Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

“Because you know, it would be okay if you had some feelings about all this. It would be perfectly natural—”

  The back of Phaedra’s throat tightened. “I’m so happy for you, Aunt Vivi.”

  And as far as it went, it was absolutely, completely, and totally true. She was happy for her aunt. And thrilled that her aunt had asked her to be the maid of honor in her wedding. Aunt Vivi and Phae had always had a special bond, a shared love of fabric crafts and romance novels and hot fudge sundaes. Vivi had never had kids, and Phae’s mom had died when she was fourteen. They’d been each other’s closest female family—and true friends—for so long that Phae couldn’t imagine it any other way. When Vivi had—gingerly—asked Phae to be her maid of honor, Phae never considered saying no.

  In fact, she loved Vivi’s fiancé, Michael. And it was abundantly clear that Michael and Vivi loved each other madly.

  Phae was nothing but thrilled for Vivi. And yet—

  Vivi’s eyes searched Phae’s face. “You can be happy for me and still sad for yourself. It was supposed to be your Christmas wedding at the beach.”

  Phae let herself look around the lobby, and her heart squeezed. A sad-happy squeeze. Because Vivi was right. You could be happy for someone you loved and still sad for yourself. You could celebrate someone else’s joy and also feel the sharp, sidelong pain of missing a life that had almost been yours. Phaedra could have been the one on her way to her rehearsal, her ex-fiancé Chris the one they were waiting for. The lobby, all decked out, could have been her own personal Christmas-wedding fairyland.

  For the most part, the Cape House lobby looked exactly as Phae had pictured her own ceremony with Chris: evergreen garlands, sparkly fairy lights, poinsettia, mistletoe, brass candlesticks and a lit-up Christmas tree—festive, classic, and classy.

  The only difference between Phaedra’s vision and this version was the fact that every last ornament in the room was a pair of shiny red balls.

  The theme of the wedding was Jingle Balls, to honor survivors of testicular cancer, like Michael. All the wedding guests had been asked, in lieu of gifts, to consider a donation to the testicular cancer awareness nonprofit.

  Phaedra loved that concept. And of the decorations. It was just that every time she looked at the shiny red balls, she found herself thinking, There are a lot of balls in this room. Which made her stifle a giggle.

  And maybe, given all the other emotions at play, that wasn’t a bad thing. She was just a little bit worried she’d start giggling right in the middle of the wedding.

  For now, she was more concerned with making sure that Vivi wasn’t worrying about her feelings. “Of course, I’m a tiny bit sad, Aunt Vivi,” she said. “But it’s not keeping me from being ecstatic for you and Michael. And everything looks absolutely beautiful.”

  Vivian’s gaze followed Phae’s around the lobby, and Phaedra saw her aunt’s face light with a glow that wasn’t just fairy lights. Even though the courtship had been a whirlwind—surviving testicular cancer had given Michael a life-is-short attitude—Phaedra knew her aunt had fallen hard, and vice versa.

  Michael stepped into the lobby just then. He was a good-looking, silver-haired man, slightly stooped, with a shy smile whose full wattage was turned completely on Vivian. Phaedra’s heart gave another painful squeeze. Not so long ago, Chris had looked at her like that. And then at some point he’d stopped. She’d missed the turning-point moment. She’d been so oblivious. And so blindsided, as a result.

  “Viv. And Phae.” Michael dropped a chaste kiss on her aunt’s mouth and opened his arms to Phae for a hug. She hugged him back. She couldn’t have asked for a nicer new uncle if she’d chosen one herself, and she already loved him.

  They were joined a moment later by Grace, the wedding planner, and the Reverend Steven Halser. Which left only Michael’s son still MIA.

  “We’re waiting for your son, right?” Grace asked Michael.

  He nodded. “I got a text. He’s stuck in traffic between Gearhart and Seaside.”

  “We can wait,” Grace said.

  “I think we can start without him,” Michael said. “It’s just a rehearsal. All he has to do is stand there.”

