Chapter 23
FOR NOW, SEBASTIAN and I have agreed to book a DJ.
If by some miracle we still happen to find a band, we’ll get them to perform between DJ sets.
I am quietly praying for that miracle, though.
I hate letting clients down, especially more than once.
I hope they won’t stop working with us after this fiasco.
As one of our biggest clients, they’re so important to the growth of Make a Mark Events.
Rudy is quieter than usual when I curl up on his couch that night.
There’s no playful banter and he won’t even look at me when he asks me what I want for dinner.
On any other night, he’d be teasing me for having the metabolism of a cheetah since I always order enough food to feed an entire orphanage. But not tonight.
What was going on with you this afternoon? I ask, right in the middle of a tense scene. The silence is too unbearable and I can’t stand it for another second.
Rudy gives me an annoyed look. Nothing, is all he has to say.
You were being super rude. Not just to me, but to Sebastian, too.
Ignoring me, he stares straight at the screen as he takes another bite of lasagna. Oh no. God forbid I’m too rude to Sebastian. He spits out the name like it’s something disgusting on his tongue. Slimy prick.
Rudy!
What were you even talking to him about? He finally draws his eyes away from the screen to give me an inquiring stare.
I let out a deep sigh as I twirl my fork through melted mozzarella. I was telling him how we still don’t have a band for the party, since you’re refusing to deal with your fear of Christmas in exchange for a very generous fee.
Yep. Bummer, he says gruffly.
He can be so frustrating sometimes.
So now we’re in real trouble. They’re probably never going to hire us again. First, Ed de Vries didn’t happen, then the original venue got knocked down, and now you’re unwilling to sing Christmas songs for one measly night.
Gee, man, that sucks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying my hardest to keep my cool.
This isn’t Rudy’s fault. We couldn’t take care of business and now I’m taking it all out on Rudy knowing he could very easily solve one of our biggest problems. Which is irritating.
But I shouldn’t be taking this out on him.
I shouldn’t be taking this out on him. I shouldn’t be t—
Why the hell do you hate Christmas so much?! I burst out in frustration, overriding my own mantra. What, you had a fiancée who cheated on you with Santa Claus or something?
Despite my annoyance, the thought makes me chuckle. But when I look over, Rudy isn’t laughing along with me. Not even close.
He’s staring at the TV screen, nostrils flaring.
Oh.
. . . you had a fiancée who cheated on you with Santa Claus? I ask, flabbergasted.
He lays down his fork, puts his plate on the table, then glares at me as he crosses his arms.
Girlfriend, he says, correcting me. Hilarious, right? He raises his eyebrows and I’m completely lost for words.
I, uh . . . I . . . Jesus. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that . . . What happened?
He shrugs it off, like he’s long over it, but his eyes are telling me a very different story.
We were high school sweethearts. Carol—that’s my ex—she was a musician too.
She’s the one who encouraged me to pursue singing.
After we graduated from our music program, she really wanted me to move to LA with her and make it big out there, but I didn’t want to leave New York.
She started going on and on, saying I only wanted to stay so I could fool around with other women while she was away.
The whole thing was ridiculous. Staring at his fingers, he lets out a deep sigh.
Oh Rudy, I mutter, touching my hand to his knee. It’s the first obvious physical contact between us since our kiss.
His gaze shifts to my hand, but he doesn’t say or do anything about it.
In the end, we decided to give the long-distance thing a try, he continues.
She left for Los Angeles and I stayed in New York, fully convinced it would all work out.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
We slowly stopped visiting each other, barely talked on the phone.
She wanted me to spend Christmas with her in LA.
Except my family had already booked a trip to spend the holidays in England with my grandparents.
I felt like an ass because I hadn’t seen Carol in forever.
I felt like I was letting her down again.
So I decided to cancel my flight to England and go surprise Carol in LA instead.
My family was pretty disappointed, but my folks are close with Carol’s parents so they knew how much she was missing me.
