by Tara Brown
“Going to Vienna to watch The Lumineers play at the Musikverein.”
“Bless you.”
“You’re a dork. Don’t act like you don’t know what the Musikverein is.”
His green eyes dazzle me with mocking humor. “The better question is, how did you get the Lumineers there?”
“Charm?” I wink but he scoffs. “Fine, I used my name and connections and bribed people.”
“That’s more like it.” He chuckles.
“You don’t think I’m charming?”
“No.” He offers a cheeky grin. “I imagine you can turn it on if you need to, but I want to believe you’re above charming people.”
“I’m charming, buddy.” I act insulted.
“Then pretend it was a compliment.” He stretches his neck and rolls his shoulders.
“Mmhmm.” Still acting insulted I put down the coffee and get on my knees at the tree, plucking my small gift for him from beneath. “Merry Christmas, ass.” I turn and toss it at him.
“What?” He laughs and eyeballs the little present. “How the hell did you have time to get me a present? Or did you know I would ask you out for Christmas? Are you psychic?”
“Just open it and stop worrying about my abilities.”
He tears the paper like a normal person; it warms my heart. His lips, still swollen with the injuries, lose their cheeky grin. “Seriously?” He peers up through his thick lashes, dangling the keychain with the Oxford Circus tube station button and a small black cab.
I don’t know if he likes it or not. “I just thought maybe it would remind you of me and—”
“It’s perfect.” He shakes his head. “It was the best ending to the worst night for us both, I think.”
“You were covered in lipstick. I didn’t think you had a bad night. You looked pretty happy when we met.”
“I was happy when I saw you.” He gets up and walks to me, getting down on his knees too. He’s so big. It’s weird for me to feel this small next to someone.
“I’d literally just escaped with my life. My buddy’s girlfriend attacked me because she caught him with some girl. She thought I would be down for some revenge sex. I was trashed and pretty much passed out, and when I came to I realized we were kissing and she had my pants undone. Of course he came in at that moment. He flipped out. I flipped out. He wanted to fight me so I left, wandering the streets alone. Worst New Year’s I’ve ever had, until I saw you.”
“That’s it? That’s your worst? Wow. Lucky.” I roll my eyes.
“What was so shitty about yours, Your Highness?”
“Well, let’s see. Boxing day I caught my dad having an affair, one that involves real feelings, not some call girl or a socialite. No, this one has clearly been going on for a long time. She’s a lady I found pictures of once, old pictures. So I confronted my mom and she gave me the worst smile I have ever seen. It was hollow. Her eyes were like staring into black glass, no life. She said she knew about the affair, of course, and it was high time I grew up and stopped thinking the world was so black and white.”
“Oh shit.” He cringes.
“Right. Of course we fought, so she left and went to the South of France. I stayed in London. I hated her more than him, I don’t know why. But I couldn’t look into her eyes again. I was scared of them, of the way she had detached.” I laugh bitterly. “Then I went to meet up with Drew. I’d told him I was going to be late, I was seeing another friend first. But I arrived earlier than I thought at the New Year’s party and caught him in an awkward moment with an old family friend of mine. I pretended I didn’t see anything and got drunk. Finally, right before midnight I was pretty loaded and ended up confronting them about being together and their faces were pathetic. He didn’t even really try to lie. I left the party, pissed in every way. Ended up at a pub with a wet tee shirt contest about to start. Drew followed me there. He tried to tell me it meant nothing and he and I were the right sort of couple, and we had to allow for a few indiscretions while we were young. That dating me was a social requirement and banging her was just plain lust. I could have killed him. Instead, I said I would never be that kind of girl, fuck society. I jumped on stage and won the wet tee shirt contest, humiliating myself to spite him and my family.”
“Jesus. You win. Way worse New Year’s.”
“Oh, that’s just one of them. And the worst part is that I always manage to sabotage my own happiness to spite them. Like in my pea-sized brain I somehow believe that hurting myself will hurt them. It’s dumb.” I shrug it off, hoping we can change the subject.
“I know what you mean.” He reaches forward, lifting my chin.
“You don’t have to agree with everything I say like you always understand my point. It doesn’t matter if you don’t.” I don’t think he does.
“My parents are the same. My dad has affairs and my mom shops and buys houses and decorates them. She’s distracted and he’s always sleeping with someone else. One time, when I was about fifteen I saw him at a hotel. I didn’t see the lady with him. She was behind a pillar in a lobby. I waved, about to run over, and he looked me right in the eyes and turned around. He told me later he didn’t see me, but I saw him flinch when his eyes met mine.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nods. “Me too. But I think if we see it, there’s a better chance we won’t become like them.”
“Do you honestly think that? ‘Cause I don’t. I worry that they were once young and saying the same things we are. They swore they’d never be like their parents and now they’re worse.”
“Yeah. I’ll admit that worries me. I can see it in my mom. Maybe at one point she was rebellious and strong and the obligations and expectations wore her down. And that’s where the fear is from. If it wore her down, maybe it’ll wear me down.”
“At least you have hockey.” I can’t believe how much I’ve lowered the guards around my heart, but he has too. “It’s a career and a life separate from your family.”
