Christmas Eve
Jay
Hollis
Merry Christmas, Holiday Club! Thanks for letting me tag along this year :)
Marv
Hollis
Wait . . .Check all electronic gifts for tracking devices. I figured it out!
Jay
Took you long enough, Hollis the Writer. Enjoy today. I’m disappointed you’ll miss Marv’s snowshoeing outfit.
Hollis
Next time.
Jay
Next time.
The woman crying in the bowling alley wouldn’t have been so problematic if I wasn’t falling in love with her. That’s how it goes though, right? Life gives you what you need when you least expect it.
I throw the tennis ball to Goose, and he barks before pouncing through the snow to retrieve it, stopping halfway back to where I’m standing to roll around in the white powder.
When Hollis left last night, I wanted her to take me with her.
I wanted to help her do whatever it is she does on Christmas.
Wake up at midnight and make hot chocolate—I love hot chocolate.
I would have volunteered to play Santa for her four hilarious kids.
But she didn’t want me to. Even after I offered, she shot me down.
It’s early with kids—we’ve only known each other two months and I’ve only met her kids once.
I know these things take time. There’s more to consider than just me wanting to be there.
But I can’t shake the thought that maybe she can’t see me there.
Maybe what we’ve been is all we’ll ever be.
Fun for a season. A distraction from what she didn’t have.
Goose retrieves the ball, and I scrub him on the head before throwing it again.
I don’t usually dwell on the comings and goings of women in my life, but she’s been poking at every thought since she left. Distracting me.
Even Marv noticed this morning.
“You’ve been infiltrated,” he stated, somehow managing to keep a fur coat—which he made from an assortment of pelts he’d harvested—tucked into his sweatpants while his snowshoes crunched the snow of the trail.
“It was bound to happen.” I gave him a flat look but didn’t argue—he probably has some gadget letting him know what was going on between us before I even knew.
“You aren’t as strong as I am, Jay. Don’t look so surprised.
This is why I pay for sex. Strictly business. Carnal. Business.”
I let out an incredulous laugh and scrubbed the visual. “Noted.”
A cardinal landed on a branch beside us, and Marv pivoted the conversation to a theory that birds were government drones. It was a welcomed distraction.
When we finished the hike, I made my rounds to see my family and deliver their gifts.
My mom gave me an annoyed look and her usual I Don’t Know Why You Can’t Come Here For Christmas Breakfast, You Can Even Bring Your Strange Friend lecture.
I ignored the way that, for the first time in years, I kind of wanted to be part of the breakfast and laugh at the chaos over bottomless mimosas.
Brent told me he was jealous I wasn’t putting a dollhouse together in the middle of the night. I smiled but didn’t tell him part of me was jealous of him. Just because I don’t have the kind of chaos he and Caroline have—the kind of chaos we grew up in—doesn’t mean I don’t love it.
As much as I love the path I’m on, part of the reason I was quick to pull away from holiday events five years ago was because it was a sore spot seeing them so easily have what I didn’t.
I left the stable career and normal house to live in the woods and brew beer—I knew it was no woman’s fantasy when I made the choice.
Sure, they lectured me, but I’m a big boy and could take it.
It was easier not to be forced to see how chasing one dream took me away from another.
But it was my sister who sniffed out my bullshit this morning.
“You know you can live however the hell you want, right?” Caroline asked. “Dad doesn’t even care you quit the firm anymore—I think he’s jealous you got out early.” I laughed at that, but she kept looking at me skeptically over the rim of her wineglass as we sat on the steps of her front porch.
I knew she wasn’t wrong. When I left the firm, my dad was furious, they all kind of were.
Like me leaving was a personal attack on them, though it was anything but.
Years between the decision and now have made things better.
Time has closed the gap between all of us.
Caroline and Brent came around the fastest, as they were more worried about my sanity than concerned about my life being over.
My dad was slower, but he came around. It’s all water under the bridge.
He drinks my beer, I laugh at the too-short shorts he wears playing pickleball.
He’s never said it outright, but at some point, I think he realized there’s no one right path in this life, and he’s accepted this is mine.
“Something’s off about you,” Caroline pushed. When I didn’t respond, she squealed—literally squealed. “Oh my God, Jay. Have you met someone?”
She’s like a bloodhound with these things, so there was no use denying it. I told her about Hollis—all of it. Her divorce, kids, and crazy stance on traditions.
“So what’s the problem?” She set her wineglass down and pulled a joint and lighter from the pocket of her sweater, making me laugh once again as she lit it. “Go get this broad. I need more estrogen in my life. You and Brent are like cavemen.”
“I’m not sure how,” I admitted, taking a small hit of the joint when she offered it. “She’s good, Car. Really good.”
She frowned. “You’re good too, Jay.” She took one more hit of the joint before stubbing it out. “And it doesn’t sound like she wants to change you like that last bitch you dated.”
