by Hazel Kelly
“Where did he go?”
“Panama, at first.” Anthony cut his next bite of French toast. “The last postcard I got was from Buenos Aires.”
“You must worry about him.”
He shakes his head. “No. My dad’s a wily son of a bitch in the best way. I spend more time worrying about the people who cross his path when he’s cranky to be honest.”
“Does he ever come back to visit?”
“Not since he left. Maybe he will someday. I try to take it a day at a time.”
“What does your sister think?”
“It’s harder on her,” he says. “She was daddy’s little girl, you know. And she takes it extra personally now that she has a son of her own.”
“Sure.”
“I just hope he finds what he’s looking for.” He takes a sip of orange juice. “I think that’s all you can hope for anyone.”
“And what about you?” I ask. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”
“A beautiful woman to eat French toast with? I’d say so.”
I laugh. “It must be good to be a man of simple pleasures.”
“There’s no other kind.”
My eyes smile. “Do you want to spend the day with my family?”
“You don’t have to ask me that just because my parents aren’t around,” he says. “It’s very sweet of you, but-”
“Please. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to come.”
“I appreciate the offer, Holly, but take some time to think about it. Then, if you decide you can’t face them without me, I would be honored to meet your family.”
“Deal,” I say, adding some syrup to my plate. “You were right by the way.”
“About what?”
“About you making the best French toast ever.”
“I told you,” he says, smiling. “And people think I’m just a pretty face.”
F I F T E E N
I hadn’t exactly told my family about Anthony yet, but my sister warned my mom to set an extra place at the table and said it was no problem as there was way too much food anyway.
Meanwhile, Anthony was clever enough to call his Jewish driver, who couldn’t have cared less what day it was and was happy for the extra work.
Once I got cleaned up, we drove by my building so I could get all my wrapped presents out of the trunk of my car, and we actually made pretty good time when we got on the road.
As we headed North, I gave him the essential family run down.
He seemed surprised when I told him my Mom’s name was Joy and my sister’s name was Ivy. I let him guess my dad’s name and was thrilled when he guessed Nick, Joseph, and Carol. He seemed genuinely disappointed when I said it was Ted.
After that, I did my best to tell him how to win them all over, too, so things would go smoothly until alcohol could further lubricate the situation.
I explained that my dad grew up in Chicago, so a mention of the Cubs winning the World Series would be enough to make him shed a tear and feel instantly closer to anyone who expressed love of underdogs. My mom was easy, too. She’d probably been in the kitchen since five am so complimenting the food was a clear way to butter her up.
Finally, I told him Ivy was pregnant and engaged and warned him that- with her fiancé on assignment in Iraq- she’d probably be a bit weepy and desperate for man hugs. He seemed understanding and willing to oblige if necessary.
But I needn’t have bothered with any of it.
To say everyone liked him right away would be an understatement.
He hit it off effortlessly with the people I love most, and I could feel myself falling for him even more as a result.
Naturally, I always hoped I would meet someone I got along great with, but it seemed farfetched to think I might find someone who also enchanted my family.
I mean, my dad tried to keep him at arm’s length for a while, but when Anthony revealed a knowledge of baseball that I didn’t know he had and told the story of how he met Harry Caray when he was a little boy, my dad basically dropped his guard so fast it rolled under the table and was never seen again.
Anthony was even patient when it came time to play board games, and despite the fact that something about booze and holidays makes everyone in my family ultra-competitive, they were definitely more fun with an extra person.
The gift exchange was a success, too. My family liked their carefully saved for gifts and my sister came through with the iPad case as her contribution to my mom and dad’s big present.
Anthony seemed to like the scarf I got him, as well. I knew it wasn’t terribly creative, but I thought it was sort of nice in an abstract way. I mean, what’s sweeter than wanting someone to be warm during the holidays? It's the thought that counts anyway, right?
Besides, if the looks passing between us all day have been any indication, this won’t be our last Christmas together. I don’t know how I can be so sure, but I feel it in my bones that this thing between us isn’t fleeting. It’s as real as it is rare, and I can’t believe how lucky I’ve felt all day to share my favorite day with my favorite family and my favorite man.
It’s almost too much, but that’s what Christmas is, isn’t it? The day we all forget the meaning of moderation and overindulge on food and love and booze and drama, the day we all hug each other too tight and sing too loud and laugh too hard.
It’s the one day you can be as obnoxiously alive as you want and know you won’t have to apologize for it because everyone else’s cheeks are flapping in the wind, too.
It’s too much and just right all at once.
And I think I’m drunk now.
And maybe also in love with him.
“Did you get anything for Holly?” my dad asks Anthony.
I shoot him a look. “Dad. That’s none of your business.”
“Just asking,” he says, raising his hands.
I can hear the slur at the end of his speech as we sit around the fireplace.
“I gave her some presents last night,” Anthony says, leaning back in his chair. “But she does have one left.”
“I do?” I ask, turning from where I’m sitting on a pile of pillows near the fire.
