by Carian Cole
Until I met Skylar.
Until I had sex with Skylar.
Until I fell in love with her.
I’ve tried like hell not to think about it, but it’s impossible to forget how she felt under my touch, how she tasted on my tongue, how her nails dug into my flesh. How she whispered my name when she came all over my cock.
How she knew I needed her.
It all could’ve been perfect.
“What are we giving Uncle Al for Christmas?” she asks, pulling me from memory lane.
“We’re not giving him a gift. Every year he says he’s got everything he wants, so I only give gifts to Aunt Suzy.”
“Have you always spent Christmas with them?”
“Yup. Since I was a kid. They used to dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus when I was little. They’d come downstairs with a big red sack full of gifts for me and Erin.”
“That’s so sweet. If I ever have kids, I’d love to do something cool like that for them. Keep the innocence and magic alive for as long as possible.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want kids?”
The bird sways back and forth on his perch in tune with Lady by Little River Band playing on the radio. Skylar watches him, lost in thought.
“I don’t,” she says. “But every now and then I think maybe, someday, with the right guy I might want to.”
I’ve always been dead set against having kids until Skylar just went and planted an image in my head of us prancing around the living room dressed up as Santa and his wife for kids we don’t even have.
But I don’t want to think about that.
“Guess what,” I say, flashing her a side-eye, hoping to keep the mood light as traffic slows to a near halt.
“What?” she asks, more interested in the bird than she is with hearing what I might say.
“I never got to tell you who I spent the night with that night I didn’t come home.”
Her face twists into a disgusted frown. “Seriously, Jude, why would I want to know that?”
Shit.
“No, it’s not what you think. It was a guy.”
“Wow.” Her head moves back and forth and the bird mimics her. “It’s like you want me to throw this bird cage at you.”
“Skylar! What the fuck. I wasn’t with a guy.”
“It’s totally okay if you were. I’m not going to judge you. If a man can be the one to finally make you happy and get you out of your head, I’m all for it.”
“Will you stop? I’m trying to tell you I hung out with Asher Valentine at Uncle Al’s bar.”
She turns to look at me so fast I’m surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash.
“Say what?” she says.
I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, I thought that’d get your attention.”
“You expect me to believe you hung out with Asher Valentine, lead singer of one of my favorite bands—ever?”
“Yup.”
“Get out,” she says.
Her disbelief makes me grin. “It’s true.”
“How? He just wandered into your uncle’s bar for a drink?” she asks skeptically.
“Not exactly. He was standing in an alley by the convenience store, and when I came out, I saw some guy coming up behind him with a bat. He was going to mug him.”
Mouth open, she turns toward me, and the cage tilts. The bird jumps to a different perch and bobs his head at us. “Holy shit,” Skylar says. “What happened?”
“I jumped the guy, and he ran off. We started talking, and he told me his name.”
“Wait a minute. You didn’t recognize him? The guy is a literal god.”
“If he was singing, I would’ve recognized him but we were standing in a dark alley for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, what was he like?” she asks impatiently. “Was he nice? Please tell me he was nice. I will die if he wasn’t nice.”
“He was. We talked for hours like he was just a regular guy.”
She beams. “What did you talk about?”
I shrug. “Work. His band. Relationships. Motorcycles. Love.”
“You talked about love with Asher Valentine? Oh my God, I would freak out. Do you know he met his wife when they were only fifteen? And when she had that accident years ago, she was in a coma for eight years! I saw him do an interview and he said he stayed totally committed to her in every way the entire time.”
I’ve missed seeing her excitement and hearing happiness in her voice. “Yup. He told me all about it.”
“Wow. Now that’s love. He’s like the perfect man. Talented, romantic, a voice like sin, hot as hell.” She sighs and smiles dreamily like she just had a daydream-gasm.
“Okay, fangirl, did you know his daughter fell in love with his best friend when she was eighteen and he was thirty-two?”
That snaps her out of her swoony haze. “Um, no. You better spill that tea right now, Lucky.”
I laugh. “Ohh, so I’ve got some dirt you want?”
“Yes! Tell me more.”
“I guess they kept it on the down low for a while, and when Asher found out, the shit hit the mother-fuckin’ fan.”
“Oh no! That sucks!”
“Yeah, but they worked it out. It’s all good now.”
“Are they still together? The daughter and the friend?”
“He said they’re married with a baby.”
Her big blue eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “Holy crap. Who knew Asher Valentine was a grandfather. That’s insane—he’s like your age. I follow him on social media. I think he’s got even more tattoos than you do. He is sooo incredibly hot.”
Jealousy starts to fester in my veins. “Yeah, I heard ya the first time,” I say.
“The age difference between his daughter and his friend is close to ours,” she says, not looking at me.
“I know; that’s why we were talking about it.”
“You really told him about us? About me? I can imagine how that conversation went,” she says with a hint of sarcasm.
I’m starting to wish I hadn’t brought up the topic of Asher Valentine now. I feel like a wild animal about to be cornered by an expert hunter.
“How’s the bird doing?” I ask, straightening the bow on the cage.
