Jingle Balls

by Waltz, Vanessa

  My mother’s soft footsteps disappear down the hall.

  We break apart to breathe, but Ronan doesn’t want to let me go. He squeezes me against his chest and whispers, "Good girl."

  Ronan

  Everyone’s gone. That’s weird.

  I step into the cold snap, burying Gigi’s present into the wool coat’s pockets. I got her the perfect gift. For days I racked my brains on what to get her. At first, I wanted to extend the cock imagery and buy more dick-related things, but that was before our weekend trip. I needed something that drove her into my arms—not out of them. And it had to be meaningful. She wouldn’t take me seriously if I made it another prank.

  I keep insisting I’ve changed. It’s time to show her.

  I walk up my empty driveway, head turned toward Gigi’s house. The curtains are shut, but her bedroom window flickers with phallic-shaped lights. She must’ve hung them there, knowing I’d see them.

  A happy glow pulses beneath my chest. I look for her, but everything’s dark and her mother’s car is gone. I turn away, facing the blinding-white sidewalks. Every lawn is deserted. It’s not that cold, and the sun is shining. It’s a perfect day for making snowmen or sledding or—shit.

  The parade is today. I grab my barely charged cell phone. A missed notification blazes on the screen.

  Holiday Parade - 10:30AM

  "Fuck!" How could I forget the damn parade? Gigi’s gift drove it clear from my mind.

  I have ten minutes to get there.

  I practically bowl down the door. I track snow into the foyer—Mom will be pissed. Blindly, I charge into the red-and-green living room before remembering the suit. Mom hand washed it. It was hanging to dry in the shower.

  My feet pound the floor as I sprint into the bathroom. I rip aside the shower curtain, expecting to run into a red costume.

  It’s not there.

  "Where the fuck is it?" I search the rooms for Mom and my brother, but they’re gone.

  Maybe she put it on my bed. I left early this morning to buy Gigi’s gift. It’s possible she thought I’d come back. I burst into my bedroom, scanning for the bright-red fabric. I slide open the closet. I comb through my bed sheets.

  It’s not here, either.

  Searching the laundry reveals nothing. It’s not in the garage. I run outside and check the backseat of my Audi. My boots are gone. The belt, suit, everything.

  Who steals a fat suit?

  My mind lists the possibilities: Gigi, Liam—Liam. My stupid-ass brother. He did this.

  "Oh, you’re so dead." I jump into my car, furious with myself. "She’ll be pissed."

  That bastard probably thought it’d be hilarious. I’ll find him, force him to strip, and everything will be fine. I hope I’m not too late.

  I pull from the driveway and speed through winding roads, but I’m already late as fuck, and traffic is horrible. Everybody’s en route, trying to get downtown.

  A sea of red lights greets me as I turn onto Main St. The road is jam-packed with hundreds of hopefuls trying to find places to park. A few blocks ahead, the streets are congested. Families with children swarm the roads. Red-and-white streamers fill the sky, rippling from the local businesses.

  I check the time. 10:45 AM.

  A marching band’s drumbeats drift through the wintry air, as I steal someone’s parking spot. The man who claimed it first pops his head from a window, red-faced with fury.

  It’s an emergency. I’m Santa Claus, for Christ’s sake.

  I slam the door, lock the car, and sprint toward the barricade. Throngs of people choke the sidewalks. I dash past dozens of food vendors, which already have long lines. Cotton candy. Hot dogs. Falafel. There’s even a beer garden cordoned off by ropes. Going through it will get me to the parade faster, but a husky bouncer palms my chest.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. ID please."

  "I only need to cut through! I’m part of the parade."

  The bouncer doesn’t move. "ID."

  I pat my jeans, growling. By the time I’ve shown my license to him and slipped through, there’s a crowd blocking the exit. I push couples aside, and someone spills their beer. Angry shouts chase my back as I throw a hurried "sorry" over my shoulder.

  I burst onto the sidewalk again, facing a troupe of high school kids banging cymbals to the beat of Frosty the Snowman. It sounds like a car crash more than music, but everyone smiles and claps.

