Christmas in LA

by Herb Scribner

  “You sick of being out here?”

  “You bet,” I reply.

  “Let’s go.”

  We slowly leave our mostly-formed snowman and return to the apartment building. No one’s inside the lobby. It’s empty, gold and still. Our feet echo as they squish and slop from the cool water and frigid snow that drips from them. We’re silent as we walk. Maybe there are reasons to talk, but then again, maybe not speaking is saying enough.

  Once we’re upstairs, Ryan jumps at the chance to take a shower. He leaves me in the dust and tells me he’ll be back shortly after he warms up. He’s gone before I have a chance to ask where the towels are.

  “How was your morning?” Chives asks as he buzzes into the room. A robe hangs from one of his malformed claws.

  I take the robe from him and throw it around my body.

  “Thanks Chives.”

  “Fun time?”

  “Sort of. Building a snowman is different. He still won’t tell me about Ciera.”

  “Ciera was everything to him, Ms. Cole. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

  What’s the secret behind Ciera? Why does she matter so much to him? It seemed like the Cate girl was the eternal lover who really messed up his brain. So what power did Ciera have over him?

  More importantly — why am I concerned with how I feel about Ryan? This is just a random stranger.

  “Can you prepare some hot cocoa?” I ask. “Sorry, I know you’re not my drone. But I thought it’d be good if we could get some hot cocoa and have that tonight.”

  “I’ll head out now across the street and grab some.”

  “Thank you, Chives. I mean it.”

  “Yes. And Ms. Cole, please enjoy your stay as much as possible. Mr. Rain doesn’t get many visitors these days. I know he’s enjoyed the company, so please feel free to be yourself.”

  Hmm. What an interesting comment. He’s enjoyed my company?

  “Sounds great. I’ll try my best.”

  I leave the kitchen and head to the room, my drenched body sticking the robe. My shower will come later, once Ryan is done and the bathroom is free. It was a little rude for him not to offer me the first shower, but then again, it’s totally equal for it to be that way too.

  Eventually I take my shower and it’s so thrilling. The freezing numbness to the warmth and buzz clears my mind and relaxes my muscles and bones. Going from one extreme temperature to another is like opening a gift you didn’t think you’d find under the tree. I slip on a pair of pajamas immediately after, a pair of red pants and a white t-shirt. Just one more night before I go home, and I could not be more relaxed.

  All that goes away when I see my phone. It’s sitting on the desk on the far left side of the guest bedroom. I ignored it all day yesterday because I had the iPad, and I needed it to charge. But seeing it pop up, my heart catches in my throat. Those bees return to my gut, though now they use a stinger to gather my attention.

  A missed call and voicemail await my response. Both, of course, are from Derek.

  If only I were a snowman and I could melt away from existence.

  21.

  There are two ways to listen to a voicemail in the modern age. You can either actually listen to it the traditional way, pressing your phone against your ear, or you can read the voicemail in text, thanks to the growing technology of smartphones. Voicemail translations are perfect for the busy bodies of today. And for those who hate using the phone for calls.

  Reading is far easier for me than listening. Derek’s smoky voice would only drag me back into the murky pool of guilt, where I’ll be stuck in a swampy lagoon of ill feelings. I can’t stand to be in that scenario right now, especially after the buzzing excitement I experienced outside with Ryan just moments ago.

  Plus, there’s hot cocoa on the way. Listening to Derek and hearing his worried voice will make that entire experience much worse. His voice will only replay over and over enemy mind.

  I open up the message and read his voicemail. And even though I don’t listen to it, I hear his voice whisper the message into my ear, almost like he’s standing right next to me in Ryan’s guest room.

  Hey Noelle, it’s Derek. I saw your post earlier about being in New York. Glad to hear you’re safe. Give me a call when you can. I’d love to speak with you soon. I know we left on sort of weird terms because I went home and you went home. But I still want this work, so, please give me a call when you can. I love you so much. Hope you’re not hating Los Angeles in the snow. That’s insane. Alright, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.

  I imagine his voice being a little more perky and peppy than the voicemail text would have me believe. It’s clear here that he’s missing me and that he wants to make our relationship work. And of course I do, too. We’ve had a pretty solid relationship. There’s been nothing volatile about it, simply stable and organized. There’s not really that much to complain about. Of course we’re going to make it work.

  The hint of those merry waters pop up in my mind though. He sees some sort of issue with our relationship, though, doesn’t he? There’s a reason he’s admitting that we left the relationship on somewhat negative terms. It must be my decision to spend the holidays apart. That would surely be a sign that we’re on the negative trail.

  There must be a reason I didn’t want to go home with him for the holidays. Clearly I didn’t want to be with him on some level, right? Otherwise I would have flown with them in a heartbeat.

  But here I am — on the day before Christmas Eve, living in another man’s apartment. I had no interest in answering Derek’s call, nor do I feel any sense of interest in calling him back.

  Are we as perfect as we should be?

  Sometimes it’s hard to define your relationship without help. Relationships are often so complicated and ridiculous that you can’t see it for what it is when you’re thick in the weeds. Outside perspectives help. Few people have said anything negative about me and Derek. Charity didn’t mention much, nor did Belle or Lydia, our fellow coworkers. So why am I struggling to understand how safe we are?