“Jude, seriously? The bird is fine. Tell me what you told him. What did he say?”
“I told him everything.”
“Everything?” she repeats. “What’s everything?”
“Just that we got married. And why.”
“That’s everything?”
“Basically.”
“Did you tell him we’ve kissed? And had sex?” she challenges. “That much everything?”
Memories of us having sex has been a major source of jerk-off material for me. I wish I could light up a smoke, but I can’t with the stupid bird in the truck. “Not exactly like that, no. That’s kinda private, don’t ya think?”
She quirks her lips to the side. “I thought guys liked to talk about their sexual escapades.”
“I don’t consider you an escapade. At all.”
“Good.”
“You’re here!” Aunt Suzy exclaims when she opens her front door.
I lean in and kiss her cheek as we move inside the living room.
“I’ve been here on Christmas every year since I was born.”
“Merry Christmas,” Skylar says from behind the birdcage.
“Oh my God! A parakeet!” Aunt Suzy squeals.
“Why are you acting surprised? Every year I give you exactly what you ask for.”
Ignoring me, she takes the cage and walks it over to Uncle Al, who’s dozing off in his chair next to the Christmas tree.
“Look! We have a bird! Isn’t he adorable?”
Jolting awake, he squints at it then throws me a glance. “I thought we agreed years ago you can’t give her anything that eats, barks, or shits.”
“Leave him alone,” Aunt Suzy says. “He always gives me the best presents.”
“Because you tell him what to get you.”
Skylar shrugs off her coat and refuses to make eye contact with me when I take it from her.
“Aunt Suzy, your decorations are amazing,” Skylar says.
My aunt and uncle deck out the entire house with vintage decorations every holiday. The mantel is covered with fake snow and hanging icicles, and there’s a little fake frozen pond with tiny people that actually skate across it. Their tree is the same one they’ve had since they were first married, with an ornament for every year they’ve been together.
That’s a lot of fuckin’ ornaments.
I watch Skylar slowly walk around the room, oohing and ahhing over the animated elves and snowmen holding wrapped boxes. She catches me staring at her and then she quickly looks away.
I hate this.
“We love the holidays,” Aunt Suzy says. “I’ve had these decorations forever. Some of them belonged to my mother and my grandmother. When I die, Lucky will get them all.”
I’m probably not the best person to inherit sentimental ornaments. The tree I bought for me and Skylar is still sitting in a box in the hallway like the ugly elephant in the room.
I grab the shopping bag with the silver gift-wrapped air fryer and enough food and toys to keep the bird living a life of luxury for at least a year, and hand it to my aunt. “This is for you, too. And can we not talk about death on Christmas?”
Smiling, she puts a floppy red Santa hat on my head, just like she does every year. “Why? I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid to not live.”
As she busies herself getting the birdcage set up on a fake-snow-covered table in front of the window, me and Skylar sit on the couch together, and I finally get a good look at what she’s wearing.
“I see you rose to the challenge.” I nod my chin toward her ridiculous sweatshirt—the fox printed on it is all tangled up in a string of holiday lights that are actually lit and blinking. “Did that thing come with batteries?”
“It did. I scoured the internet to find something that would live up to your expectations.”
“You succeeded.”
She bats at the white puff hanging off my hat like a naughty kitten and then looks away from me.
“Let’s open presents,” Aunt Suzy says, pushing a pile of presents three feet high in front of us. “Just read the name tags on them. There’s a bunch for both of you.”
“Holy shit. Why did you get so much?” I ask. “Just get me a pair of socks and call it a day.”
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Skylar adds.
“What else do I have to do with myself? It makes me happy.”
The bird squawks, once again waking Uncle Al from his nap. “What happened?” he mumbles.
“We’re doing presents.” My aunt tosses a box onto his lap.
Ten minutes later I’ve got a stack of new flannel shirts, socks, a scarf I’ll never wear, a dog sweater for Cassie, a new Zippo lighter, chocolate coins, and a carbon fiber thermos.
“This is all so beautiful,” Skylar says after she opens her stack. Aunt Suzy gave her everything she loves: an old Led Zeppelin shirt, crystal earrings, fuzzy socks, a catnip mouse for Gus, a flowery headband, and a hardcover book signed by one of her favorite authors. “I love everything. Thank you so much.”
I get that heavy feeling in my heart when she gets up to hug my aunt and uncle.
It all looks so real.
It all feels real.
After presents, we help Aunt Suzy put dinner on the dining room table, and Skylar’s usual anxiety over anything food-related is visibly diminished when she sees that my aunt has made Skylar’s “safe” foods in addition to our usual dishes.
Fresh bread with homemade honey butter.
Steamed carrots and cauliflower—something new Skylar has started eating after some recent therapy sessions.
Mashed potatoes.
And instead of putting the entire turkey on the table, Uncle Al sliced it—putting only the platter on the center of the table so Skylar wouldn’t have to look at the turkey carcass as she was eating.
Trying to stay on my best behavior, I even refrain from making any eat-the-bird jokes in front of the parakeet.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Uncle Al waves his fork at me as we’re eating.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“The bar’s not making much money. The same customers come in every day. Never anyone new.”
