Christmas Catch

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  All Sawyer ever wanted was to NOT be stuck here and run the family business. He’s an only child, but he didn’t care. He wanted more. Like me.

  “I wish you would have told me.”

  “I didn’t know how. I thought about going to Columbia to tell you about it in person, but I guess I pussied out.” I lean on him a little, like old times. The past is slowly sucking us back in time.

  “I missed you,” I whisper, but I know he hears it.

  “I missed you. I thought about you. A lot.” As in past tense?

  I turn my head and meet his eyes. Those feelings that I thought I’d buried and done away with simmer under my skin. I’m captivated by his blue eyes, just like I was when we were kids.

  “Ivy.” It’s just my name, but the way he says it . . . I turn my head a fraction and our lips meet. It’s almost by accident, like all our other meetings so far. Just a brush, and then it’s over as quick as it started.

  “I can’t,” he says, holding my face, as if to stop it from moving close to his again. “I can’t do this again. You’re going to leave and I’m going to be here. You’re going to get out.”

  I know we talk about this place like a prison, but that’s what it’s like for us. Or at least it felt that way when we were younger.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, because I don’t know what else to say. He moves his hand from my face, and I go back to staring at the ocean.

  “You have to stop saying sorry, Poison.” I almost flinch at the nickname. He used to tease me with it when we were in first grade and it used to make me cry. Then I got a little older and realized that I kinda liked it. Now it makes me hurt and burn at the same time.

  “I have a lot to be sorry for.”

  “So do I.” I don’t know what else to say, so I look out at the ocean again.

  “I miss you,” he says, moving his arm around me. I wait a second before I lean into him.

  “I miss you, too.” Present tense.

  Sawyer and I sit on my car for a while, but then my phone vibrates with a call from my mother.

  “I have to get home,” I say. He removes his arm from around me and hands the blanket back.

  “Am I still going to see you at five?” There’s still a hell of a lot to talk about. We definitely wouldn’t get through it in one night.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Bye, Poison.” He gets in his truck and I get off the hood of my car. I came out here to think, but I’m leaving with even more thoughts than I came with.

  My mother is pissed at me when I walk through the door and gives me the third degree while the little kids run around, all of them on sugar highs because she let them eat half of the cookie dough. The house is loud, so much in contrast to the quiet I’d gotten to experience with Sawyer.

  I finally hand her the flour and start working on the dishes to appease her.

  “I hear you ran into Sawyer McCallister at the store,” she says as she pulls some cookie dough out of my youngest nephew’s hair. This is what happens when you live in a small town. THIS is just one of the reasons I got out while I could.

  “Where did you hear that?” I say as I pull my niece off the kitchen counter and put her back on the floor. She runs away, screaming and flailing her arms. Sometimes I wish I could do that.

  “Sally Caruthers stopped by to drop off some of her wreaths.” Ah yes. Sally. If Saltwater was a megaphone, Sally was the mouthpiece. She was always stopping at people’s houses and “dropping things off.” I swear, she baked pies and made wreaths and so forth just so she would have a reason to spread as much gossip as possible. It’s worse than venereal disease in a small town. That spreads too, but not as fast.

  “Yeah, I bumped into him. No big deal.” She makes a sound as my niece runs by me again, smacking me in the stomach.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” When have I ever talked about my issues with her? Yeah, never.

  “No. It’s not a big deal.” I can say this till I’m blue in the face, but she won’t give it up until she wants to.

  “His father died, you know. That’s why he’s back.”

  “I know.”

  “You talked to him?” Her eyebrows raise and I realize I shouldn’t have said that. Now I’m not getting out of talking about it.

  I sigh and sit down at the table and wipe my hands on a dishcloth. I give her the quick and dirty version of what had happened with Sawyer, but I don’t tell her about meeting him again near my car. I also don’t tell her that I’m going over to his house in an hour. That would set her off and everyone would know about it. God, they probably already do.