  Is that the problem? Is our positive nature the actual problem here? Should you be with someone when you feel like everything is perfect and you can do no wrong?

  Three knocks suck me out of my gaze into empty space.

  “Noelle. Hey, it’s Ryan. You alright?”

  “Yeah,” I say, tossing my phone onto my bed. “I’m fine.” It’s only then I notice a handful of tears have slid down my cheek. I wipe them away. “Just about to get dressed.”

  “Okay, cool. Hey, Chives has got some hot cocoa for us here. So, don’t take too long! I’ll probably drink mine without you if you take too long.”

  Of course you will, you jerk. He’s not the type of person to wait for you to get to the table or to get dressed. He’ll eat entire meals before all the guests arrive. That’s the sort of dude Ryan is. He’s a jerk, he pranks and he’s full of ridiculous behavior. And yet he’s endearing. Almost like a lost puppy, trying to find his way home. Well, a wealthy lost puppy.

  I wait an extra beat or two because I don’t want him to know I was lying about getting dressed. When I step into the kitchen, two steaming hot Rudolph mugs of cocoa rest on the counter. Ryan stands with his eyes stuck on the iPad, scrolling his fingers across the screen. Oh, so he’s not drinking the cocoa without me. What a liar! A cute lie, let’s be real. But still. What. A. Punk.

  “Finally,” he says, grabbing the handle of his mug and taking a sip. He takes a big gulp and brings his mug down, revealing a chocolate mustache on his shadowed facial hair.

  I giggle at the sight of him.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Just trying to recover from the epic snowball fight.”

  “Yeah, real epic.”

  I take ahold of my own hot chocolate. It’s sweet and rich and chocolate to the max. Oh man. I’ve never tasted something so delicious. It’s like childhood and Christmas all rolled up into a cup.

  “Anyway, I figured we should
do something super Christmas to close out the night,” he says. “Does that sound like something you’d want to do?”

  “Depends what it is.”

  “Well, let’s think. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so we’ll probably have to go to our own family parties and deal with all of that crap. And that’s going to suck, honestly.”

  “I agree,” I say, because I do. It’s going to suck going back to reality.

  “What if we did something silly?” he asks.

  “Like what?”

  The propellers on Chives interrupt their way into the room. The spinning handles remind me of the sound of a helicopter.

  “Might I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure, Chives,” I say, rolling my eyes. Such a matchmaker. He really wants Ryan to have company.

  Ryan smiles ear-to-ear, his pearly whites escaping from the confines of his mouth.

  “Make cookies, drink egg nog and watch Tim Allen movies.”

  We both start to laugh at the robotic voice’s idea, but truthfully, nothing sounds better than that. Watching classic holiday films while drinking the classic holiday beverage and eating classic Christmas cookies.

  What else could you want?

  “Sounds good to me,” Ryan says. “Noelle?”

  An idea strikes me just then.

  “I have one condition,” I say. “The cookies have to be gingerbread. Otherwise, I’m out.”

  Ryan smirks. Chives hangs in the air. My gut warms with excitement.

  “Sounds great,” Ryan says.

  Indeed, it does.

  22.

  We still have a little bit of time before it’s late enough for egg nog, cookies and movies. So I head back into my room and take a quick nap.

  A dream shoves its way into my brain. I’m with a man. We’re walking down the boardwalk under a glowing yellow sun and a hard blue sky, holding hands, laughing and giggle, talking about our futures. A sense of warmth and security balloons inside me with each second of the dream. The man brings me closer to him, pulling me tightly against his rigid chest. He plants a kiss on my nose.

  Sweat coats my entire body when I wake up. I try my best to remember each moment of the dream, but I can’t picture everything. No images of who the man was. No images of who I walked down that boardwalk with, no thoughts about who made me feel so comfortable and secure.

  The shining sun, the palm trees, the salty taste of the ocean water carried by the breezing wind. That could only be seen in Los Angeles, or California, at the very least.

  And who better to represent California than Ryan.

  There’s no way I’ve fallen for Ryan so quickly and so hard. We’re nothing more than two good friends stuck inside his apartment, trying our best to survive these next few days together. We’re not going to end this little apartment escape with a romantic smooching kiss and then become some beautiful couple that people will tell stories about for years to come. That’s not how it works in real life. Maybe the movies, but not in real life.

  This isn’t some cheesy romance novel.

  It’s no question that there is an electric spark buzzing between us. It’s easy to build chemistry with someone who you’re stuck in the same house with. That happens no matter your age or relationship. You will grow close to them, even if it’s just for the blink of an eye or for a second. That spark will ignite, the flame will flicker, the attraction will grow.

  I’m a hopeless romantic apparently. Didn’t see that coming. Is it Ryan who makes me this way?

  What possible reasons could I have for liking him? He’s a jerk, selfish and a little rude. His social skills are highly limited in scope. He doesn’t seem to have a clue about how to understand people (especially women), or anyone for that matter. Just seems a selfish jerk who wants nothing more than money.