  They took their places—Michael next to the priest under the evergreen-garlanded, twinkly archway, and Vivian and Phaedra in a quiet room to the side of the lobby. Grace tapped her phone and Vivi’s first processional—which would be played by live musicians at the wedding later today—wafted into the air. Arm in arm, Vivian and Phaedra proceeded down the aisle, between the two sections of seats.

  If this had been her wedding, Chris would have been standing just where Michael stood now, smiling at her the way Michael was smiling at her aunt. Her friends Aona and Henny would have given her a “you’ve got this” look just before they preceded her up the aisle, her father at her side. She would be wearing a simple white silk tea dress, beaded—it still hung (brand new) in her closet—a pair of sapphire earrings (something blue), her aunt’s slip (borrowed), and a tiara that had belonged to her paternal grandmother (old).

  She would be surrounded by friends and so, so happy.

  It would be the first day of the rest of her happily ever after.

  Despite what she’d said to Vivi, her eyes were pricking with tears. Oh, God, she would not cry. This was not about her. This was Vivi’s day.

  A man hurried across the lobby and tucked himself into the wedding tableau behind Michael. He laid a hand on Michael’s shoulder and Michael turned and smiled at him fondly.

  Phaedra took another step, which brought the man into full view. Wavy dark hair, just a little too long, broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and—

  Oh, shit.

  She knew Michael’s son.

  Well, she knew Michael’s son in the Biblical sense. She had known him good and hard in his apartment forty-five minutes after meeting him for the first time, at a party thrown by mutual friends several months ago.

  She’d been working her way through a run of rebound one-night stands that had capped off Chris’s revelation that he no longer wanted to marry her. Michael’s son had been one-night stand number five, the only memorable one in the bunch, and the only one she actively, desperately, wanted to forget.

  She no longer felt like crying. Now her face was hot with shame. Not because she’d had a one-night stand with him; she owned her sexual choices. But because…

  Michael’s son, Mack, had been the guy who’d put an end to her one-night standing. Because she’d had a panic attack in his bed and more or less run out on him.

  And now he was standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for her.

  2

  Mack Ferrier slipped into place behind his father and squeezed his shoulder in greeting. He looked happier than Mack had seen him in years. He was gazing at Vivi adoringly, and for the first time since his parents’ divorce almost fifteen years ago, Mack felt a hell, yes, instead of a hell, no. There had been a handful of women in and out of his father’s life since his mom. As a teenager, Mack had hated them on principle. Lately, he’d just hated how none of them made his dad light up.

  Until now.

  Six a.m. wakeup (on five hours of sleep), forgotten. Last-minute packing, including a rush to the drugstore for deodorant and dental floss, both of which had run out, forgotten. Insane traffic on Route 101, forgotten.

  Mack would do whatever he could to make this wedding a happy event for his father, who deserved joy after what he’d gone through last year with the cancer treatments. His hair still looked a little patchy, but he was one of the lucky ones to have few side effects. Some high-range hearing loss, and some nerve damage that had made him a little more clumsy, occasionally—but pretty much he was the poster child for complete remission. Best case.

  Mack never took that for granted. He was grateful for every minute he had with his dad, and all the time they’d spent together last year while his father sat through chemo. They’d gotten super close, because Michael was mostly too sleepy to read and just wanted Mack to talk to h
im.

  He loved his father more now than he ever had, and standing up with him for this mid-life wedding felt like the least he could do to show it.

  He watched his aunt-to-be approach. His heart was still beating a little faster than usual from his dash from the parking lot to the lobby—when his glance shifted to the maid of honor, who his dad had said was Vivi’s niece.

  For a split second he thought he must be hallucinating.

  Holy shit.

  It was her.

  Phaedra. He only knew her first name. She’d said it to him—Phay-dra—and then spelled it, when they’d met at his friend Kevin’s rooftop 4th of July party in Seattle. Forty-five minutes later she’d asked if he wanted to get out of there and they’d booked it back to his condo to have fucking amazing sex.

  Less than two hours after that, she’d run out of his apartment like her ass was on fire and then made it clear—via their mutual friends—that she wasn’t interested in hearing from him.