“Hockey is a joke to my family. It’s like me standing in the middle of a British pub with my dress down, pouring ale on my boobs.” He chuckles. “I might as well dance for the man for bananas like a monkey. I’m no different than an actor or a singer. It’s not someone they’d have at their house for dinner; it’s someone they’d pay to have at their house to impress their friends. Like a piece of jewelry or art.”
“Oh, that’s how my dad thinks of it too. Celebrities are on the hard limit list.”
“Yours too?”
“Yeah, but my dad didn’t grow up on a farm. I can’t believe yours is such a hypocrite.”
His eyes soften. “I can’t either. My dad’s life was an honest one. I always wonder what he would have been like, had he just married a girl from Henderson and continued being a farmer, instead of going into investment banking.”
“My parents were born doomed.” I say it fully knowing I’m doomed too.
He looks at me, his eyes piercing my soul. “We’re different. We’re not doomed.”
I want to believe him more than anything in the world, but he’s sitting next to a tree filled with lights where I used to believe a kind elf left me gifts. I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore. I daydream about them and they never come true.
Chapter Seventeen
I’ll tell ya what
Matt
Calling Bev as I cross the road to my place, I can’t shake the uncertainty that I’m in over my head before any of this has even started. Laramie’s words of warning still flicker in my mind, attached to the self-doubt that I’ll ever be happy.
“Merry Christmas, cuz.” Her drawl makes me chuckle.
“Merry Christmas. How’s the family? Have I missed any good fights?”
“Oh, they’re wrestling over the right way to cook the bones for stock as we speak, so it’s safe to say there’s nothing new here.”
“I hate missing turkey-bone wrestling.”
“The first Christmas without you has been nice, but I’m missing having
that one person I can torment and taunt without it being a form of animal cruelty. Eddie isn’t the same. I mean, he’s as dumb as a bag of shit so mocking him is easy, but it’s like making fun of a chair. There’s no joy in kicking something that doesn’t know it’s being kicked.”
“Good to see you haven’t changed at all in the six months since I last saw you. Still dating that knuckle dragger?”
“What’s that, Matty? You wanna talk to Gran about that new girl you’re seeing? Okay,” she says loudly and hands the phone off.
“Bev!” I shout, scared.
“Matthew Johnson Brimley, now why did I have to hear about this young lady you’re spending Christmas with from your cousin? You best get your butt down here the moment the season’s over and introduce her to your family like a gentleman. Or I’ll be coming up there and you won’t like what you see.”
“Merry Christmas, Gran.” I am going to kill Beverly.
“Don’t you merry Christmas me, young man. I want a ‘yes, ma’am’ and a schedule for when I will meet this young girl.”
“She’s no one, just someone I’ve known for a while.”
“I’ll tell you what, you don’t spend Christmas with someone unless it’s serious. This better not be some puck fox—”
“Puck bunny.”
“Foxes, bunnies, whatever. You know what I think of those girls. Ain’t no self-respecting girl worth her weight in dog shit giving anything away for free because you play hockey well. You don’t play that well, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I wince, not even sure I understand but I definitely hear her.
“Now, tell Granny what this girl’s name is and who’s her family? Is she in college too?”
“She’s a Ford. Not the car company, the finance and development family. She’s at Columbia University here in New York. We’ve known each other for a while.”
“Ford? For God’s sake, you’re dating some rich girl from the city? Have you learned nothing about rich people, Matthew? You’re gonna end up with some ditz like your brother. I still don’t know if his wife speaks or not. I’ve never gotten one word from her. Is she even American? Because I tried Spanish on the off chance, but she still just blinks and smiles. Like talking to my dog, minus the winning personality.” She says Matthew firmly as she borders on slightly racist but maybe it’s more that she’s untrusting of foreigners. She does say the word “foreigner” with a tone.
“She’s different, she’s not like that. She’s American.”
“She’s from the North, you mean.”
“Gran, hating Northerners is weird.”
“I don’t hate all Northerners. Canadians are actually very nice. None of that snooty self-entitled attitude.”
“You can’t label all Northerners that way. I’m a Northerner,” I say but she’s not listening to me now that Beverly’s laughing in the background. “Gran? What’s Bev saying?”
“Beverly says she’s got some video that I have to see.”
“Video?” I stop, mid sidewalk and shout, “Gran! No! Don’t look at the video! It’s fake! Sami was in a movie! It’s not real!” My heart is leaping out of my chest with every beat and slamming back in-between beats.
“She’s an actress?” She sounds sidetracked. “Must be a dull movie if all it has in it is her hiding from the reporters or posing. She’s some pretty though. Not as pretty as that girl who’s with her. That blonde girl, she looks nice. Why don’t you try to date her instead? She looks humble.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” She tries the innocent old lady act.
“It’s nothing serious, I just like her. Can we just give her the benefit of the doubt?”
“Well, no shit, Sherlock. It’s obvious you like her. You think I’m falling for the ‘she’s no one’ spiel? You’re spending Christmas with her instead of your granny. She must be something special. I certainly hope you’re helping with dishes and being polite, showing her family that someone besides that Fifth Avenue nitwit taught you some real manners.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It’s a lie but trying to explain that we have servants who would have a heart attack if we did the dishes isn’t a fight I want.
