4. Kate
“Do I have to wear this the entire time?” Nick, my newest online dating candidate, groans as he pulls at the scratchy wool fabric currently strangling his neck.
Matching Christmas sweaters. With a guy I barely know.
Somehow, I convinced myself it was completely normal to bring a stranger to my family’s holiday party and jokingly mentioned matching sweaters. Much to my surprise, Nick was game. Part of me feels flattered that I found a guy willing to go along with my quirky ideas, but another part of me is concerned about my mental state. Truly. I feel like I have no filter lately, just making decisions willy-nilly and seeing what happens. My last relationship was so controlled, giving me no room to truly be myself. Maybe some subconscious part of me is reveling in the unknown, the hot mess that is dating altogether. I don’t know. But I do know I should probably be a little more cautious, maybe have a serious talk with Ellie. She’ll probably have some psychological term for what I’m doing.
“Yes.” I stealthily roll my eyes as he continuously stretches the neck of his sweater—a bright-red turtleneck with a snowman in the center. “And if I recall, you said you were ‘all in with the Christmas mumbo jumbo.’” I use air quotes to emphasize the exact words he used to invite himself to my family’s Christmas party. If he felt the need to come with me, I felt the need to make it worth his while. Enter the five-dollar sweaters I found at Super Thrift.
Why I decided to unload my desperation about not wanting to attend another family party without a date while perusing the produce aisle, I will never know. The site of paired tomatoes drew it out of me, I guess. But that seems to be my track record lately. So far, the online dates have gone kerplunk because I can’t shut up. So yes, out of desperation, when Nick invited himself to this party, I just said, “Well alright, then.”
“I know. I just didn’t think you’d choose the cheapest sweaters possible.” He stretches the neck again. “I think it’s giving me a rash.” His voice comes out whiny, and I curse myself for following through with this.
I pull down the road that leads to Lola’s house as he proceeds to scratch his neck like a maniac. This boy is about to grate my last nerve. I screech to a halt, biting back a cackle when he almost flies through my windshield. Pulling into the driveway, I park behind Benny’s silver pickup truck and inhale a deep breath. Just about everybody and their dog is already here…waiting for me.
Of course I’m one of the last to arrive.
With a date.
I pinch my eyes shut at the image of everyone watching us walk up the porch steps through the living room window. I can see Benny wearing a Santa hat, which is very on-brand for him. The theme is Christmas in March. The idea sounds absurd, but after Lola was in the hospital over the holidays, Benny decided we should have a family Christmas as soon as she recovered. Recovery took almost three months. The woman’s pride got the best of her when she refused to participate in therapy.
My grandma is sitting on the couch, laughing at Benny conducting our aunts and uncles in a Christmas carol. Her gray hair is pinned back and hidden under an elf hat. She’s sporting the Christmas sweater I embroidered for her last year, and her legs are propped up on the ottoman, feet wiggling along with the music.
A few other family members come in and out of the living room, including Ellie, who is filling drinks and providing appetizers. She and Benny embrace and begin conducting the carol together. Deep-seated envy starts to creep in. The envy that comes every time I see the gleam of true love in their eyes. It’s not their fault, obviously. But can you blame a girl for wanting what other people have? It’s human nature.
Sweat starts to build up on my forehead and neck as I watch the party from inside my car.It’s a billion degrees outside. I dab the droplets away with the sleeve of my sweater, resisting the urge to itch every part of me that the scratchy fabric touches. Yes, the sweaters were cheap, but this girl is on a budget. And I refuse to spend my coffee money on matching sweaters that failed to fill the void my annoying, hopeless-romantic self desires.
“Are we doing this or what?” Nick asks. The redness of his neck peeks out from the top of his sweater as he gives it one final scratch.
“Yes, yeah,” I stammer my words, pulling my purse from the backseat before exiting the car. My chunky Doc Martens crunch in the fake snow that covers the front lawn. Ellie must’ve done this after I left earlier. I fluff my sweater, hoping the humid air will dry the sweat that’s accumulating on my lower back, then walk around to open the trunk of my car.
“Cute place.” Nick assesses his surroundings, the passenger door screeching like nails on a chalkboard as he closes it.
I sift through my trunk, organizing my contributions to the party—dairy-free eggnog, dairy-free cookies, wine, and two Dirty Santa presents—before piling them into my arms.
“Did you bring anything good?” He looks over my shoulder at the containers I have labeled. For a second, I swear his face contorts like he sniffed a gallon of old milk. He probably realizes I saw his reaction, because he forces a smile and reaches for the sacks. “Here, I got that.”
Nick grabs the gifts and wine, clearly leaving the items that disgust him for me to carry. Such a gentleman you are, Nicholas. A loud honk startles me, and I turn to see a giant orange truck whipping into the yard, headed for the spot right next to my beat-up Subaru. My cheeks sting instantly from my smile as I see Malcolm climb out of the truck, sporting the Christmas sweater I bought him last year.
“Who’s that?” Nick whispers to me as Malcolm walks behind the tall bed of his truck.
Heat sizzles deep inside my stomach as Malcolm approaches, making me sweat even more.