  She was frowning at him. Big time. Which he could understand because, clearly, she’d never meant to be in the same room with him.

  But here she was. And, God, she looked amazing. Given that she didn’t want to see him, he shouldn’t be so glad their paths had crossed. He should definitely not be (discreetly) ogling her body in her sundress. He’d had his hands on those curves and they were world class. He’d wanted Round Two as soon as Round One had ended, and now—getting a second glimpse—his body was demanding another shot.

  Maybe… ?

  He rolled his eyes inwardly, because if she’d wanted Round Two, she could have asked for it any time. She’d known how to track him down.

  And no. Just no.

  This weekend was about his father’s happiness. Not Mack chasing after someone who’d made her lack of interest abundantly clear.

  The two women reached him and his dad, and Phaedra hugged and kissed her aunt, then fake-adjusted Vivi’s dress at the hem and stepped back to take her place. Vivi and Michael drew together and gripped each other’s hands tightly.

  “Perfect,” a tiny, adorable woman said, hurrying towards them. “Steve, can you do a fast-forwarded version of the ceremony for us?”

  The minister proceeded to do just that, but Mack didn’t catch any of it because he was too busy observing Phaedra. And remembering. Her curly red hair had been the first thing to catch his eye. He liked redheads. It intrigued him that the number of redheads was on the decline. Finding one in a world full of drabber hair felt lucky. And when he’d approached her on Kev’s rooftop deck, and she’d turned to smile, open and generous, he had felt lucky, and not the kind he was hoping he’d get later. Time had slipped by quickly as they’d talked. She’d made him laugh, over and over. And then she’d straightforwardly asked him, You want to get out of here?

  If he was being honest with himself, he also couldn’t stop thinking about what had followed. How good she’d felt in his arms, hot and lithe and eager, setting him on fire. How she’d kissed, like she couldn’t get enough, like she was showing him what else she wanted.

  How they’d moved together in his bed. How she’d held his gaze and how it had felt nothing like fucking a stranger. It had felt familiar and unnervingly intimate.

  He’d liked her. He got along well with everyone, but he didn’t like people the way he’d liked her, enough to want to do it all over again the minute they’d finished.

  And he knew she’d enjoyed it. You couldn’t fake how much she’d enjoyed herself. So—why the hell had she run away?

  “…and she’ll say, ‘with this ring’ and slide it on his hand. And then I’ll say, ‘I now etcetera etcetera and you may etcetera etcetera,’” the priest said.

  Phaedra was biting her lip and Mack wondered if she was also having trouble not laughing. She glanced at him and the humor vanished. She looked away.

  Well, shit.

  He had no business being surprised by her chilliness, or disappointed by it.

  “Okay, everyone,” said the tiny woman, clapping her hands. “Are we all set? Do you feel comfortable with this? Do you want to run it again?”

  “We’re good,” Vivian said.

  They all stepped from the archway, and Michael said, “Mack. Let me introduce you to Phaedra. Phaedra, Mack, Mack, Phaedra.”

  His mouth was half open, ready to offer that they’d met, when she stuck out her hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Mack.”

  Her expression was a complete blank. So blank that for a second, he actually questioned whether they had met. Maybe he’d mistaken her for someone else…?

  No, that was bullshit. He had looked into those blue-green eyes and watched her come apart. You didn’t forget sex like that.

  Apparently, however, she wasn’t going to give him any hint that she remembered it. She was going to pretend they were complete strangers.

  Ouch.

  Okay, that was not playing fair.

  If she’d acknowledged him, he would have let it be. But she’d thrown down a gauntlet. Mack had a contrary streak, and now it was fully activated.

  He was going to make her admit that she knew who he was.

  Better still, he was going to find out why she’d run away—and stayed away.

  And maybe…

  Well. They would cross that bridge if he could lead her to it. He patted his pocket, the one with the hotel key in it.

  Just then, Vivian reached into her own pocket and pulled out her phone. “Mom?” she said, holding it to her ear. “Wait. Where are you? Oh… oh, no. Okay. You stay put. I’ll send someone.” She ended the call and frowned at Phaedra. “Your grandmother is in Reardon Bay instead of Tierney Bay.”

