually,” I say, easing toward my mailbox. “It’s those kids in 3D. I’ve caught them knocking stuff all over the place in here before.”
“Ah, makes sense.” He stands again, gripping a box this time, the relief on his face clear. Those little punks didn’t steal his stuff.
“Christmas present for little miss mamas?” I say, nodding toward the box in his hand.
The smile on his face drops for just a second before he clears his throat and smiles at me again. It’s different, though. A little tighter, like he’s embarrassed.
“Nah—um—her mother and I aren’t together anymore,” he says.
“Ah, I’m sorry.” I see him with his little girl all the time, and she adores him. “Stuck splitting the holidays now? Mom gets Christmas, you get her for the Rose Parade?”
“Uh, no. Jaeda’s not mine. Bria got back with Jaeda’s dad right before Halloween. They moved out.”
Two months? Have I really not seen his girlfriend—his ex—or the baby in almost two months?
“And that’s what I get for minding your business.” I shift uncomfortably.
He laughs, a warm, genuine sound. “It’s okay.”
“I’m really sorry.”
He lifts one shoulder in a sexy shrug. “Better now, while Jaeda’s young, than years from now, when she has solid memories.”
“Oh man, that’s bleak. Too bleak for Christmastime.”
“It is what is,” he says before he leans down. I watch him as he reaches for another box and try not to freak out when he hands the box to me. “Ashley, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I take the box, ignoring the way my cheeks feel all hot suddenly. “I have to admit, I don’t know your name.”
My friends and I have mostly been calling him 2A or Sexual Chocolate, which I don’t think is appropriate for this current conversation.
“Micah.” He smiles a bit wider, and suddenly all I want to do is sing Ashley and Micah, sittin’ in a tree…
“Nice to meet you, Micah.”
“You’re friends with Kendra in 3J, right? She told me your name after you let me know my tire was flat.” That was over a year ago. “I meant to thank you properly; I was busy with the kid and work.”
“Oh, no worries. Nothing worse than being in a hurry and coming out to a flat,” I reply, and then I realize we’ve breached the small-talk bubble. I’m about to give him the ole weeelp when he speaks.
“You got plans for Christmas?”
“Not much, just gonna chill,” I say.
“I like that.” He nods, and I think we should make out right here, right now, since he’s single and all.
“Actually, I’m lying,” I confess. “I’m gonna bake and get real cozy and watch Christmas movies.” I do keep the part where I already bought pink footy pajamas to wear through it all to myself.
“Not spending it with family?” he asks.
“No. I’m from Boston, and I’m only taking a few days off.
Doesn’t make sense to fly there and back.
” I also don’t tell him that my mom and I can’t go more than five minutes without having an argument and that’s no way to spend the most wonderful time of the year.
“What about you? You’re from here, right? ”
“Nah, I’m from the Bay. My dad and I don’t really see eye to eye on anything, so there’s no need for me to get into all that.”
“Well, if you’re around and you want some cookies, you know where to find me,” I reply, realizing immediately that I definitely just offered this man my cookies.
“Actually, I don’t. You’re on three, but—”
“Oh. 3C.”
“I might take you up on that,” he says. I know he’s just being polite, so it’s definitely time to go. I’ll check my mailbox later.
“All right, well, night.” I’m really calm and cool as I turn around and practically sprint up the stairs to my apartment. I kick my shoes off at the door, toss my stuff on the couch, and pull out my phone. Amaya hasn’t responded to my text yet, so I text Kendra instead.
I just ran into 2A!
He’s single!
I repeat! He’s single!
Kendra’s already in Tulum with her parents and her man for the holidays, but family trips have never stopped her from texting me back.
Girl! Now’s your chance!
Go sit on his face!
I did invite him to drop by for some of my cookies.
I give him an hour before he’s breaking down your door.
Your cookies are delicious and I’m sure he’ll like your baking too.
You’re nasty and correct.
It’s all jokes and wishful thinking. Still, Kendra and I spend a little too much time joking about how Micah and I belong together, speculating on a scientific level as to why he and Jaeda’s mom broke up, and then joking again about how I should show up at his door Christmas morning in nothing but a smile and a mistletoe headband.
He’s so nice to look at, and from the little I know about him he does seem like a good boyfriend and a good father figure, but I’ve been burned by a good-looking man before, and for all we know his ex ran for the hills because he’s secretly a bum, or worse, a creepy weirdo.
I’ll keep it cute and casual, and let him stay right where he belongs: in my box of fantasies.
When I finally say good night to Kendra, the high from my run-in with 2A has worn off. I get ready for bed, taking one last look at my first client’s request for tomorrow morning. Fresh full set, switching from coffin tips to almond with snowflakes and candy canes. I got this.