Not Another Lonely Christmas

by Ellie R. Hunter

  It feels like I’ve been slapped around the face. He’ll help me look elsewhere? Although I’m grateful he isn’t pushing for me to talk more about my parents, it’s strange how he doesn’t even ask one question about them. Three nights ago, we were having sex and sleeping together in this very bed and now he wants to search for a romantic interest for me. Perhaps it’s not my hangover that has me feeling sick.

  My fingers glide over the keys and I log in and click on my inbox. He drags the laptop back on his legs and scrolls through each message. Lying down, I snuggle under the covers and close my eyes.

  “There must be thousands,” he gasps, genuinely shocked for once.

  “I know, I normally get someone I know to choose someone and then I message them.”

  “They’re from all over the world,” he whispers more to himself.

  And the one I’ve come to want is from America. Only, my actions the other morning must have warned him off. Then again, he’s here now even if he is looking at prospective dates and I’m more confused than ever.

  “Jasper?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why did you help me last night?”

  “You were drunk, I wouldn’t not help you,” he says, keeping his eyes on the screen.

  “Okay, why are you here now? The other morning, I kicked you out and you’ve just heard how I’m going on these dates to be swept off my feet.”

  He pushes the laptop away and looks at me like I’m the only one in the world. He needs to stop doing that. Seriously.

  “I’m here because I can’t seem to leave you while you’re not feeling your best…that’s what friends do. I get why you were so pissed with me the other morning. I promise, I won’t try it on with you again.”

  “Thanks?”

  “I’m not an idiot, you’re looking for more than sex and I get that.”

  That stings but at least I don’t have to explain any further.

  “I’m sorry for the way I handled things, it was rude and exactly how I do things when I’m freaking out.”

  His laughs floats around the room, it’s the first time someone’s laughed at my apology. If he carries on, I’ll take it back.

  “I can be your friend, Remi, and I like to be if you’d let me.”

  Friends?

  This time, my mouth opens and closes, and nothing comes out.

  “Or I could try my luck again and then hate myself for causing you to hate yourself and then we can shout and fight and probably lose each other from our lives so quickly after meeting.”

  Wow, he’s painting a dark picture and I don’t want to hear anymore, so I say, “We can be friends, I’d like that.”

  The rain has stopped, and my hangover is forgotten when snow falling catches my eye. The first snowfall of the year and for once, I’m not outside and freezing my arse off. I can appreciate it in the warm.

  I push the covers off my legs and walk over to the window. After all the rain we’ve had, the snow isn’t settling but the wind is thrashing the flakes in all different directions and I can barely make out the houses across the street.

  Snow. Christmas. The only thing missing from my life is love.

  “Um, Remi?”

  “Yeah?” I hum, looking over my shoulder at him.

  “If we’re going to be friends, can we be friends that are fully dressed, at all times?”

  His gaze drops to my legs and I snap out of the snow haze. Stifling a smile, I realise I’m not embarrassed, and I take my time finding a pair of leggings from the clean pile of washing.

  “I don’t think friends sit on each other’s beds,” I tease, and he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Where else am I going to sit?”

  “On the chair?” I say. Is he freaking blind?

  He looks around the room and looks lost when his eyes fall back on me.

  “Unless you want me sitting on the floor, there is no where else to sit.”

  Shaking my head, I cross the room, and, in the corner, I pull down the plastic stack of drawers and set them by the fridge.

  “Ta-da.”

  “That isn’t a chair, and it certainly wouldn’t hold my weight.” He settles back on the bed and kicks his boots off. “I’ll stay here, friends can still sit with each other, can’t they.”

  Every time friends leaves his mouth, it’s like a punch to my stomach. What is happening to me, my mouth is drying out, my hands are clamming up, and my feet are moving, taking me closer to sitting next to him.

  “I’m feeling fine now, you can go if there’s somewhere else you need to be?”

  I’m not feeling all that fine and I’m pushing it to see if he stays or not. I guess my ego needs to be built up a little more.

  “I’m here until you get some more colour in your cheeks. Now, tell me, why do you have a tree up this early?”

  “What do you mean, early? There’s only two weeks till Christmas,” I gasp.

  I hate people who moan about Christmas. I don’t get it, what’s there to moan about? It’s the happiest time of year where you can drink as much as you want without anyone eyeing you as having a problem, you can eat as much you want, and people are nice to each other.

  “When do you normally put up your tree?”

  “I don’t want to tell you, you’re going to hate me.”

  I doubt that’s possible.

  “I don’t put up a tree.”

  My jaw drops, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “I don’t think we can be friends,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I’m never home at Christmas.”

  I go to question him with the many questions accumulating in my mind but he’s pulling the laptop on his lap and opening one of the messages I received the other day.

  “This is Connor Martin, he believes in simple romantic gestures and he’s a part of the stars and space society.”

  “The what?”

  “He likes the stars and I’m betting he’ll do you a picnic under the night’s sky.”

  “Sounds fun,” I mutter and Jasper frowns at me.