I figured I was making the right call. I was convinced it would be the end for us if I didn’t go see her.
His jaw stiffens and he squeezes his hands into fists, staring straight ahead as he replays the whole disastrous scenario in his mind.
Carol was nannying in LA. She wanted to work, not study, and organize some gigs from there.
So she was celebrating Christmas with her nannying family.
The kids were desperate for a visit from Santa and .
. . yeah. I guess Carol had been hooking up with some guy who happened to own a Santa Claus costume . . .
He takes a deep breath in through his nose before going quiet for a moment.
So there I am: standing in the driveway with my suitcase on Christmas morning, ready to surprise her.
And that’s when I see her open the front door and start making out with Santa.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. She was kissing fucking Santa Claus right in front of me.
We obviously got into a huge fight about it.
She refused to believe I wasn’t doing the exact same thing back home in New York.
And that was the end of our pointless long-distance relationship.
His eyes look sad as he lets out a heavy sigh.
Anyway, he adds. That’s why I hate Christmas and won’t be performing at your lawyer party.
Walter White takes advantage of our brief silence to add a few more crimes to his list of offences.
An awful feeling seeps through me. I don’t get it: how could Carol treat him like that?
Though, I guess I never thought Fedde was capable of what he did to me either.
With all that he’s been through, what would Rudy think of me if I told him my own story?
I’m so sorry . . . I finally utter. I, uh . . . I don’t know what to say. Only that Carol is a devious bitch and I hope you turned Santa’s balls into Christmas ornaments.
That seems to cheer him up a little. For the first time tonight, a small but sincere smile appears on his face.
It’s such a shame she ruined the greatest holiday of the year for you, I say, shaking my head. I love Christmas so much.
He gives me a pensive look. Why, though? he asks, sounding curious.
What do you mean? Almost everyone I know loves Christmas, I reply with a shrug.
Sure, but not the way you do. Every time you talk about it, your whole face lights up. Like you get to win the lottery every year. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who loves it as much as you do.
You’re probably right, I say, dropping my gaze.
Why, then?
I sigh, folding a loose curl behind my ear.
Before my parents split up, they were always fighting.
Pretty much year-round, about the most ridiculous things.
Mom would yell at my Dad to put his shoes away, Dad complained that Mom was always nagging him, and on and on.
The littlest things would send them into a rage.
Rudy’s barely moving, his eyes brimming with compassion.
But not at Christmas. I let my thoughts drift to the time we would spend as a family during those few days every December.
We always decorated the tree together, all four of us.
Each year, we would pick out a special new ornament, something to represent our year.
The year my dad learned to play the trumpet, a miniature golden trumpet made its way onto the tree.
When my mom took her diving course, our tree that year had a glass sea turtle hanging from one of its branches.
I bought a tiny graduation cap when I graduated high school, and my brother added a little ball after scoring his first goal.
The tree was a total hodgepodge, but it really was our tree, full of our memories.
My smile widens when I remember how much grief my Oma used to give us over our uncoordinated Christmas tree.
Once the tree was decorated, we would sit together on the couch, all tucked under a big blanket, staring into the crackling fire, drinking hot cocoa with whipped cream, and share our favourite memories, I continue.
It was cozy and warm . . . That’s why I love Christmas so much and I think it might explain why I want this party to be perfect. It is a Christmas party, after all.
Rudy’s eyes fill with warmth as he gazes at me, like he can picture the scene I just described. Stroking his chin, he seems pensive as he slowly begins to nod.
I have an idea, he says. There’s determination in his voice. He walks over to the coat rack, then throws my coat at me.
I did kind of force him to tell me an extremely personal story. Maybe he’s having regrets. Do you need me to go? I ask him, slightly shaken.
Not at all, he laughs. We’re going band hunting. Did you really believe we’re the only wannabe musicians playing the bar scene? It’s Friday night. Get up, we’re going out.