“Day 25,” he says. “You never opened it.”
“Oh right.”
“We can do it later,” he says.
“Do it now,” my mom and Ivy squeal from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” my dad says, rocking in his chair. “We’re all dying to know what the hell Day 25 is.”
“It’s the date, Dad,” I say. “It’s the last day in the advent calendar that Anthony gave me… earlier.”
“Do you want it now?” Anthony asks. “I brought it along in case.”
I furrow my brow. “You did?’
He nods.
“Go get it,” my dad says.
I’m too tipsy to be embarrassed by how pushy my family gets when they’re full of food and alcohol, but Anthony doesn’t stick around for an apology anyway. He just goes by the door and grabs the calendar where it’s propped up against the umbrella stand.
“Here,” he says, handing it to me when he gets back.
I stand up and sit in his lap in the most conservative way I can since my dad’s just across the room. “Are you sure you want me to open it now?”
“It’s the 25th isn’t it?” he asks.
My mom and Ivy peek out from the kitchen doorway.
I pop the perforated edge around the 25th ornament on the tree. Behind the tiny cardboard door, there’s a shiny gold key. “What’s this?” I ask, pulling it out and holding it up so the firelight catches the jagged edges.
“It’s a key to my apartment,” Anthony says.
My eyes go wide. “To your apartment?”
“I want you to move in with me.”
I blink at him. “Really? Are you sure?”
“As sure as it’s a White Christmas.”
I glance out the window and smile. My parent’s backyard is a white winter wonderland. Even the garden shed looks like an iglo
o. “You must be pretty sure then,” I say, looking back at him.
“What do you say?”
I hug my arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. “I would love that.”
My mom whistles and my sister yells, “Get a room.”
“Hold on a second,” my dad says, leaning forward and putting his specs on. “What makes you think you’re good enough for my Holly?”
“Dad!” I say, taken aback.
“It’s okay,” Anthony says. “That’s a fair question.”
My dad nods like he knew this all along and is glad at least someone still has their head screwed on.
“To be honest, I don’t think I am,” Anthony says.
My dad glares at him.
“But I don’t think anyone is, Ted. So as far as I’m concerned, I’d be a fool not to compete for her attention.”
My dad holds his jaw.
Anthony rests his hand on my lower back. “At least, I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try.”
My mom and Ivy burst into obnoxious applause.
“That’s sweet,” I say, turning to him and dropping my forehead against his.
My dad mumbles something about giving us a moment and gets up.
“Do you mean it?” I whisper, knowing my family is just out of earshot.
“Of course I do,” he says. “You excite me like no one ever has, and I want to be with you. Every morning and every night while we try to get to the bottom of what a good thing it is that we have here.”
“We do have a good thing don’t we?”
He nods. “The best thing I’ve ever found.”
“You realize I’m an unemployed actress, right? And you’re okay with that?”
“That depends,” he says. “Are you okay with the fact that I’m happy to support you as long as you keep pursuing your dream?”
I sigh. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable with things just being handed to me like that.”
“Nobody’s going to hand you anything, babe. You’re going to have to outwork thousands of people to get where you want to go.”
“But for you to be so generous with me,” I say. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
He shrugs. “Life’s not fair, Holly. That’s the truth. All you can hope is that when good fortune comes your way, you have the good sense to make the most of it.”
“Are you saying this is the opportunity of a lifetime?”
He laughs. “I’m saying I love you, and that you’re all I want for Christmas.”
E P I L O G U E
~ Christmas Eve, One Year later ~
“I got it,” Anthony says, taking my dirty plate. “You go ahead and put your Christmas PJs on.”
“You got me Christmas jammies?”
“Of course,” he says, rinsing the dishes in the sink.
“What a nice surprise,” I say, bringing the rest of the empty plates over and setting them on the counter. “By the way, have I made a big enough fuss about how much I like your new Christmas sweater?”
He laughs. “You should. You picked it out.”
“I have excellent taste, don’t I?” I wrap my hands around his waist and give him a hug, pressing my cheek against his strong back.
“In men and sweaters,” he says, adding more dishes to the sink.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to do those?” I ask. “Since you’re on breakfast duty?”
He smiles. “I could’ve sworn we had French toast last weekend.”
“We did,” I say. “But if you want that to be your claim to fame, you can’t afford to get rusty.”
“Speaking of claim to fame,” he says, “Did you see the review in the Times?”
I loosen my grip and step back. “No. What did it say?”
“I brought it home. It’s in my jacket pocket by the door.”
I weave through the hallways and find the rolled up paper in his coat. I’m already scanning it when I sit down at the counter.
“Twenty-four,” he says, reading my mind.
I flip to page twenty-four and open it. The headline reads “Hurricanes Unlikely to End as New Broadway Show Becomes an Instant Classic.”
“This is fantastic!”
“Read on,” he says, nodding at the page. “You get a special mention.”
