Once Upon a Holiday

by Claudia Burgoa

  June rolls her eyes and then smiles. “Yes, Mom, that Sterling Ahern. I guess you’re right, he’s cute. We met around Thanksgiving. Uh-huh, that guy. Well, I guess you’re right.”

  She nods and then her face turns a pale green and by now I know what’s happening. I take the phone and wave at her. Slowly, I follow her to the bathroom.

  “Junie,” her mom calls her loudly.

  “She’s currently busy. Where do you want me to send the jet to pick you up?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Sterling Ahern, ma’am.”

  “Hmm, I guess we have to settle a few things before we fly to Denver. Will you be eloping if I don’t get there on time?”

  I chuckle. “I can promise I won’t marry her until I get your blessing, ma’am.”

  “Call me Ariadne or Aria.”

  “You have my word, Mrs. Aria,” I say. “When do you want the plane?”

  “We can buy our own tickets, but it’s very kind of you to offer.”

  “I insist.”

  “Well, let me talk it over with James and I’ll let Junie know. Please, take care of her. It’s nice to know that she’s letting someone take care of her for a change.”

  “I will, it’ll be a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Sterling, darling, do me a favor, tell her to eat fresh ginger. That should settle the nausea.”

  “I …”

  “Be good to her,” she says and hangs up the phone.

  Somewhere in this house is my common sense. I can’t find it. I could’ve misplaced it when I first saw June. Which if that’s the case, it means I lost it weeks ago. If I trace my steps for the past few days, I could figure out exactly what happened. Other than, I lost my ever-fucking mind.

  But how could I not when June is so fucking fantastic and refreshing?

  She’s witty, smart, and doesn’t let me get away with shit. Also, she’s beautiful. Those lips, like a ripe forbidden apple. Tempting. I can’t get enough of them, of her. I can stare at her for hours, trace her body with my hands and mouth. Draw her. I have so many mock-ups of her. Her image is ingrained on me. If I wasn’t busy touching her, I’d be molding her with clay.

  What do I do? Invite her parents to stay with us. Offer the jet to pick them up and I spoke with her mom on the phone. When was the last time I met the parents of the woman I was hooking up with?

  Never. I knew Kara’s because they lived next door.

  Why am I being nice? Well, first of all, this isn’t hooking up anymore. It’s a relationship that June refuses to acknowledge and I’m trying to establish.

  Again, my common sense is either not working or … I freeze when I see her coming out of the bathroom. She’s literally glowing and looking fucking beautiful.

  “What did Mom say?”

  “Call me Ariadne or Aria,” I answer.

  She narrows her gaze and twists her lips. “Did she scare you?”

  I sigh. “Her words were, ‘Tell her to eat fresh ginger. That should settle the nausea.’”

  Her eyes open wide. “How does she know?”

  I shrug. “She sounds scary. Like one of those women who knows everything.”

  “Mom is that scary,” she confirms. “Is she coming?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t have a date. She’ll let us know after she discusses it with James. I assume that’s your dad. Should I be worried?”

  I rub my face because it’s been years since I worried about what others think about me. But I care about what her parents will think of me and if they’ll accept me. These are the people she admires and loves the most. If I want to be in her life as more than the father of her children, I have to impress them.

  She shakes her head. “I’m going to take a shower. Is there any way that you can find me fresh ginger?”

  “On it.” I wink at her and she slips from my reach before I can grab her and kiss her.

  She owes me.

  Ahern: We need fresh ginger.

  Beck: Already got it along with ginger tea. They’re in the kitchen.

  Ahern: How did you know?

  Beck: EMT training. You’re whipped.

  Ahern: You should’ve warned me about the brothers.

  Beck: Where’s the fun in that?

  Ahern: We’re going to Jackson’s house for dinner. Bring a guy with you, make them believe you know how to do your fucking job.

  Beck: I know how to do my fucking job. But I’ll put up a good show just because I didn’t like how they talked to June. She’s feisty, I like her.

  “Beck is amazing,” June says as we settle in the den to watch movies. “He deserves a raise.”

  I agree. At least, a bonus. It was pretty badass of him to arrive at Jackson’s house before us and scout the perimeter to make sure that it was safe for June to arrive. He claimed that June required a different protocol than me.

  He even did a full body scan on Jackson to make sure he wasn’t armed.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” she says as she settles in the couch.

  “That was … intense,” I say, because, wow, I have partied with Jason and Alex, but June and Jackson are exhausting together. “So, there’s like a rule about not letting you and Jackson play Pictionary, Monopoly, charades, and what else did they say?”

  I think I get the dynamic between them. Jackson is the oldest and he rules them all. Except the little one doesn’t agree with it and she challenges him. June is six or seven inches shorter, four or five years younger than her brother but she questions every move and decision he makes.

  She admires him though, and I think Jackson is proud of his little sister but doesn’t let it show. Today, I learned they aren’t allowed to play some games because they go from fun to war.

  I said, let’s play charades. Emmeline, Jackson’s wife, didn’t know about it either and she seconded my suggestion. Alex said, we can’t. Jason thought, they’re older and more mature and thought it would be okay.

