Christmas in LA

by Herb Scribner

  Since then, he’s led his business with a soft fist. It has all the tech desirables, like free swag, food and drinks galore, computers for everyone who works there. It’s just a magical place where young college grads can get their foot in the door and where they can help Ryan’s business flourish.

  I watch him move as he speaks. There’s a certain flow and rhythm to it. Some might call it passion. He moves his hands like he’s fumbling with pizza dough, tossing and turning it, rolling it and balling it up all in his hands, as he spews out everything about his company.

  No matter how many times he explains it, I still don’t understand what his business does exactly. But it’s still a wonder to hear him speak with such flavor. Even as the current Christmas film on the TV rolls on — this one about a perky blonde who falls in love with a horse trainer — he celebrates the company he works for and the people he runs it with. There’s a real love there.

  The oven beeps with a shrill cry. The next batch of hot cookies are finally done. Good. Now it’s time to decorate those and suck those down our gullet. And I’m fine with that. The more cookies the better.

  I pour the eggnog for us as he rips the pan out of the oven and sets it on the counter.

  “So what about you?”

  “Me?”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “Oh, I’m just a digital marketer. I help businesses come up with plans for marketing campaigns, plan events for fundraising efforts. Just a lot of that stuff. It’s not my favorite job, but I work with my best friend so, you can’t complain about that.”

  “That sounds awesome. You must consider yourself lucky.”

  “I do.”

  “Is there anything you don’t like?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Is there anything about the job that you don’t like?”

  “There’s a lot. Some of the politics can be really annoying. We have a boss who doesn’t really appreciate women, and that’s sort of annoying. I mean, I just feel like if you’re going to have a business and hire women, you should at least be comfortable around them.”

  “Women are our lifeblood,” Ryan says. “Wouldn’t be here without them.”

  “You really think that?”

  “I know it. We have an initiative right now. For every man, we have to hire two women.”

  I sip my eggnog and try to hold it back from my laugh.

  “What?”

  ‘You need more female advisors.”

  “Want a job?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Well, you said I need a female advisor. Do you want the job?”

  “Does this mean you just hired a man? Is that why you’re offering it?”

  He smirks as he slides the spatula underneath the cookies and pushes them upward.

  “Listen, I can hire anyone I want for any reason I want. Well, at least until my company shoves me out the door. We get along really well, and I could use a woman to teach me how to handle diversity right. Plus, we have a million digital marketing ads. I’m not saying you have to take the job now, but, just think about it. It’s always there if you want it.”

  “Wait, you’re serious?”

  He rips the head off of one of the cookies. We both chuckle at the headless gingerbread cookie, one that he will have the honor of decorating.

  “Look, I was a jerk when you first got here. I haven’t been the most accommodating. I don’t see a lot of people. I don’t have a lot of friends. And, I don’t know, I’m just getting to know you. So, I want to repay you however I can. If you end up hating your job so much you want to quit, give me a shout. That’s all I’m saying.”

  A small part of me wants to be offended that he would just hire me because he met me. But there’s another bit of me that enjoys the compliment. There’s true passion there too. Just the way he spoke about his business clues me in on how much he cares for what happens there. And if he’s so willing to hire me, then he must care about me too, right?

  “I’ll think it over,” I tell him.

  And I will. There will come a point where I want to leave my job, and I’ll probably think of his proposal when I do that.

  “Shall we decorate?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  I grab one of those frosting tubes and stab my fingers into it. Time to create a massacre with these gingerbread cookies.

  26.

  Indeed, we leave a massacre behind. So many cookies. We devoured them. Crumbs leave a trail of tears across the ground and the kitchen counter. The eggnog glasses are fogged with the remainder of the thick drink. Oh, it’s a mess.

  We’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch again. The latest movie — about a man who keeps reliving Christmas, only he’s dating a new girl every day — plays on the screen, and it’s nearing the end. I want to lean over and lay my body on his. Let the curve of my cheek press against his shoulder. Just for a moment to see how I like it, to see if it’s something I want to do. To see if this electric energy between us is a result of the tight walls, or if we’re truly interested in each other.

  Maybe for just a minute. I can slide down the couch and lay my body against his. Feel his warm body breathe against mine. The rock hard exterior press against me. Let us linger together on the couch and finish the movie. Maybe we can fall asleep together on the couch, pass out and walk together into the darkness.

  I’m going to do it. Come on girl. You can do it. Just slide. A little bit of a slide. Okay good. You’ve moved your butt over an inch. Keep going! Just a little bit more.

  “I have to tell you something,” he says.