  More entertainers fill the street. Male and female Santa Clauses do back flips and wave streamers. I push through the attendees, fighting to make it to the end of the parade. Spencer said we’d be the coup-de-grace of the show.

  There was still plenty of time to fix this, if I can only get there.

  It will be impossible to push through. Hundreds of people block me from the tail of the procession. The whole thing can’t be longer than thirty minutes.

  I leave the confines of Main Street and sprint down the much less-crowded block. I round the corner, heading backend to the parade to gauge the progression of the floats. Four men hold a floating specter of Rudolph upright, the fabric billows a cartoonish deer head with a bulbous red nose. Behind them, a pale blue float slowly approaches. It’s richly decorated in frosty blues. Fake snow blows from fans, drizzling the mob with white flakes. Plastic icicles run down the float’s sides, which are shaped like a scene from Santa’s workshop. Children dressed in green tights and frock coats pull stuffed animals out of a raging furnace, which is really a hole covered with flowing strips of red and orange paper. They toss toys into the crowd. The elves sort through brightly-colored boxes, wrap them, and shove them into a huge red bag.

  "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

  My gaze snaps at the second tier of the float, where an ornate throne sits on a towering block of fake ice. Two female adult elves with striped legging stand beside the imposter in my suit, whose maniacal grin is a dead ringer for Liam.

  Where the hell is Gigi?

  I fight toward the edge of the crowd, screaming my brother’s name. "Liam, come down from there! LIAM!"

  He can’t hear me. The Christmas music is too loud, and the crowd drowns my voice anyway. It’s too late to make the switch, but I need to haul him off the float because he’s fucking wasted.

  Liam’s fake beard barely hangs on as he sways his hips to the music, gyrating with the female elves in a suggestive dance. Adults in the crowd glance at each other, frowning.

  "Jesus, Liam. Get down from there!" I wave my hands, hoping he’ll see me. "Hey!"

  A microphone attached to his suit suddenly blares on. "Marry—merry Christmas." Liam’s slurring voice booms over the music. "What the best way to cure frostbite to your chestnuts? Roast them over an open fire. What do you call it when a snowman orgasms? Sleet."

  I groan. "Shut up and wave!"

  The blonde elf beside Liam hesitates before clapping.

  "We should be kinder. We should love each other—you know what? Forget all that shit. I want to do something crazy. I withdrew a thousand dollars in singles from—"

  The sound cuts off as Liam’s mic is shut off, but he doesn’t seem to care. Grinning, he reaches into his pockets and withdraws fistfuls of cash.

  Is he insane?

  "Merry Christmas!" he roars, throwing the money. "Merry Christmas to all!"

  The singles burst into little clouds that drift down. The crowd shrieks with delight. More cash flies from Liam’s hands. People sprint over the road, scrambling to pick up the bills.

  A police officer breaks from the barrier, screaming at my brother to get off the float. My brother gives him a cheeky grin.

  The officer isn’t amused. "Get off the float, now!"

  Oh shit.

  "Liam!" I try to push through, but another cop shoves me backward. "No, that’s my brother. Let me through!"

  The crowd watches as police officers chase Liam on the float, laughing when he’s finally pulled away, in handcuffs. I follow them to the squad car. It takes two officers to shove Liam’s fat suit inside.


  I can’t allow this to happen. Mom will have a heart attack.

  I jog to their side. "Please, officers. Let my brother go. He’s just an inebriated idiot."

  "Your brother could’ve caused a riot." The cop clearly has no patience for drunken assholes. "I’m taking him to the station."

  "Please, man. It’s Christmas." My plea falls on deaf ears as he enters the car and drives Liam away.

  The bottom of my stomach drops.

  My stupid brother has ruined Christmas.

  Gigi

  What a disaster. Ronan’s so drunk. I'm shocked the suit isn't on backward.

  The fake beard hangs off his jaw as he stands near the plastic throne decorated with fake ice. Ronan sways to the music, gyrating his hips in an unSantalike manner. Beside him, the pretty elf wearing a green cap plays along, laughing. He grabs her waist, and she slides a hand up his chest. He kisses her cheek through his scratchy beard. She smiles.