“Malcolm!” I reach out to him then snap my arms back to my sides, remembering the need for better boundaries. I clear my throat and gesture between the guys. “Malcolm, this is Nick. Nick, this is Malcolm.” I pause for an appropriate amount of time before wrapping my arms around Malcolm’s waist and squeezing him tight. Even when I wear my platform boots, he towers over me. It allows my head to nuzzle perfectly into the center of his chest where his heartbeat does that skippy thing it always does under my ear. I wonder if he’s seen a doctor for it yet.
“Malcolm Geer.” Malcolm reaches over me to shake Nick’s hand.
“Nick Harlon,” he returns. “Kate’s date.”
My arms go limp at Malcolm’s waist, whipping my eyes up to his. Dread swims in my gut at Nick’s response. The excitement I felt from seeing my best friend quickly fizzles as I see the smile on his face shift into a scowl. He nods at Nick, refusing to meet my eyes. Crap.
His shock is no surprise. I’ve blindsided him. I was going to tell him as soon as I saw him. I was going to spill the truth that I’m so tired of feeling lonely and desperate for love that instead of attending this party with him, like I’ve done for every party for the last two years, I brought a stranger.
But stupid Nick beat me to the punch.
“Nice to meet you,” Malcolm says through gritted teeth before reaching into my trunk to collect the rest of the containers.
“I’d be careful with those. They’re dairy free.” Nick chuckles as he walks toward the house. Malcolm draws in a quick breath as he puts the containers under one arm and shuts my rickety trunk with the other.
“He’s a catch,” Malcolm grumbles as we round the side of my car.
“We’re still getting to know each other.” I bite my nail, nervous jitters jolting their way across my arms and legs.
“So…a date.” It’s not a question as Malcolm clenches his jaw. The edge in his tone lingers in the air as we shuffle our way through the lawn.
“I just… I dunno. I figured I’d try to find an actual date this year.” I choke on the word date, the humid air doing its darndest to suffocate me.
“Is it because we lost at Jingle Shots last year?” he jokes, and I feel relieved at his effort. I know he’s upset with me for not telling him about Nick, but the man never dwells on piddly nonsense. And he seems to never get mad at me. I love him for it. I hate when people are mad at me. Especially him.
“Last year was rigged, and everyone knows it. We should’ve won!” I yell toward the people in the house. Not that anyone will hear me over the sporadic caroling and clinking of drinks happening, but I stomp my foot in protest anyway, driving my point home.
“Why, then?” He stays by my side as he asks, walking in step with me, his long legs forcing themselves to take smaller strides, always matching mine. He does that, no matter where we go. He’s always keeping his steps in tune with mine—probably because he knows I can’t keep up with his nine-foot-long legs.
“Why what?” I trail off, taking in the splendor of holiday cheer before me.
Laughter and chatter mixed with Christmas tunes flow from the open door of the house as Nick lets himself inside. I roll my eyes as he points back at me and Malcolm as we make our way slowly to the house. A few aunties’ and uncles’ heads poke out in the door frame, looking at Nick, then at me, followed by whispers, gasps, and shaking of heads. Nick has for sure told them he’s my date, and now I have to answer to my entire family. Why did I do this to myself?
“Why the date?” His voice is a timid whisper as he halts at the bottom of the porch steps, just a few feet to go before we reach the mini North Pole that awaits us. I stop next to him.
The question of the century: Why did I bring a date?
This is the perfect scenario to lie. Right here, right now. Just do it, Kate. Lie to your best friend. Tell him you just felt like bringing a date. Don’t tell him that you’re sad and alone and feeling so desperate to find someone that you started online dating a month ago. Don’t tell him you hit rock bottom and threw all your standards out the window by bringing Nick. All just to avoid telling your family at “Christmas” that yes, you are still single, and no, you don’t foresee grandbabies in the future. Again. Not that I want tons of babies. I don’t even know what I want a year from now. But the reality that I am as single as my Aunt Edna, after vowing her life to celibacy at the age of fifty, is enough to make me want to curl up and die.
“I don’t know.” I shrug and kick at the fake snow on the steps in front of me. “I’m just…tired of being alone.” I guess the truth is happening.
Malcolm grabs my elbow. “You’re not alone.” His eyes go a shade darker, if that’s even possible with how crystal blue they are. “You have me.”
Something in his voice weighs on me. Is he…hurt? I expected him to be disappointed that I kept this dating thing a secret, but this feels different.
“I— You— Yes, I do. But…” Words are hard. “You know what I mean,” I whisper.
His throat bobs as he watches me, eyes twinkling under the Christmas lights. But it’s not a happy twinkle. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. A part of me feels like I’m abandoning him in this weird and cruel world to go find my happily ever after. I want him to find his too.
“We could—”
“If you kids don’t hurry it up, I’ll die before this party is over!” Lola’s voice booms from the doorway, cutting me off.
“Sorry, Lola.” Malcolm beams at my grandma. She blows him a kiss before pointing her finger at me, an unspoken hurry up if I ever did see one.
“We’re coming.” I can’t help but roll my eyes at her. She doesn’t like that. She waves me off as she shuffles away, mumbling curse words under her breath.
I turn back to face Malcolm. “Look, I—” But he’s already walking up the steps.
“Come on. I don’t wanna be on the naughty list,” he calls over his shoulder before stepping into the house.
My entire family swarms him. Kisses, hugs, cheek pinches, the works. He’ll never be on their naughty list.