  My sister gets back from work, looking exhausted in her rumpled scrubs.

  “Have they had anything?” She asks mom as the kids climb all over her.

  “Lots of cookie dough,” Mom says and Stacy groans. I don’t blame her. I can’t imagine going home with those three monsters, and also being pregnant at the same time.

  She wrangles her monkeys and their stuff and heads home, promising she’ll be back tomorrow to help decorate the tree with all the kids, and Bucky. Drew is also bringing his wife, Dulcey and his kids as well. It’s going to be pretty noisy. At least I’ve got some quiet tonight with Sawyer to look forward to. Wait, am I looking forward to it?

  I’m not sure. It could be good, or it could be bad. I do like seeing him, but seeing him also hurts. A lot.

  “You going to be around for dinner?”

  “Uh, no. I’m going out.”

  “Out?” Mom says as if she’s never heard of such a thing.

  “Yeah, out.”

  “Out where?” That’s another problem in a small town. There’s nowhere to go unless you drive.

  “Just out, okay? I have some homework to do.” Okay, so this is technically true. I do have some things to work on, but I’m definitely not working on them right now. But given a choice between doing homework and hanging out at my house, I’ll take the homework.

  “Homework? Really, Ivy? I wasn’t born yesterday.” No, she wasn’t. Besides, she’d gotten to practice with my brother and sister before she’d had to me.

  “Look, I just need to get out for a few hours. Can you let me do that? Please?” She stares at me for a while, but then puts her hands up.

  “It’s your life, do what you want.” Yeah, I plan on it.

  She gets the broom out and starts sweeping, and I regret what I just said.

  “Do you need any help? I don’t have to leave for a little while.” She turns around and gives me a smile.

  “If you could vacuum the living room, that would be a huge help.” So I drag the impossible vacuum out of the closet and get to work.

  “How in the hell did those kids get cookie dough ground into the rug?” I say, scraping it with my fingernail.

  “Kids will be kids,” she says, shrugging. Yes, they will.

  The lights in Sawyer’s apartment are on and glowing through the film of the curtains on the windows. His parents’ house is dark, and the only car in the driveway is his truck. I head for the steps attached on the outside of the garage that lead up to the apartment. There’s a wind chime hanging right outside the door and flowerboxes with now-dead flowers inside them.

  There’s no doorbell, so I knock and he opens it a few seconds later.

  “Hey,” I say, holding up one of the wreaths that Sally made. Mom made me take one when I left, so I’m pretty sure she knows where I am and who I’m with.

  “Thanks. Is that one of Sally’s?” The wreath is your typical balsam, but it also has sea lavender and little shells in it as well.

  “How did you know?” I say with mock shock.

  “Because she’s the only one around here who makes them?” He takes the wreath and sets it on the small table by the door.

  “Fair enough,” I say, looking around. The place is small, but very nice. To my right is a large kitchen with stainless steel appliances and black cabinets, a small living room and then on my left are several doors.
r />   Sawyer, like a good host, gives me the tour, even showing me his bedroom. Also, as I expected, it’s what I used to call “Sawyer clean.” Whatever level of clean you think is the cleanest, this is one level cleaner. It used to drive him crazy when I would be what he perceived as messy, which wasn’t really. And I used to tease him for being so clean.

  “Are you hungry?” he says as we walk back into the kitchen.

  “Sort of.” I’m starving, but if he didn’t plan on feeding me, I don’t want to impose.

  “Ivy. I know you’re hungry. What would you like?” He opens the fridge and puts his hand out like he’s Vanna White. I can’t help but laugh as I look and see what he’s got. Yeah, not much. I open the freezer and there’s some hamburger in there and some buns. I think I saw some cheese in the fridge, and he’s also got a bag of fries. Bam, dinner. Yes, it is not healthy, but who gives a crap? I can eat healthy tomorrow.