  “I thought girls liked that sort of thing.”

  I repeat the words silently and usually I would like that sort of thing. I must be too hungover to appreciate the thought.

  I lay down and pull the covers up to my chin, and then wish I didn’t. They smell like Jasper.

  Friends might not inhale a little deeper to absorb their cologne, but I know Jasper isn’t my friend, he’s my crush and this is fucking torture.

  “There,” he says, banging away typing something. “You’re going on a date with him, in two days at his request.”

  Groaning, I roll onto my back and block out his laughter. I’m starting to think he’s paying me back for kicking him out the other morning.

  “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up,” he says, as I yawn. “I’m going to read every single one of these messages. I have a lot more to learn about you, and I’m looking forward to it.”

  I catch him opening one message before my eyes close and I internally berate myself.

  What am I doing? My tongue has never been tied when it’s come to telling people what I want, how I want it, or when I want it. Yet, when it comes to Jasper, I’m lying here while he looks through potential dates and I can’t utter a word about how I’m coming to feel about him. He is literally half sitting and half lying beside me, on my bed, stinking up my sheets with his scent, not wanting me half-dressed but referring to us as friends. Confusion is turning to frustration and not in the way I was frustrated when I made the first video. This is new to me. All I want this Christmas is him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The door shuts as Jasper goes in search of food with a promise of bringing fresh coffee back with him. He hasn’t left since I woke up and he’s sticking to his word about staying. I can smell his faint aftershave lingering in his wake and it clings to the bedsheets from where he sat.

&n
bsp; Sliding out of bed, I’m still fully dressed, and I feel a lot better compared to a couple of days ago. Emotionally and physically.

  In the tv cabinet drawer, is my keepsake box and I drag it out and sit on the floor. An envelope sits under an old cinema ticket stub. Collecting it up, I open it carefully and pull out the letter I have refused to acknowledge in a very long time. The paper is still crisp, and I swear my imagination is playing tricks on me as I smell my father’s aftershave.

  * * *

  To my darling, Remi.

  I don’t know if you’ll ever read this and I’m not sure I truly want you to. I was twenty-two when I met your mother and by god, I wish I met her sooner. There was never enough time with her. When I laid eyes on her, the world, it disappeared. Our wedding day was the most frightening day of my life, I did not believe she would show up at the church. Her family didn’t approve of me and mine disliked her for reasons I could not comprehend, and we had to drag two strangers off the street to be our witnesses. We didn’t care. We weren’t marrying our parents. Then you came along, and we were a real, perfect family.

  We’re told stories about love’s long dream, but what we’re not told about is the heart break that follows when the dream crashes into a nightmare. My heart is too broken to be ever fixed and I’m exhausted trying to be the dad you need and the widow that wants to give up. I vowed I’d love her till the day I died, but I never signed on for losing her.

  You are our proudest moment and when you’re old enough, I pray you meet someone who loves you like I love your mother, but I pray even harder you don’t feel the same way. It’s too much. You are my beautiful daughter and I want nothing more than for you to know what love feels like but love in our family is a curse. It borders on obsession and how I’m left without your mother isn’t healthy.

  I will never forgive myself for what I’m about to do, but I hope one day, you will. It is selfish of me to beg you to live your life without sinking into sadness because we are gone.

  You mean the world to me and I can’t live watching you watch me fail you every day. I’ve tried to move on and find a way for us to be without her, but I can’t. I hope you can, you’re still young and yet to know the boundaries of pain and loss.

  Grow into a fine young woman, Remi Rose Humphrey. Grow and enjoy the world around you, I’m just sorry that your mother isn’t around to make it a better place for you. She makes everything better.

  So, when you look back to this moment in your life, in the morning I’m going to have your breakfast ready for when you come down, I’m going to try and plait your hair like mum used to do and then I’m going kiss you on the head and cuddle you so hard. You’ll probably think I’m being weird, but that will be my goodbye, Remi. Please remember it. Always.

  So, my darling daughter. Remember, it’s harder to live in a lie, always tell the truth. Always be who you want to be, there’s no shame in being different. And, above all, protect your heart, it’s the strongest and weakest part of you and you’re the only one who can keep it safe.

  And lastly, remember what your mum used to tell you, the prince and princess, if they’re meant to be, they’re meant to be, and nothing will come between them.

  * * *

  I love you so much,

  Dad.

  * * *

  He loved me, just not enough to stay alive for me. He left me in this cold world knowing how hard it was. He was selfish, and he was wrong. He should have sought out help, and if I was older, I could have helped him. I understand now the pain he must have been feeling, but I’m also old enough now to understand he struggled in his grief and it enveloped him and never let him go.

  Folding his letter back into quarters, I slide it back in its envelope and place it back into my keepsake box. No one on this earth knows I have this. He didn’t leave it anywhere in the house, he tucked it into my school bag and when the social worker came to collect me because no one had picked me up after school, I already knew why, I just hadn’t found it yet. Once I did, I kept it to myself and never showed it to anyone.