I laughed; she was right. Hollis, despite how different we are on some things, seems completely fine with me the way I am. The Airstream. The brewery. Even Marv. After all this time with him, I’d never just be able to let him be alone on the holidays even if I wanted something different.
“You’re annoying,” I told her as I started to leave. “Merry Christmas anyway.”
“Go get her, Jay.”
She said it like it was just that easy. Like I was Santa with magical reindeer and all I had to do was fly into the sky and land on her roof. Like she didn’t have kids to consider and a whole life to get back to.
Before I could tell Caroline any of that, one of her kids screamed and she rolled her eyes before retreating into her house.
In all appearances, it’s been a perfect Christmas Eve alone like the last years have been, only this time, I’m wishing I wasn’t.
A blustery breeze blows across my face and burns my ears.
“Goose,” I call.
He pounces toward me with a ball in his mouth and follows me into the Airstream where I poke at the roast in the crockpot then check my phone—again—to see that Hollis hasn’t called—again.
After her text this morning, I was hoping to hear from her. Maybe even expecting it.
At the Christmas tree on the table, there are five gifts—Holiday Club bowling shirts for each of Hollis’s kids and her.
Which, since I’m down some self-loathing spiral, feels a little stupid of me.
She might never call. If she doesn’t that means she’s made her mind up.
On the other hand, women love to be pursued, so maybe I should call.
And she’s busy with four kids, she might have forgotten.
I rake a hand through my hair, stroke my mustache.
This is fucking stupid.
I check my phone again. I should just call. I will call. Tonight. When her kids are in bed. Or maybe at midnight. Or twelve thirty when I know they’re awake.
I swipe my keys off the counter—I’m driving over there. If she doesn’t want me to stay, she’ll just tell me. I can handle that. I think I can handle that.
When I swing open the door, I still, my heart skipping several beats as I fight the smile pulling at my lips.
Hollis stands red nosed and smiling with a green beanie on her head and her face lit up from the glow of the lights hanging around her. Her fist hovers midair like she was about to knock.
“Jay,” she says, sounding surprised that I’m here. “You’re here.”
“Looks that way.” I lean against the doorframe, pinching my lips together. Under her usual black coat, she’s wearing bright red-and-green striped pajamas. “As are you.”
She laughs; it’s nervous. “I—yes. I’m here and you’re here.” She’s beautiful. “I’m—” She laughs again. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s barely been a day,” I say, stroking my mustache so I don’t grab on to her. “You can’t miss me.”
She shrugs with a slight smirk. “Looks like I can.”
I step down the two steps so I’m directly in front of her. “Looks like it.” Over her shoulder, her minivan is still running, and four little faces are pressed against one window. I chuckle. “And you brought company.”
“Right,” she says, once again nervous. “About that. I realized when I left, maybe I didn’t want to.
Maybe you didn’t want me to.” She pauses, eyes searching mine.
“And I thought, I didn’t get this far by not inviting myself into places I didn’t belong.
So, maybe, if you’ll have us, we can have Christmas here.
With you. As a new tradition. Christmas Eve in an Airstream has a ring to it. ”
When she pauses again, adoration for her bends my bones.
“I brought food,” she adds quickly. “And I don’t want to impose. I know this is your time. And I talked to them about the space. To not touch anything without asking. We can also go home—if this is too much, I mean. I don’t want you to think—”
I kiss her. Because I can’t not as much as to shut her up. “Hollis,” I say, keeping my mouth close to hers. “I want you here.” She opens her mouth. “All of you.”
She bites her lip but smiles around it. “We also brought you pajamas.”
I chuckle. “Can’t wait.”
She turns and gives the kids two thumbs-up, and they barrel out of the van, boots on their feet, hats on their heads, and wearing the same pajamas as she is. Under their arms: sleeping bags. Goose pounces around me toward them, making them scream with delight.
Right on time, snow flurries start to fall from the dark Christmas Eve sky.
Marv’s truck pulls up; I look at her.
“Also, I invited Marv,” she explains. “Apparently he has a bed in the back of his truck, a generator to run a heater, and something called a composting toilet.”
Marv emerges from his truck wearing a pelt hat on his head and holding a game strap of ducks. “Merry Christmas, tiny humans. I brought dinner.”
No surprise, the kids scream.
I look at Hollis’s heart-shaped face and full lips, kissing them again before running my fingers through the hair peeking out from the bottom of her hat. “I like you like you, Hollis the Writer.”
She smiles and thumbs my mustache. “I like you like you, Jay the Beertender.”
When the kids are done screaming and the bonfire over which we cook the ducks burns out, we cram into the Airstream like sardines in a cozy can. At midnight we drink hot chocolates while we watch the kids open presents and litter the camper with wrapping paper.
And the next morning, we wake up early, all wearing matching pajamas, and surprise my family by joining them for breakfast at my parent’s house . . . with Marv.
It’s the best season for The Holiday Club yet.