  Sawyer smiles at my choices. I take the hamburger and put it in a bowl with some warm water to thaw. Sawyer gets out a pan and spreads the fries out, sprinkling them with some powdered ranch dressing. Some things never change.

  “So you’re still at Columbia?” he says, trying to make small talk. It’s a bit awkward, but I guess it’s bound to be that way.

  “Yeah, I love it.”

  “Still journalism?” He knows the answer to that, too.

  “Yeah, still journalism.” It’s all I ever wanted to do. I figured the best way to get out of my small town where NOTHING happens is to go to where things ARE happening.

  “You written anything lately?” He also knows the answer to that question.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He gives me a look and I stick my tongue out at him. I’m rewarded with another smile and some of the tension breaks. I start telling him about school, but not for long because I don’t want to brag or monopolize the conversation. So I ask him about Georgetown and he talks, telling me about his crazy roommate and classes and we share our college experiences. They’re pretty much the same, no matter where you go.

  “Are you going to go back?” I ask as he helps me flatten out the hamburger meat into patties.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard, when you leave. Even thinking about going back makes my head hurt. I’m just afraid my brain is going to turn into mush and I won’t be able to catch back up.” That’s ridiculous. He’s smart. You don’t become un-smart overnight.

  “You’ll be fine.” We start cooking and talk about other things. I tell him about Allison and he tells me about taking over his father’s business. Despite being raised with it, he’d never wanted it, and his father had made it look easy. Dealing with a bunch of cranky fishermen is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  We sit down at his small dining table and eat. It’s quiet, but I think about how it was last night at my family’s house and I soak it in.

  “How long are you back for?” he asks when we’re done and he gathers our plates to put in the sink.

  “Until the day after Christmas. Then I’m headed back to stay with Allison. I don’t know how much more I can take of being here. No offense.”

  “None taken. Do you want some wine, or something?”

  “You have wine? Ain’t you classy.” He laughs and goes to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of moscato that I’m sure he only bought specifically for me.

  He pops it open and pours two glasses. He’s even got wine glasses. Damn.

  “Georgetown changed you.”

  “Not really. I’m still the same.” He pulls the vanilla Coke out of the bottom of the refrigerator and the Red Vines out of the cupboard. I have no idea where he got them, because I’m pretty sure they don’t sell them around here. We move to the couch and he asks me if I want to watch a movie.

  “I get to pick, though,” he says, getting up and getting one out of a cabinet in his entertainment center without letting me see what it is. He puts the disc in and the previews come on. He grabs the remote and skips through them to the menu. Dear Jesus.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “What, it’s a classic.”

  I roll my eyes as Animal House starts. We always used to argue about movies. It was rare when we agreed on one. I don’t think we ever found a movie that both of us loved. But we would compromise, because we were young and in love.

  I sip my wine and bust open the bag of Red Vines, offering some to him. He declines, as usual. Sawyer is determined that Twizzlers are better than Red Vines. I couldn’t count how many times we’d “fought” about it. They were never real fights, of course.

  I finish my first glass of wine and then fill the glass with vanilla Coke and Sawyer does the same. We smile at each other and I wonder if he’s thinking about memories as well.

  “So other than Allison, is there anyone else special at Columbia?” Subtle, Sawyer. He wasn’t great at being stealthy with asking questions.

  “No, I don’t have a boyfriend, Sawyer. Do YOU have anyone special?” I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t. With his gorgeous face and heartbreaking smile, and his rocking body, he’s easy on the eyes. Plus he’s also a wonderful guy.

  “No, there isn’t anyone,” he says and it makes my heart lurch and start to race.

  “Has . . . has there been?” I have no right to ask this, but I want to know the answer. There hasn’t been anyone for me since him. There wasn’t anyone before him either. He’s been my only, in every way.

  He sighs and turns the volume of the movie down.

