Krystal
The last time I went to a Christmas party, my life changed.
I wasn’t supposed to go; we’d been fighting more and more, and I couldn’t imagine fighting on Christmas Eve, so I accepted an invitation to the party of one of my clients.
At the last minute, I changed my mind. I couldn’t be away from my baby on the day before Christmas.
Even if he was making me feel like shit lately, even if we were constantly screaming at each other, even if he said he was considering taking a break.
He didn’t mean that…he couldn’t. Our ten-year anniversary was coming up soon, and he would not throw that away over a rough patch.
The sequined, red dress stuck to me like a second skin. My silk press was fresh from the salon chair, my makeup expertly applied. There was a sick feeling in my stomach on the way up to the sixteenth floor of the Morrison his presence reminds me I’m alive.
When we finish getting dressed, we stand in front of the mirror.
He’s still a bit taller than me in my heels, tall enough that when I turn my head to the side, I have to look up slightly to brush his lips with mine.
He rests a hand on my hip, rubbing his thumb back and forth as he runs his nose over the curve of my shoulder.
“If you’re trying to find a way for us to stay home, you can forget it,” I say, the breath in my voice betraying me. He tosses his head back with laughter, the sound of it familiar and warm. I swallow.
“Alright,” he says around a lopsided smile.
I toss a satisfied glance at my reflection one more time before turning to face him. “You know, if you want to stay…” I begin, knowing I want him to come with me, but not so badly that I’d put him in a situation he doesn’t want to be in. “If you really want to stay…”
He pushes a deep exhale through his slightly parted lips. “I want to be wherever you are,” he says. “If I stay here, I might make myself busy for a bit, but I’ll keep wondering about you, imagining you laughing and having a good time without me,” he says.
“Would that be so bad?” I reply.
His smile widens, growing wicked. “That would be the worst,” he says.
I chuckle. The thick thread of emotion growing between us is taut with the weight of all the things we refuse to say. A gentle knock on the door snaps us out of it. Nick reaches over, swinging it open.
“We’re just about ready to leave,” Gayle says.
“We’re ready,” he says, nodding to me.
The night is pitch black, and the bright stars above us feel like a reflection of all the fairy lights adorning the trees and shrubs in the front yard.
The Christmas music that usually pulses through the van is replaced with a rhythmic R&B playlist. As we drive into town, I get more and more nervous.
My knee trembles against the seat.
Nick squeezes my thigh, leans into my shoulder, and asks, “You okay?”
The desire to shake my head, to brush his question off with a smile, flashes across my mind.
I take a deep breath, finding my courage in the reflection of the window.
“The last time I went to a party around this time of year, I left with a broken heart. Maybe mentally, I’m ready to move on, but my body remembers that night. ”
He rests his head on the back of the seat, opening his palm for me to lace my fingers through his. “Then, I’m glad I didn’t stay at the B&B tonight. I’m glad I can be here for you if you need me,” he says.
I look down at our joined hands. “I don’t want you to babysit me, I want you to enjoy yourself too,” I say, my nose burning. My mind drifts yet again to thoughts that try to decipher if he’s this thoughtful, this selfless, all the time.
“Oh,” he chuckles silently, lifting a camera and smiling widely. “I plan to.”
I shake my head, unable to subdue the smile that threatens my face. This one is more compact than the heavy Canon he hauls around. “What kind of camera is that?” I ask.
“Film,” he says, settling back into the seat and regarding me out of the side of his eyes.
“Okay, everyone! The party is being held at a secret location, so I’m going to ask you to put these on,” Gayle announces. Blindfolds get passed around, and the chatter of our group grows louder than the music. My anxiety morphs into excitement as I fix the smooth velvet over my face.
We’re led into a building, not allowed to undo our blindfolds until we’re ushered down a short flight of stairs and into a dark hallway.
The brick walls bounce with the heavy bass from the speakers, and muffled laughter and cheers drift toward us.
We enter the dimly lit room — I suck in a sharp breath as I take in the environment.
A wall of bookshelves marks one end of the room, and on the other side is a bar.
I recognize a lot of the people in the room from the night of the tree lighting ceremony.
We’re all standing, looking around in awe, when a server walks up with a tray of champagne. Gayle takes two, one for her and another for Jiraiya, signaling for us to do the same. “Okay, everyone! Have the time of your life!” She holds the flute in the air, charging it with quiet anticipation.
“Merry Christmas!” She yells.
“Merry Christmas!”