22. Mav
TWENTY-TWO
MAV
December is a whirlwind with Mckenna posing as my fake girlfriend. Mainly because my significant other—while not a complete grinch—doesn’t indulge in holiday festivities with the same gusto I possess. To be fair, most don’t.
While the holiday season generally includes activities like tree hunting and stringing lights, Mckenna wrinkles her nose and rolls her eyes. She scoffs at sugar cookies and comments on how many calories are in hot chocolate!
The worst part? She gives zero input on the most crucial decisions of the month.
Balsam Fir or Norway Spruce?
Colorful lights or a warm white glow?
Themed ornaments or random?
A star or angel or bow on top of the tree?
Mckenna doesn’t care. Any option works!
Luckily, the other women in my life—namely Kimberly and Jess—have well-formed opinions on these essential topics. And they insist on Mckenna’s involvement as much as possible.
As such, my favorite time of the year is spent trying to show Mckenna the path to Christmas revelry. It’s a challenge, but I’m up to the task.
I love greeting the Christmas holidays with the same energy and awe as I did as a boy. Back when Warren Willoughby wrangled a reindeer and burned the roof of his mouth on a gooey marshmallow in his hot chocolate.
“I still don’t think we need to buy a tree when we’re not going to be here for Christmas,” Mckenna announces—for the third time—as I haul the massive tree—a Frasier Fir, Jess insisted on a classic—into the living room.
I get the trunk situated in the stand and grin at Mckenna. Her holiday judgments are hands-down my favorite. “Stop being a little grinch,” I tease.
Her mouth drops open, and she crosses her arms over her chest. Her light blue merino wool sweater pulls taut over the soft swells of her breasts. “I’m not.” She’s indignant. Adorable.
Also, who the hell thought wool could be sexy?
The color of her sweater reminds me of her eyes, and I’m momentarily distracted. “You’ve grumbled about every holiday festivity.”
“I have not! You just do more than the average person. Most people don’t have seven billion traditions to uphold.”
“Exaggeration!” I point at her accusingly.
A small smile plays over the corners of her lips. “I didn’t think Jess and Kimberly would make us jump through all these hoops when we’re spending the week before Christmas in New York. And Christmas in New York City is a million times better than discussing tree ornaments and slapping a wreath on the front door.”
“Jess and Kimberly are pit bulls.” I remove the netting from the tree and start to open the branches.
“Tenacious?” Mckenna steps closer to help.
I give her a look. “Loyal. To the holiday. To us. They want us to succeed. And right now, our ratings are stellar. Hell, we could probably have a reality TV show. Mav and Mckenna: Reluctant Roommates Turned More .” I hold one palm out and swipe it horizontally, envisioning our brand logo.
Mckenna smirks. “And end up breaking each other’s hearts by season two.”
“Ooh, I love that you know our show would be renewed.”
She laughs and reaches for another branch. “Of course, it would.” Her eyes glimmer when they find mine, but she adds nothing else.
We work in silence until the tree is adequately fluffed and ready for decorating. Stepping back to admire our work, I toss an arm over her shoulder. Throw out one of my better ideas. “Want to go rogue?”
She tips her head back to stare at me. Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“We can do colorful lights and random ornaments,” I suggest.
She gasps. “Jess dropped off the warm white lights and?—”
“I don’t want a nautical-themed tree,” I interrupt. “You think she’d at least give us a rockstar vibe…”
Mckenna snorts. “Me neither. Was Jess a sailor in her youth?”
I chuckle. “She thought the aesthetic would trend well for our socials.”
Mckenna rolls her eyes. She stares at me for a beat before a smile curls her lips. “Let’s run amok.”
“Yes!” I twist my fingers in her hair and give a little tug. If I can’t convert her into a reveler, I’ll show her how fun Christmas, Mav-style, can be. “After hot chocolate?”
“You really are a little kid at Christmastime,” she remarks, a thread of surprise in her tone.
I grin at the compliment. “It’s the best way to be, Mckenna. You should try it.”
She rears back slightly, taken aback by my words. She doesn’t blink as she studies my expression, her smile falling. Her eyes grow serious. “Okay,” she agrees slowly.
I squint at her to gauge her commitment to what I’m asking. “Yeah?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
I smile at my girl. Give her hair another affectionate tug. “Then we gotta bake some cookies, babe.”
“Now?”
“What else would we eat for dinner?”
“Dinner?” She sounds confused.
“We need to be full before going to the Seaport, or we’ll eat too much lobster bisque. That’s never a good look.”
“The Seaport?” Oh, her bewildered eyes.
When I realize she’s not kidding, I gape at her. “Mckenna, wait, what’s your middle name?”
“Eunice.”
“Eunice. Hmm, would have taken you more for an Ann. Or a Marie.”