  “Oh no.” Phaedra clapped a hand to her mouth. Mack wasn’t sure if she was horrified or trying to keep from laughing. He was pretty sure it was the latter. “Poor Grandma.”

  Vivian wrung her hands. “God! I knew I should have taken the driver’s cell phone number. The dispatcher swore he’d double check with the driver. I went over it twice—if she tells you something different, make sure you follow my instructions. I should have gotten her myself.”

  “Aunt Vivi, don’t stress. I’ll get her here.” Phaedra patted her aunt’s arm. “Where’s Reardon Bay?”

  “About an hour down the coast,” Vivian said.

  “I’m on it—oh, shit.” Phaedra wrinkled her nose. “I can’t drive your car. It’s stick shift. But don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. I’ll borrow one or—hell, I’ll rent one if I have to.” She pulled her phone out and started tapping. “There’s got to be a rental place near here—”

  The tiny woman—wedding planner, maybe?—was shaking her head. “Nearest one is Portland. Or Aberdeen. Let me see if I can figure something out.” She hurried over to the front desk and consulted briefly with the guy standing behind it. She returned and said, “Levi thinks he can lend you his truck, but his sister’s using it now, so it’ll be a while.”

  Vivian and Phaedra’s faces went white. “Grandma’s a little—” Phaedra began, at the same time that Vivi was saying, “I don’t think she should be on her own—”

  “I have a car,” Mack said.

  They all turned toward him. Vivi was looking at him like he was a superhero, and Phaedra like he was a threat to the continued existence of humanity.

  Well. He would find a way to change her mind. And a long car ride would be the perfect opportunity. “Happy to drive you down.”

  Phaedra grimaced. “Uh—couldn’t I just, you know, borrow it?”

  Mack felt triumphant, but wouldn’t let it show. He shook his head. “It’s an older model. It’s stick shift, too. But it’s not a big deal—I enjoy driving, and it’s a great stretch of road.” He looked at his watch. “If we leave right now, we can retrieve your grandmother and be back in time for photos.”

  “But…” Phaedra turned to Vivi. “You need me for getting ready!” She turned back to him. “You could go by yourself.” Then her shoulders slumped.

  “Phaedra?” Vivi asked
.

  “Grandma will be super confused if a random stranger picks her up, won’t she.”

  “Your grandmother will be super confused no matter what,” Vivi said sadly. “But she might be more comfortable if you go along with Mack. I’ll be fine. Judy’s here.” She waved at a woman who was watching the rehearsal from a distance. “Judy’s my best friend,” she explained.

  Phaedra took a deep breath, and blew it out. “Okay. Okay.” She turned to him, her eyes narrow. They seemed to say, You win. “Let’s go.”

  He nodded.

  But the truth was, he wasn’t going to feel like he’d won until she was looking at him very differently.

  He wanted her to look at him with the same sense of possibility and wonder he’d seen as they’d stood talking on Kevin’s rooftop, while Puget Sound darkened to purple behind her.

  3

  “Oh,” she said, when she saw his car. “Yeah, you probably wouldn’t want me practicing my shitty stick shift skills on that.”

  She was eyeing his red Audi TT RS Coupe—sold the last year Audi made a stick shift TT. The car was his one real self-indulgence, and his baby.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  No one but him was ever going to drive that car. Okay, that was a lie. He had let his dad drive it a few times after his cancer diagnosis. But that was what it would take. The threat of death and the guilt of a family member saying, “I want to drive that car once before I die.” Not that his father was going to die. In fact, among the first words his father had said to him after receiving word that he was in remission were, “I guess you’re not going to let me drive the car anymore.”

  “Nope,” Mack had said. “Buy your own damn sports car.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Takes one,” Mack said, with a shrug, and gave his father a huge hug.

  To slide into the passenger seat, she had to brush by him, and that made all the hair on his arms stand up. And brought a few other things to attention, too. What was it with her? She definitely had a mainline to his libido.