  Jason then gave us the list of games they stopped playing when they were teenagers.

  “It was a stupid game,” she complains.

  A stupid game she lost three times. She can’t act for shit. Pictionary was fun until she began criticizing Jackson’s drawings and he did the same.

  “So, you dated Cole Radcliff?”

  Her brothers brought him up during dinner. Alex is the one who mentioned him. Cole Radcliff played professional rugby for a couple of years. Then, he became a model and is now an actor. He’s not good but women would watch him because of his shirtless Instagram presence.

  That’s the problem with social media, we can reach more people than a sitcom or a movie. We’re more approachable and once we get a solid follow, we lose our private lives. We also get a lot of companies asking us to be the face of their products.

  I earned a lot of money that way while my father was alive. I didn’t need the money, but he hated seeing my face sponsoring products—I was a sellout.

  To this day, I regret my youth so much. Mostly the part where I worked hard to become famous to annoy the fuck out of my parents. I did a great job and also showed Dad I could make more money than he could give me. Of course, I lost my freedom while I was at it.

  She shrugs. “Not my finest moment. He seemed like a smart person and I … I don’t know what I was thinking, okay.”

  One moment she’s upset and the next she’s laughing. “He married only a few weeks after he said, ‘Sorry, June, it’s not you, it’s me.’”

  “You’re fucking kidding me?”

  “Nope. That’s what happens all the time. They break up with me and the next person they date happens to be the one.”

  I don’t have words, who wouldn’t want to be with a woman like her? She’s smart, funny, strong, beautiful, and understanding. Not the kind of woman I hook up with because she’s the dangerous kind too.

  The one who thinks for herself and knows what she wants. She’s going to rule the life of whoever falls in love with her … and why do I want to be him?r />
  I look at her flat belly and wonder about her little miracles.

  Ours.

  The thought of having children never occurred to me. This whole ordeal confuses me. I’m conflicted by my past and the present. The only future I allow myself to live and my fucking head hurts because today was one of the best days of my life. And every day I’ve spent with June is memorable.

  Traveling around the world, learning new techniques to improve my craft, meeting people who impart their knowledge is fulfilling and yet, nothing is as … I can’t even find a word to describe what I feel when I’m around her.

  I should know better than keep her around. I am who I am, and I’ll never change. For her though …

  “They’re leaving tomorrow for Denver,” I finally speak. “Should we leave?”

  She frowns and laughs. “You’re scared of my brothers, aren’t you?”

  I’m scared of you, of what I can do to you. That maybe the way I want her now might be just temporary and, in a few days, I’ll be done with her and I’d hate to hurt her.

  What if I hate our babies? What if they hate me?

  I should stay away … but it hurts to even think that I won’t meet them.

  What’s the alternative though?

  “Nah, it’s just that you have a list and so far, I don’t think you have checked off many of those.”

  She scratches her head and goes for her iPad and clicks it. “I ordered the crochet kit. If we make a list of all the sex positions we’ve tried, I’m sure I have accomplished at least twenty new things. Not sure if I can get a tattoo. That’s a big commitment, and I’d rather do it after the babies are born.”

  “There’re a few things we can try tonight if you want to,” I offer, trying to change my mood.

  Words can be hurtful, and some actions can define a person’s life. I don’t want to say that my parents and Kara defined me, but they did a great job fucking with my mind. It took me years to understand that their opinions doesn’t matter but this situation with June is making me second-guess my life and what I believe is best for me.

  “You know what you need to do?” she suddenly asks.

  I arch an eyebrow, take her hand, and pull her with me toward the room. “Order a spreader bar?”

  “No, I’ve been thinking about your fan problem. Close your social media accounts,” she says out of the blue and firmly.

  “Just like that? Poof,” I say, pretending to wave my hands like a magician.

  She nods.

  “What about my art? That’s how I sell it.”

  “You don’t,” she growls. “Do you have any idea how many hoops we have to jump through to get your pieces when one of our clients need them.” She draws quotes.

  I laugh and shake my head. “What do you need? It’s yours,” I offer.

  “You have a gallery. If they want your pieces they can go there,” she says.

  “I use it for other artists, not me. I stopped selling my art in there,” I explain. “Anita, my assistant, manages it.”

  “Then open a second one for Ahern’s masterpieces in New York, Rome, Paris. You don’t have to be there. Make sure you hire the right people to manage it. Emmeline can get the right people. She knows everyone.”

  “What would happen when I close my accounts?”

  “They’ll know your life is no longer open to them. Maybe keep your Twitter. You use that as a forum to advocate for causes you believe in.”

  “Did you google me or study me?”

  She shrugs. “I just don’t think it’s fair that you live so isolated. There has to be a way to give you some of what you lost back.”

  “Leave well enough alone, June,” I request because I don’t want her to get more involved than she already is.

  More involved than carrying your babies, a voice says inside me.

  “If you ever want to fix it, you know where to find me,” she says, and I listen to what she says between the lines.

  Our paths are coming to an end. And yet, I wonder why we crossed them.