  “I tried, but nothing felt right. I’d be with someone and I’d just be thinking that her hair wasn’t right, or she had a weird laugh, or she’d not be as smart as I initially thought. No one seemed right.” I know exactly what he means. Sawyer sets his glass down and leans forward.

  “None of them were you.” I exhale in a whoosh and I don’t know what to say, how to react. I . . . I feel the same way.

  Sawyer looks away from me, as if he’s ashamed of what he’s said. He shouldn’t be. At least he’s being honest.

  “You ruined me for other guys too, you know.” I throw a Red Vine at him because I can’t deal with the seriousness.

  “Oh, I’m sorry that I’m so awesome. Wait, no I’m not.” I throw another Red Vine at him. We both smile and I’m in a time warp again.

  “You’re asking for it,” I say, pulling out two Red Vines. They work excellent as whips, by the way. So I arm myself with two of them.

  “Is that how it’s gonna be, Poison?” He raises his eyebrow and that’s all it takes. I’m whipping him with the Red Vines and he’s covering his head and trying to tickle me. He lets me get a few hits in, but then he goes for my middle and ends up pinning me on the couch on my back.

  “I win.”

  We used to wrestle as kids, and whenever he would win, he’d say that. And sometimes I would throw a fit and we’d go again and he would let me win and rub it in his face. We both knew he let me, but it was sweet just the same.

  Sawyer stares down at me and something shifts and then his lips are on my lips, like two magnets being drawn together. Can’t stop it, can’t fight it. Let it happen.

  We’ve kissed before, hundreds of times, but his kiss never ceased to touch me deep down. I’ve never kissed anyone but Sawyer. I never wanted to kiss anyone but Sawyer. He doesn’t know that.

  I open my mouth and his tongue slips over my lips and into my mouth and our tongues reintroduce themselves to each other. There’s no awkwardness. We both know what the other likes, what turns us inside out. He wraps his fingers in my curly hair and pulls, just a little. I moan into his mouth and dig my hands into his back. He’s pressing himself against me, and I know that he wants me. I want him too.

  But this can’t happen. I can’t go there again, because I got out. This was the reason I said good-bye in the first place. I take my hand and push on his chest enough that our mouths part. We’re both breathing heavily, and I’m so turned on that I can barely stand it.

  “I can’t,” I say as he looks down at me, hi
s lips red from our activity. I move his hair out of his eyes. I’m not used to the long hair, but I like it. Gives you something else to hold onto.

  “I’m sorry.” This time he says it.

  “What are you sorry for, Sawyer?” I turn the tables on him.

  “Don’t play that game, Ivy.” He climbs off me and I push myself up on my elbows.

  “Then how do you want to play it? I ended this. We both left. Now we’re back here again. I just . . . I can’t do this.” I put one of my hands through my hair. I know he’s messed it up. He always does.

  “Then you should probably stop kissing me, Ivy. It takes two people to kiss. If that’s how you feel, then don’t kiss me.” He’s mad. He gets up from the couch and takes both our empty wine glasses and starts washing them in the sink. The movie is still playing, but I ignore it.

  “You left. No reason. Everything was fine and I thought that we were going to make it, even though we were going to different colleges. I thought what we had was strong enough to make it. But then you ended it, and I was left with nothing. Now you’re back and you’re screwing with my head again. I can’t fucking DO this, Ivy!” He grips one of the glasses too hard and it shatters. I get up from the couch and rush to help him.

  “Shit,” he says, running his hand under the water as it mixes with blood.

  “Let me see,” I say, taking his hand and looking at it to make sure there isn’t any broken glass in the cut. He lets me and it looks okay. I grab a paper towel and blot it try. The cut isn’t too bad, just on his palm. Then I get a clean paper towel and wrap it around his hand and tell him to squeeze. Without asking, I go to his bathroom and come back with a box of band aids, antiseptic and some antibiotic cream.

  “Sit,” I say and he drops down into a chair. His jaw is tight and he’s glaring at me, but he lets me patch him up.