“The place is old,” I reply. “I’ve been tellin’ you that for years. There’s two inches of dust on everything. It’s dark and musty.”
“Lucky.” Skylar kicks me under the table.
“It’s okay, honey,” Uncle Al says. “It’s true, the place is a dump.”
Aunt Suzy touches his hand. “I wouldn’t call it a dump. It’s just aged.”
“I think it’s time I sell it. I can’t afford to give it everything it needs.”
I lean back in my chair. “That bar’s your life.”
“We had a good run, but it’s time. I’ll miss it, but it’s too much for me to handle now. I ain’t getting any younger.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Sell it. Thought maybe you’d want to buy it.”
I choke on my turkey. “What? Me?”
“Yeah. I’ll give you a good deal.”
“What would I do with a bar?”
“Fix it up and make it successful. It’s in a great location,” Aunt Suzy says. “And it has parking. Most bars in the area don’t.”
“Did you two forget I have a business?”
Uncle Al shakes his head at me. “You think you’re gonna be wanting to climb up on a roof with your back problems when you’re in your fifties? Sixties?”
I don’t even want to climb up on a roof now. “I can’t afford to buy that place and fix it up.”
“What about your settlement?”
I blow out a low breath and ignore Skylar’s curious stare.
“There’s not much of that left. Not enough to do everything that place would need.”
A few years ago, a local, well-known entrepreneur rear-ended me at a stop sign late at night. My truck was basically totaled and it effed-up my already messed-up neck and back. The driver staggered out of the car, clearly having had one too many. He also had a barely dressed woman in the passenger seat he didn’t seem to want anyone to find out about. In exchange for me not calling the cops or reporting it to my insurance, he bought me a new truck and gave me twenty-five thousand in cash on the spot. The dude literally pulled wads of cash right out of a bag in his trunk. In hindsight, I should’ve sued him. Twenty-five K wasn’t enough to put up with chronic back and neck pain.
Some of that cash went to new appliances for Al and Suzy, and some of it I used to buy Skylar’s ’vette.
“It’d be really cool if you turned it into an era-themed bar. Like, all sixties or seventies themed decor,” Skylar suggests, stabbing a baby carrot and nibbling half of it off her fork. “You could have that decade’s music playing in the background. People love that stuff. They like things that are unique, so they can say, hey, let’s go to that sixties bar.”
“Yes,” Aunt Suzy says excitedly. “I love that idea! She’s right, people would love to go to a bar like that for a drink.”
“It sounds great, but I don’t know shit about running a bar.”
My uncle’s not swayed. “I could still work part time and help. And what are you talkin’ about? You bartended there for years when you were younger. Hire someone to fill in when you’re off so you don’t get stuck there all day and night. It ain’t that hard.”
I’m tempted. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to run a small construction company for the rest of my life. I don’t love it, and it’s murder on my back. I can’t see myself doing it forever, and the thought of working at some big-box hardware store when I’m fifty doesn’t exactly excite me.
“It’d be cool, but there’s no way I can afford it. It’
d take up too much time and money. I’d never be able to get a bar off the ground and keep up with my own work in the meantime. I’m sorry.”
“You’re right, Lucky,” Aunt Suzy says. “It’d be a lot for you to take on by yourself.”
“Maybe I could help,” Skylar suggests quietly.
I turn to my wife. “You’re not even old enough to drink. What are you gonna do in a bar?”
She puts her fork down and glares at me. “Oh, I don’t know, Jude. I guess just because I’m eighteen, I can’t do anything? Let’s just forget that I came up with a great idea to make the place interesting, and I also happen to be really good at social marketing. But, whatever. If you want to swing a hammer for the rest of your life, have at it.”
“Why would you say that to her?” my aunt asks.
“What?” I say. “You expect me to run a bar with a teenager?”
“Why does her age matter?” Suzy says. “You tell us all the time how smart and driven she is. And she’s your wife. It’d be nice to run a new business together.”
“She’s not my wife,” I shoot back. “She’ll be gone in six months.”
“Hey,” Uncle Al warns. “That’s no way to talk about a woman. Especially your wife.”
I grind my teeth. “It’s the truth. That was the deal. Why am I the bad guy? It’s what she wants.”
“Are you two really going to get a divorce?” Aunt Suzy asks.
“Yes,” we answer simultaneously.
“Is that what you both want?”
Skylar and I stare at each other, waiting for the other to answer first. I want to say no. I want more time together. But if it’s what she wants, then she should go and move on with her life.
“It’s what we agreed on,” Skylar answers. “It doesn’t mean we don’t care about each other.”
“But you make such a cute couple.”
“We can be cute friends.” Skylar puts on her best convincing smile but I can see right through it. “We’re okay with it, really. We both knew going into this it was just an arrangement. I’m very grateful for everything Lucky’s done for me, and I’m so glad I got to meet you two.”
Aunt Suzy’s face falls as if her best friend just died. “I wish things were different. We really love having you as part of the family. Maybe things will change…”