  Sterling

  June and I fall into a comfortable routine. We have breakfast then ski during the early hours to avoid crowds and fans. When we’re back, she takes a nap and thankfully the ginger has worked for her. The morning sickness is only happening during the morning. Tomorrow we’re heading back to Denver.

  Her parents arrive in a couple of days and we want to be settled into the house before it happens. I’m going to miss this. Denver is going to be back to reality and facing the facts. What are we going to do with our future?

  Once her family learns that she’s expecting they’re going to hate me and convince her that I’m not the best person to raise a child with—let alone two.

  Like almost every night, after we cook dinner together, we come to the den to watch a show or a movie. I’m usually with my sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other one.

  “What are you drawing?” she asks from the couch.

  “You,” I answer.

  “Seriously, what are you drawing?” she insists.

  I cross my heart. “I’m dead serious. You seem to be the only thing I can think of when I touch a sketchbook and when I’m with you, I just want to capture your essence.”

  She smiles but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. The guys she’s dated in the past felt threatened by her and tried to destroy her self-esteem. No wonder she believed the only way to have a child is by a mail-in order of sperm.

  Well, I thank fuck it was me who fathered her children. Though, that has me tied into knots. This isn’t what I wanted—ever. Why would I want to bring a child into this world? An Ahern for that matter.

  But I know they’ll be more than Ahern. They’ll have June in them and she’s a strong woman. They’ll be just like her. All this should be freaking me out. It’s not. My only concern is how I’ll convince June to stay with me because we belong together.

  It’s like she’s completely mine.

  The possession is incomprehensible. I don’t care about owning anything. Why do I have the need to claim her, protect her?

  When we sleep together, I pull her into my embrace before we fall asleep. She doesn’t want to have sex, so we don’t confuse each other, but so far, she hasn’t kicked me out of bed. Thank fuck, I don’t think I can sleep without her.

  God, I’m not sure what I’ll do if I can’t change and if I can’t convince her that I’m good for her. Stay away, send enough money to make sure she can support the children. The kids deserve a good father. That’s not me. Some kids grow up just fine with one parent. What did Kara say? You couldn’t even keep a bug alive, Sterling Ahern.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?” June repeats. “You look … distraught. Is it because my parents are visiting? It’s okay, you can stay away.”

  I smile. “Nah, it’s … nothing.”

  She leaves her computer on the coffee table, closes it, and walks to me moving the sketchbook from my hands. She smirks when she sees what I’m drawing.

  “Seriously, my chest?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Flat,” she argues.

  “Your boobs are perky, round, and magnificent.”

  “B cups aren’t attractive.”

  “They are for me. I can fit them in my mouth and suck them while I fuck you.”

  She places my sketchbook on top of her laptop and sits on my lap. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, gorgeous girl,” I say and brush her soft locks away from her face.

  I’m salivating for her. I want to undress her and touch her body. Skirting my hands under her sweater, I find her beautiful breasts. And I pray she lets me touch her. My dick is getting hard. Her mouth on me would be just perfect, she gives the best blow jobs in the world.

  She places her hands on the sides of my face and gives me a soft peck. “Don’t distract me with sex. We’re not having any of that. Something just happened. Your face changed. In case you didn
’t know, you wear your emotions. Any change and I know.”

  Don’t leave me.

  As I mentioned, the fucking common sense is gone. I am about to say something stupid. People think I have no discipline but hear me out, I have more than anyone in the world.

  Two years of self-imposed celibacy. Seventeen years controlling my feelings and keeping my heart away from anyone—including this woman. Though she’s fucking breaking my determination. I can fuck any woman I want without feeling more than an orgasm.

  With her …

  “What are you doing to me, June?”

  She shakes her head. “Not sure what you’re talking about, but I wish you’d open up to me. I trust you, why don’t you trust me?”

  “You’ve gotten more out of me than a lot of people have in years, please don’t ask me for more.”

  Because dammit I’d give it to her, and it’ll be hell to recover after she’s gone.

  “June, I respect your rules and boundaries, but, baby, I’m a hot-blooded man and if you keep wiggling yourself on top of my dick, I’m going to fuck you.”

  She leans closer and kisses me gently. “I’m not sure what to do with us, Ahern. Thank you for being patient with me.”

  “Anything for you,” I say and don’t let her go. I’d rather sport a pair of blue balls than lose her. I love having her body nestled between my arms. “Always.”

  Sterling

  Every artist struggles to find their inspiration. Seriously, ask anyone and they’ll confirm that there’s a time in our lives where we seem to have a block. Creativity comes with lots of flaws while we try to find perfection.

  In fact, we artists are flaws searching for the best part of us. I had that happen to me during my late twenties when I was living in France. Nothing seemed to work. Every piece I tried to create ended up in the trash.

  It’s funny how things work because my landlord at the time picked up every piece of trash and sold it as an Ahern original. He made a lot of money and retired. That wise man taught me to enjoy what I had instead of looking for what I didn’t.

  It’s crazy how our nature as humans is to search for what we call happiness. Which is an abstract term. What makes one happy doesn’t make the other happy. A great example is the holidays. There’re so many people who are miserable during this season because they don’t have what others do.