“Mav!”
I chuckle. “Mckenna Eunice Byrne, have you never, in all your years living in Boston, enjoyed Snowport at the Seaport?”
A cloud passes through her gaze. She stares at me. Fiddles with the thin gold chain around her neck. Sighs heavily. “No.”
“No!” I shriek. “Well, now I know what we’re doing tonight. No girlfriend of mine shall shun Snowport!”
Mckenna drops her head. Her hair swings forward, and she stands still.
Shit. What did I miss? Did something awful happen at Snowport that I don’t know about? Is this connected to her childhood, and that’s why she doesn’t want to go?
I step closer to comfort her, then I notice her shoulders shake.
“Mckenna.” I give her arm a little nudge.
She lifts her face, and it’s beautiful. I mean, it’s a mess, but God, is she gorgeous when she laughs. Right now, she’s hysterical. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, smudging her eyeshadow and leaving mascara dots on her eyelids.
Her mouth is curled in mirth as a stream of genuine joy pours from her lips. “No girlfriend of yours! Snowport?”
At her nonsensical summary of our conversation, I shake my head. But the longer Mckenna laughs, the harder it is not to join in. No, not hard. Impossible.
I snort, and then, I’m howling with her. The two of us are bent over, clutching our stomachs and leaning on each other for support, as the absurdity of our lives hits us full-on.
Mckenna and I are in a fake relationship. I bought a damn Christmas tree for a woman who clearly doesn’t care for traditions. And yet, I wouldn’t want to share this magical time of year with anyone else.
When our laughter subsides, Mckenna drags a hand across her face. “Oh, God, Mav. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.”
I nod. I can’t remember either. “Hey.”
She looks up.
I give her my most sincere look. And I don’t even have to fake it. “Let me take you to Snowport. Please?”
Mckenna bites her bottom lip. Her expression grows serious as she holds my gaze. That cloud flickers in her irises, but she blinks it away. “Okay. Yes.”
I grin. “All right. First, I will bake you the best Christmas sugar cookies you’ve ever had.”
She lifts a skeptical eyebrow.
I shrug. “It’s a Warren Willoughby recipe.”
Mckenna’s face softens. “I’d like that, Mav.”
I snap my fingers. “Go light that pine candle on the kitchen island. This house doesn’t smell like Christmas at all.”
Mckenna laughs but does as I ask.
Leaving our tree sans lights and ornaments, we relocate to the kitchen. I pull out the ingredients for sugar cookies, taking time to line up the colorful sprinkles and jimmies.
Mckenna watches me quietly, but her lips are pursed, and I know she’s thinking. I let her have this time as I whip up a batch of cookies. Mckenna and I wait for them to cool, decorate them together, and eat a handful before I whisk her to Snowport at the Seaport.
As we walk through the winter village, stopping to shop or enjoy some holiday entertainment, I wrap my arm around Mckenna. She doesn’t shake off my touch. Instead, she leans into me.
For a few minutes, I let myself believe that this is real. That Mckenna is my girlfriend, and we’re enjoying the holiday season together, making our own traditions and shoring up memories.
“Mav Tate!” a stranger calls out, pointing at me. “Hey, man!” He comes closer. “Can I get a picture?”
Mckenna smirks.
“Uh, sure,” I agree, not wanting to be rude.
He grins. “Thanks.” He passes me his iPhone and moves to pose with Mckenna.
Shock widens her eyes as she sputters to understand what the hell is happening.
“Come on, dude,” I groan. Of course, he would prefer to pose with Mckenna than me.
Am I losing my edge? Is Mckenna nudging me out of my own band’s popularity polls? The thought makes me grin.
The guy smirks and tosses an arm around Mckenna. She laughs and smiles for the photo, and like a big doofus, I snap the picture.
“Thanks, Kenny!” The guy waves like they’re freaking friends.
I hand him back his phone and take Mckenna’s hand, squeezing to remind her she’s with me, not that fan.
But she laughs. “I have a fan!”
“You have many fans,” I tell her the truth.
She looks up and bites the corner of her mouth.
“What?” I ask, trying to read her look.
“Are you jealous?” Her tone is teasing.
I smirk. “Always.” Give her the truth but wrap it up in a playful tone. I widen my eyes. “Can you soothe my male ego?”
She groans. “What do you want?”
“Hot chocolate! Extra marshmallows. Maybe some whip on top? Please, Mckenna,” I beg jokingly.
She laughs, and I feel it roll through me like magic. The spirit of Christmas. “Okay, Mav,” she agrees.
I fist pump the air and let out a whoop.
Mckenna shakes her head at my antics, but she’s cheesing hard. I swing our joined hands and give her fingers a press.
A silent thank you.
She squeezes back.