  Frost runs through my veins, numbing the hurt. Pretending to not care takes more effort than I’m capable of. I promised Spencer to participate in the parade, but I can't face Ronan when he's like this. I'll only make matters worse by crying.

  He bends over and twerks—an impressive physical feat considering how wasted he is, and that the float is moving.

  God, this is sad.

  I wish I could blame this on drinking, but he’s always been an inconsiderate ass. He swore he’d changed. He practically begged me for a chance, and what does he do the moment I give it?

  Flirt with other girls.

  Ruin the Santa Claus parade.

  Act like a complete idiot.

  This isn’t the man I fell for. I’m not sure that he even exists.

  Ronan throws fistfuls of cash into the crowd. The bills wink through the air, catching rays of sunlight. People dive for the money. A violent scuffle breaks out. The men are quickly separated by police, who force everyone to step behind the barricades.

  Disgusted, I turn my back on the parade. My stomach radiates with nausea. He conned me. I fell for it—fell for him. He had his hands all over that blonde. Yesterday, he told me he couldn’t wait to get me alone.

  What a liar.

  I fight the crowds and return to my car as a lump rises in my throat. My desire for the festivities evaporates. I had a whole evening with Ronan planned, but that’s out the window.

  Why bother with him ever again?

  I can’t trust someone who promises me one thing and does the complete opposite. He doesn’t take anything seriously, not this dumb parade that was mapped out months in advance and not our relationship.

  Over as quick as it began.

  My eyes well up as I slide into the driver’s seat. He hurt me. Again. And the worst part is I saw it coming. My mother warned me about Ronan. I should have listened, but my instincts screamed to give him a chance.

  I was wrong.

  Tears fall silently as I drive home, park, and sit in the fading warmth of the front seat, dreading the moment I’ll step inside. She’ll ask me what’s wrong. I won’t be able to hide my pain.

  I look into the windows. Mom flits in and out of view, bustling in the kitchen.

  Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.

  I swing from the car, pulling the red hat off my head. I wish I could burn the damn thing. The Christmas wreath flies off the front door as I yank it open. I don’t bother to return it to its place.

  "Hey, honey! You’re home early." Mom chimes from inside. "How was your date with Ronan?"

  "Never went on a date." I drop the keys into the bowl and hang my coat. "He's an asshole."

  "Uh oh. What happened?" Mom’s rapid footsteps approach. She stops in the foyer. "Did he do something?"

  My composure crumbles. I choke out a sob. "He’s a jerk."

  "Oh God." Mom hurries to my side, wrapping her arms around me. "I’m so sorry."

  I shake my head, fighting tears. "By the time I got there, he was super drunk. He didn’t know I was there, but I watched him flirt with this other girl. It’s so stupid. I don’t know why I’m upset!"

  "Sounds as if he was acting like an idiot."

  "He was." I disengage from her and dive straight to the couch, slumping into the cushions. "It hurt to watch him do that more than when James broke up with me."

  "That ass. I’m going to talk to Violet about how she’s raising her son—"

  "Don’t! It’s not her fault, Mom."

  "Well, you can't expect me to take this lying down. How many times has that idiot boy hurt you? Why can't he leave you alone?"

  I shake with sobs, imagining Ronan and the girl laughing at my expense. "Maybe this whole thing was a joke."

  Mom presses her lips into a thin line. "I wish I could say I was surprised."

  "I-I thought he changed! You should have seen him at the resort. He was so sweet. So gentle. He made me feel special."

  "Hon, it sounds like you dodged a bullet." Mom pats my back, sighing. "Are you sure this isn’t about James?"

  "What does he have to do with anything?"

  "He was your fiancé, and you haven’t said a word about him. I imagined you’d be sobbing all day."

  "I never l-loved him, but Ronan and I—"

  "He was always mean to you, honey."

  It hurts hearing the truth. As a kid, I just wanted him to like me. I asked myself why so many times growing up, even in high school when I acted as though I didn’t care. He flirted with that woman knowing I’d be there. Ronan convinced me he’d changed so he could humiliate me all over again.

  I fell for him. I dropped my guard and let him in.

  Pain daggers my heart. "I feel so stupid, Mom."

  "Don’t."