“Are her parents nice people?”
I contemplate lying but just go with the truth, hoping for the best. “Not particularly. They’re sort of like my mom’s family—”
She cuts me off with a sigh but I smile.
“She’s not though. She’s different. Trust me, she’s not like them. I have enough Brimley blood to know a nice girl from a skan—not nice girl.” Saying skank to my grandma feels wrong.
“Well, all right then. Are you having a nice Christmas? We sure do miss you down here.”
“It’s been nice. Quiet. We’re going out for dinner tonight and maybe hanging out at a party for my team tomorrow night. Then I have a game on the twenty-eighth and thirty-first.”
“A game on New Year’s? That is ridiculous. Don’t people have anything better to do than expect a hockey game every damned night of the week? Do you play Christmas Day for those savages too?”
“No.” She makes me laugh.
“We’ll be watching but I won’t like it! You deserve some downtime too. Now I better get you back to Beverly. I have some people in my kitchen unsupervised.” Her tone softens, “Miss you, brat!”
“Miss you too, Gran.”
She’s gone and it’s silent for a moment before Bev comes back. “How far did your heart get out of your chest when I said video?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe. But it was like getting a second Christmas gift. I haven’t been able to bug you in months. Now what do you want?” She knows me too well.
“So, we had Christmas at her house like friends—Sami’s house. And by ‘like friends’ I mean no kissing or messing around. It was awesome to truly see the kind of person she is and there were no games. None I could see anyway. She was just cool. We really connected and I thought it was a romantic connection. We hung out and talked and then I realized she was treating me like one of her girlfriends. I followed your advice, leaving the hint about being interested in her. She didn’t try to take the bait at all. She didn’t even really flirt. So now I’m worried. I told her I liked her, out loud. She said nothing back.”
“And?”
“And what? She’s not giving me any signs. She got me a super thoughtful Christmas gift and then punched me in the arm as I was leaving this morning and called me ‘Beast.’” As I rant an older woman gives me a dirty look as she passes by. I hurry to the house, waving at the doorman as I get inside. “I don’t know what to do. Do I try to seduce her tonight or is she friend zoning me? When you said she was showing me her worth and this would take effort, I didn’t know we were going all the way backward.”
“She got you a super thoughtful gift and friend zoned you? That’s weird.” There’s an air of bewilderment in her tone. “She didn’t even try to kiss you?”
“Well, we did once but my broken nose—”
“You’re hurt?”
“Well, yeah. You saw the game.” I nod at Benson as he gets the door for me. “My face is a bit busted up—”
“You’re an idiot. Girls don’t have sex or even make out with boys who have broken faces. Dumbass. Maybe if you’d been dating for years and she loved you beyond the hideousness. But new relationships don’t include you looking like you might ring a bell and scream for sanctuary any second. Moron.”
“Girls are shallow.”
“You kissed her looking like the last thing you made out with was a shovel and then she didn’t want any more of that? Duh!”
“So you think she’s still into me like that or are we friends now? Because I legit told her I liked her and now I’m second guessing whether I should’ve.” I don’t bother telling her I might have cried a little too when our noses touched.
“I think if you’re really lucky she won’t notice just how dumb you actually are. Keep getting hit in the head at work,
champ, it’s improving you.” She laughs and ends the call.
“Glad I could amuse you,” I mutter and put the phone down.
“Trouble in paradise, sir?” Benson sounds concerned.
“No, that was Bev. I mean, there’s trouble but it’s the normal sort. Bev was just grinding my gears.”
“Ah yes. Miss Beverly is always the one to get you worked up. Can I get you a drink or something?”
“No, thanks. I’m exhausted. I’m going to crash for a couple of hours before I take Sami to dinner.”
“Dinner, on Christmas night? In a restaurant?”
“Right. No Southern turkey this year. See ya in a few hours.” I saunter off to my room to sleep for a bit.
Chapter Eighteen
Whores you can’t borrow
Sami
“No, we didn’t do anything, I swear. It was nice. We honestly hung out. It was weird to just sit around with a guy and talk like friends.” I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling as I chat with Nat for the third time today. “I mean, I wanted to do things, but his face”—I wrinkle my nose—“it was a mess. We tried kissing and he cried it hurt so much.”
“Jesus, like what level of mess?”
“Broken bones and cuts and scabs. Like the kind of mess I didn’t really want near me. When we woke up this morning he was less puffy, a lot less. But it was still a bit nasty. Yesterday though, when he showed up and his eyes were slits, I hardly recognized him.”
“God just did you a solid. You hung out with a guy and didn’t molest him and then send him away, used and abused.”
“Right. We joked about that actually, that maybe it was just a good way to see if we even like each other before it became a one-night stand.” I say this because Nat doesn’t need to know the backstory.
“And do we?”
“We do.” My cheeks heat up. “He’s not what I thought at all. He’s kind of like a poor person but not.”
“Oh my God.” Nat laughs. “You are such a snob. A poor person? Seriously? His family is one of the richest. His mom is related to the Rothschilds or something.”