  But then again, he’s quirky, he’s sure of himself and he’s willing to try new things. He brings me back to my childhood. That buzz and thrill I feel as a kid only grows around him. He wants me to feel like I’m back in my childhood days, celebrating the holidays like I’m a young kid waiting for Santa to slide down the chimney.

  There’s something endearing in that, right?

  Oh no.

  These feelings, these thoughts, are true feelings, aren’t they?

  I wouldn’t be thinking these thoughts unless they held some sort of merit. My first thought after the dream wouldn’t be of Ryan if there wasn’t something inside me that wanted it to be Ryan.

  Unless there’s something else here. Unless there’s some other reason.

  I still haven’t called Derek. That says something, too.

  I want to shout and scream. I’m so lost. So utterly lost. But what can I do? I can’t just start yelling and screaming like a child. That’s not attractive. And it’s not like I can talk to Ryan or Chives about this.

  The kernel of an idea suddenly pops in my head. There is someone I can speak to about all of this. How simple. Pretty lame of me to forget her.

  I quickly pull up my phone and call Charity. We rarely speak in phone conversations like this, reserving our discussions for texts or direct messages on social media apps. To my surprise, she picks up after three rings.

  “Jeez, I was wondering when you’d finally call me,” she says. “I’ve been bored out of mind over here.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Charity.”

  “Sure, that’s why it took you this long.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah? Sleeping in after you got home?”

  I smile. She has no clue, does she? “I’m not home yet. I’m still in Los Angeles.”

  A pause creeps up on us, and then she says, “What?!”

  So I explain everything to her, starting with the bump on the airline all the way to the snowman. I walk her through the flashbacks that Ryan and I experienced together, where he told me all about his romantic troubles. He probably doesn’t want too many people knowing about it, but it’s not like he and Charity run in the same circles. To her credit, she asks some followup questions. She too wants to know about this mysterious Ciera girl and what she represents. It’s clear Ryan’s hiding something as much as she is. Charity also inquires about Derek and if I’ve spoken with him. I walk her through all of that drama too.

  I don’t know how long the stories take, but by the end, I’m exhausted. Sleep sounds so good. I could already go for another nap. But that seems like it’s so far away now.

  “So you like him?”

  “What?”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Of course. He’s a nice guy. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “No, Noelle. You know what I mean.”

  Now we’ve arrived at the center of my dilemma.

  “I don’t know!” I exclaim, and now I start pacing around the room, running my hand through my hair. “I really don’t know. I mean, on one hand, there’s Derek. And I’ve been with him for so long. But there’s got to be a reason I didn’t go home with him for the holidays, right? But then on the other hand, I barely know this Ryan guy!”

  “Exactly,” she replies. “And look, you don’t know if this is just a crush because you’re staying at his place, right?”

  “Yes, yes! That was my thought.”

  “Well, let’s think about this for a second. You and Derek left things on good terms, right?”

  Did we? I remember the last time we spoke. It seemed like he had a different recollection than I did, saying we left our relationship on odd terms because of the holidays. Was he more upset than me about the arrangements?

  “Sort of. I don’t know. We haven’t really talked since everything happened.”

  “Okay, so, you’re still together?”

  “I think?”

  “Okay, well, you can’t do anything with this Ryan guy. I’m sorry, but you can’t betray Derek like that. I know that probably sucks, but, let’s be real. We’re not the type of girls to cheat or anything,” she explains.

  “So what do I do?”

  “Just see h
ow the rest of this goes! Remember, you might not see him again after tomorrow. Don’t throw all your gifts into a stocking that may disappear on Christmas Eve, if you know what I mean.”

  She’s right. There’s also that to consider too. It reminds me of those summer camp vibes. You meet someone who flips your stomach and has your heart pumping hard against your ribs. But in the end, the relationship can only last a month or two, if that. And then it’s back to normalcy.

  This, this Christmas in LA, is my summer camp. It’s my chance to have a crush, but there’s no way it’ll be anything substantial. Soon I’ll be off to Connecticut and then Montana, while he’ll be out here in LA, or even Utah with this business. There’s no reason to attempt anything else

  “You’re right,” I say.

  “Of course I’m right.”

  “How are you always right?”

  “Oh, just experience. And lots of dating,” she jokes. “But trust me, Noelle. Everything will be fine. Just see how the night goes and see how you feel. Maybe this is more. Maybe it’s not. I can’t tell you, he can’t tell you. You have to find out on your own. And you’ve been with Derek so long, you owe it to yourself to see if there’s another relationship here. If there’s someone else out there for you.”

  The scary part is — there is someone else out there for me, and I know it already.

  23.

  The hallway is different than I remember it. The turtleneck tight walls enclose around me. Sun gleams through the windows and sprays out across the floor in the living room. Slowly I tiptoe toward that sunlight, the warmth of the apartment inspiring a trickle of sweat to linger on my forehead.

  All is quiet until it’s not. A rumble of chatter stems from down the hall, closer to the kitchen, if I’m understanding the sounds right. I tip-toe until I’m close enough to hear, moving like someone hiding in the wood. Toe to heel, toe to heel, toe to heel.