My lips move as I scan the article until I reach the bottom of the sixth paragraph. Then I read out loud, “They say the tinman needs a pulse, but we find that hard to believe as she stole every heart in the audience with her flawless comedic timing and truly touching performance. It was an altogether inspiring debut from newcomer Holly Flynn.”
I dance in my chair. “That’s me!” I squeal, pointing at the article. “It’s not even a mistake. That’s my name!”
“I know,” Anthony says, kicking the dishwasher closed and coming around the counter.
“I’m so proud of myself.”
He steps between my knees and slides his hands around my waist. “I’m proud of you, too, babe.”
“I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make the audience feel how warm the character is in that stupid tin keg I have to wear.”
“You were a knockout,” he says. “Everyone’s saying so. If I were the scarecrow or the lion, I’d be ticked off that you stole the show.”
I cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath before slinging them over Anthony’s shoulders. “This is exactly what I needed,” I say. “A sign to let me know that I’m on the right track, that I can do this.”
Anthony scoops me up and carries me over to the wraparound couch in front of the crackling fire. When he sits down, I’m straddling him, and my mind is going a thousand miles a minute.
“Calm down,” he says, grabbing my face. “This is the one night we don’t have to let Oz dominate our every waking minute.”
“Oh I know. I’m sorry. I’m just excited, and I’ve been working so hard.”
“I know,” he says. “And that’s what I’m most proud of. At the end of the day, it’s not the reviews that matter. It’s your effort.”
“I know, I know. It’s the only thing I can control.”
He wiggles his hips, and swells against me. “Maybe not the only thing,” he says with a mischievous look in his eye.
I rock ever so slightly on him, the length of him making me forget everything except this gorgeous man that’s had me pinching myself every day for the last year.
“Keep that up and we’re going to miss the previews,” he jokes.
“What are we going to watch?” I ask, rocking my hips as I pull his three dimensional tree sweater off over his head and toss it to the side.
“I’m a sucker for It’s a Wonderful Life,” he says.
“I do love that one,” I say, dragging a finger down his shirt. “That part at the end where his little brother raises a toast and says, ‘To my brother George, the richest man in Bedford falls’.” My eyes are watering before I get to the end of the sentence.
Anthony laughs. “I figure it’s either that or the animated Rudolph one since we haven’t seen that yet this year.”
“Speaking of which, have you seen Rudolph lately?”
“Not since I gave him a catnip stocking when I got home.”
I slide a hand down his cheek. “That was sweet, and a perfect reminder that I need to grab my Christmas jammies.”
“There’s actually something I want to give you first,” he says, sitting up but keeping his hard-on wedged firmly between us.
“I have a Christmas Eve gift for you, too,” I say, running my hands down his chest. “Do you want to exchange them now?”
“Sure. Otherwise I don’t see how we’ll enjoy the movie.”
“The movie is going to have to wait anyway,” I say, sliding his zipper down and leaning forward.
He holds my face as I kiss him, and it feels so good to taste him and feel how bad he still wants me, even after everything we’ve been through this year.
His fingers curl around
the bottom of my shirt and he pulls it over my head, revealing a red lace bra he’s never seen before.
I can see in his eyes that he’s noticed it as he flips me onto my back across the couch and pulls my pants down before climbing over me.
“I thought about you all day,” he growls in my ear. “About getting you like this.” His hands slide across the red lace that separates his fingers from my nipples. They rise to meet his palms as he kisses his way down my neck and between my breasts. “I wanted to taste you this morning, but I was running late.” He kisses his way down my stomach. “It made me fucking crazy all day.” He makes his way to my underwear, pushing the red lace against my clit over and over until I soak through the thin fabric.
Then he pulls them down over my feet and drops to the floor, dragging my hips to the edge of the couch so he can bring his mouth to me and scoop me out with his tongue.
I moan as he loses himself in eating me, his hands cradling my ribcage as he does it as if he’s trying to encourage all my silk to flow down to him.
I grab his hair in my hand and writhe against his face as his soft stubble tickles the insides of my thighs. “Fuck,” I whisper, getting high off the waves of heat rippling through me.
I jerk at the flick of his tongue and know I’m close, but I want him to feel just as lost in his own pleasure. “Wait,” I breathe. “Switch places with me.”
He pretends not to hear me and keeps twirling his tongue against me.
“Please,” I beg, pulling my hips back. I sink to the floor as he takes a seat on the couch. He watches me pull his pants and boxers down around his knees, then to his ankles. My hunger for him grows as I free one of his feet so I can scoot between his legs.
I reach for his dick and look up at him from my knees before holding it up and sucking his balls into my mouth. I squeeze them between my lips one by one, adjusting my force with his moans. Then I lick my way up the underside of his dick and sink my mouth as far down him as I can.
My hair falls around my face as I bob over his cock, sucking him to the back of my throat like I’m trying to reach his candy center.
A low groan rumbles from his chest, and I tighten my hand around him, my bones aching from how bad I want him.