  "Why? You were right. I shouldn't have gotten involved with Ronan."

  She caresses my shoulder. "At least you found out now. I’m sorry, Gigi, but maybe it’s for the best."

  She’s right. "I’ll probably get a text later from him, rubbing it in."

  "Delete him from your phone, Gigi." Mom retrieves my purse and fishes out my cell. "Here."

  It’s the sensible thing to do, but a horrible ache gnaws at my stomach. The devastation at losing Ronan is a thousand times worse than James. It’s as though all the air has vanished from the world.

  I need to scream at Ronan. I want to call him a pathetic loser, but if I contact him he’ll laugh at my tears.

  Fuck that. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  My finger hovers over his name. I select it and tap Delete. Our texts vanish, along with a message he sent me this morning.

  Ronan: Thinking about you. <3

  Ronan

  Spencer’s loud sobs echo through the police station. He sits on a bench across from my brother, too miserable to scream at him.

  "Ruined. It’s all ruined!" The drama at the parade hit Spencer particularly hard. "There’s already a local article reporting about the drunken Santa."

  "This doesn’t reflect badly on you. I’m the idiot." Discomfort fills Liam’s gaze as Spencer cries. Liam pats his shoulder. "It’s all right, man. Everyone had a good time."

  Spencer rips his arm from Liam. "If the police won’t charge you for destroying my event, fine. But don’t think for one second I won’t get you for this."

  Liam leans forward, whispering. "We’re in a police station, dude."

  "I don’t care!"

  This is the part where I step in. "Er—why don’t we all calm down and dial back the threats? My brother is a total dick. He will make amends."

  "It’s too late!"

  I roll my eyes. "Let’s not blow things out of proportion. The event was a success. Look at the reviews on your Facebook page."

  "I’m out of here." Spencer stands and storms down the hall.

  "Merry Christmas!" Liam calls, earning himself a double-bird. "Well, damn."

  "Can you blame him? He spent months preparing for this, and you fucked it up."

  "I know." Liam deflates, shaking his head. "Will they let me go?"

/>   "Let’s see." I leave his side, walking to the cluster of police officers. One of them approaches me, hesitation written all over his features.

  "You’re Ronan Smith, right?" he asks. "QB of the Flames?"

  I thought no one would recognize me here. "Yep."

  A wide grin cracks his face. "I’m Officer Blythe. Thrilled to meet you."

  A fan. Sweet. Things are looking up. "Nice to meet you, too."

  "Can I get a pic with you? Just one."

  "Sure. Take as many as you like."

  I wrap my arm around the thirty-something cop and smile as his friend snaps a photo. He takes several variations of landscape and portraits before stepping aside.

  Officer Blythe thumbs through the photos, grinning. "These are awesome. Thanks!"

  "No problem." I begged them not to press charges against Liam. Hopefully, he’s off the hook.

  "I can’t believe you’re from Danville. I’m a huge fan."

  Thank God. "I'm sorry for what my brother did. He wasn't trying to start a riot, honestly. He just wanted to spread some Christmas cheer."

  "Well, he could’ve caused a serious situation. I’m willing to let this go with a citation, but he needs to apologize."

  "Thank you." I squeeze his arm. "You have no idea how happy you just made my mom."

  "No problem."

  I turn from the officers, walking to my brother. He’s the saddest-looking Santa Claus in the world. A couple hours in the drunk tank mellowed him out and stripped away his grin. For once in his life, Liam isn’t smug.

  I sigh loudly, drawing his gaze. "You’re free to go after you apologize."

  "Sorry. I’m really—"

  "Not to me. Them."

  Shamefaced, he rises to his feet and shuffles toward the group of cops. Officer Blythe faces him, arms crossed.

  "I’m sorry, Officer," he murmurs. "Throwing money at a crowd was reckless."

  "Don’t do it again." Officer Blythe heated gaze softens. "Go home and take off the Santa suit."

  "And I’ll hide the booze." I take Liam’s arm, guiding him out of the station. "Thanks again."

  The cops snigger at Liam, but for once he doesn’t fire back with a snarky reply. He looks so depressed. I don't have the heart to yell at him.