  I later learned he took his life by hanging himself from the wooden beam that ran across our hallway. He blasted his and mum’s favourite song as loud as he could because he knew the neighbours would come knocking. He wanted to be found before there was any chance of me going home and finding him.

  That first night in a new foster home, the woman cooked me beans on toast and the man let me watch cartoons, even though I didn’t like cartoons. It soon become one of many homes and the letter and my favourite pages were the only things I managed to keep safe throughout the years and didn’t have taken from me. I cherished them, and I devoured them like I could lose them at any moment. I went to school one morning and still had a father, I finished school and I had no one. Not one member of my parents’ families wanted me. I was abandoned with no one in the world to love me.

  The sound of heavy boots jogging up the communal stairs thud in my ears, and I shove the box back in its place hoping it’ll be Jasper with our food.

  The door opens, and I stand and reach for a clean sweater from the chair of laundry.

  Slipping inside the soft material, my stomach growls at the smell of fresh pastry he’s holding in the bag, and as promised, fresh coffee from my favourite coffee shop. Not that he would have known that, it just so happens to be the closest to where I live.

  “You’re up,” he smiles and sits on the bed, not caring it’s not made, and I push away the thought that he looks at home there.

  “I forgot to ask what you liked so I picked out a selection and I got you a frothy cappuccino.”

  Grateful for the caffeine, I sit on the opposite side of the bed, well away from Jasper and his easy-going smile.

  “I have the day off, we should do something,” he says, opening the food bag.

  I lean over and my mouth waters at the sight of chocolate croissants. Focusing on the pastry, I miss the way he closes his eyes at my closeness. Sitting back, I don’t care about the flakes falling onto my lap and savour the sweet taste.

  “This is so good,” I mumble around the food.

  I know it’s rude to talk with a mouth full, but I don’t care, this is heaven.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  My eyes flick up at him and he catches his tone and clears his throat.

  “I’m leaving for home in a couple of weeks and I haven’t seen any of London. I want you to be my guide.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “About a month, my visa will be up soon and like I said, I need to start doing some sightseeing. You up for it today? My mom will kill me if I don’t bring her back some photos.”

  It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. No wonder he wants to be friends, he’s not going to be around for anything more. Isn’t that just the story of my life.

  “What do you want to see?” I ask with slight hesitation.

  Doing the whole touristy thing isn’t my thing and the thought of walking the streets just so he can see where the Queen lives or the big huge clock is making me want to curl back up in bed and save my feet the pain.

  “You’ve got half hour and then we’re leaving.”

  An hour later, we’re walking towards the tube station. He walks close to me, so close in fact I could slip my arm through his as his hands are shoved into his pockets to keep warm. The tube isn’t busy and rather than sitting side by side, we end up sitting opposite each other and I don’t hide that I’m staring at him. His features are beautiful. Every time I’ve been with him, his eyes are always dancing and wild, they tell me he’s happy and has nothing to worry about. His hair snakes out from under his woolly hat and I remember very well how silky smooth it is in my hand. He is everything I used to think my type wasn’t and now he is my only type.

  “You carry on staring and I might start thinking you like what you see,” he grins his cocky grin.

  Heat builds in my cheeks and I fight against it.

  “I wouldn’t stare if I didn’t
.”

  This isn’t being friends, friends don’t feel this need to keep away from one another because they don’t trust themselves to be closer.

  “Is that right?”

  “You’re staring at me,” I point out.

  “I like what I see,” he shrugs.

  Then why are we being friends I want to scream at him. But I ignore my inner self and say, “Friends.”

  The one word I’ve come to despise, and it wipes the grin off his face.

  “Friends,” he agrees.

  Our stop comes up and he follows me off, still staying real close until we’re on the street.

  “Where to first?” he asks, blowing into his hands to keep the cold bite away.

  “Well, friend, you want to see all the things, I’ll show you all the things. By the end of this day, you’ll have done everything and we’ll be such best friends.”

  I can’t hold the sarcasm from my tone and I don’t feel bad for it. He doesn’t catch it, or he ignores it and holds out his arm. Inhaling deeply, I slide mine through his and commence torture.

  “Where to first?”

  “What do you want to see the most?”

  “The Queen, I hear she’s a lovely lady,” he chortles.

  “Well, I hear from a friend we have in common that she’s busy today, so you’ll have to settle for seeing the palace in which she could be in, and which she might not be,” I say sarcastically and giggle when I see he was taking me seriously.

  “Honestly, I know the Queen as much as you know the president of your country.”

  “Fair play.”

  Buckingham palace.

  Big Ben.

  The London Eye.

  Four different pubs.

  One restaurant.

  We don’t stop, and he seems content with my tour. My stomach is content after our meal of Italian and I’m fuzzy from the gorgeous red wine we supped. My feet are throbbing when I step up onto the first step to my building. I turn to Jasper, making it clear this is where the days ends. I don’t have the strength to be friends with him while I’m this tired.