  I stop my slight roll, caught dead in the moment. Did he notice I was sliding toward him and decide to grab my attention. All color leaves my face as I look over at him. He’s leaning forward now, putting prayer hands around his mouth.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t really tell you the whole truth about what happened with my business. I mean, what I told you was true, but there’s a little bit more to it.”

  Oh, so he was lying. But what was he lying about? It wasn’t the first time he had lied to me. He’s withheld information about Ciera. I wish he would just tell me who she was already. If Cate was his ultimate love, she couldn’t be anything more than that, could she?

  He’s taking too long. Why is he taking his sweet time? Come on, Ryan. Just talk already. Tell me what you want to tell me.

  “A few years ago I met a girl. Her name was Ciera. She was everything to me. Beautiful. Silver-hair, great green eyes, the beautiful smell of coconut and vanilla lingering on her skin. A cute North Carolina accent that made you want to drink sweet tea and watch college football. She was my everything. And she became such. We got married,” he says, and now he falls back against the couch.

  At least now I know who Ciera is. But what does this have to do with his business?

  “We were married for about three years. We did everything together. She worked as a reporter, and I worked at my company. One day she came by and asked me if I needed a writer for the company. I said yes and we hired her,” Ryan says, pressing his head into his palms, bending over again now. “It was the dumbest thing I ever did. I let her in. She came into the company and learned about everything. From one end of the company to the other. She spoke to everyone. The developers, the tech team, the marketers. Everyone.

  “And everyone loved her. Like, who wouldn’t? She’s perfect in every way. So likable, so charismatic, so attractive,” he pauses now, and I can tell his eyes are locked in on the cloud of nostalgia. “And I was smitten too. She was my wife, and I loved the fact that she wanted to be involved in my business. That meant everything to me. So slowly we started forming a partnership. Not just a wife at a husband’s job, but a husband and wife building something together.”

  Ryan shifts now, swiping his right leg with his hand, clearing off any dust that may be lingering there. This is how he gets when he’s nervous, I’ve noticed. A little nervous and fidgety.

  “So what happened?�
�

  “She came up with a great idea. Build a board of directors. Diversify the ownership and ask for more input. Don’t let it become a business for us, let it become a business for everyone. It wouldn’t just be our company, but one for everyone,” he says, now staring at the ceiling again like it holds all of the answers. “And it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Hire a CFO, CEO, give them some of the ownership, and then I can take a break. Get a board going and then I could stay at home and only come in for the big decisions. Lazy, yeah. But it seemed like it would work.”

  “So did you do it?”

  “I couldn’t pull the trigger. Just didn’t want to give up all that power. And then she came to me and said she was …” and now he pauses, his throat drying up. He’s unable to find the words. He takes a long breath, the kind you take when you’re trying to hold back from crying. “She was pregnant.”

  Pregnant? Wow. This is going way deeper than I thought it would. A pregnant wife would change everything about the plan moving forward.

  “Whoa,” I say, unable to find anymore words.

  “Yeah.”

  “So that changed your mind?”

  “Yes. She wanted to settle down and raise a family, so I sold some of my shares, brought in some moving pieces, and then created a board of directors.”

  All seems to end well. It all makes sense too with what I heard earlier. There’s a board of directors in charge, looking to make the company public. So all of that lines up.

  Except … he didn’t want to take the company public, and yet the board did. Someone was looking to stop him from exerting power. Someone wanted to take this all the way.

  Ciera.

  “Wait,” I say, and I’m about to reveal my theory, but I hold back. He doesn’t know I heard him talking earlier. I clear my throat. “So what happened?”

  “The board wanted Ciera involved too since she basically created the board anyway. The second she received her spot, that’s where it fell apart. She came to me and told me she wanted a divorce. Told me she …” he pauses again, catching his own breath. “… she told me she wasn’t pregnant. Never was.”

  I can’t imagine how he feels, or how he must have felt to have all of that happen in his life. For me though, and I’ve only known him a handful of days, a knife cuts into my gut.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say.

  And yet I know it’s not enough. There’s nothing I can say to him that would be enough.

  “I’ve grown really fond of you, Noelle. I really like you, and I would love to spend more time with you. I really would. It’s just,” he pauses, moving his hands around again. “It’s just I can’t figure out how to move past it all.”

  So that’s why he’s telling me this. Not so he could be honest about his career or about his love life. It’s so he can tell me why we can’t take our relationship to the next level.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “No, it’s not. You’re a really great woman. You’re kind, you’re sweet, you challenge me, you make me smarter. There’s so much about you that I’ve grown to adore these last few days.”

  “Ryan,” I say, and now I have my hand up to silence him. “I haven’t been completely honest with you either.”

  “What?”

  I sigh. It’s my turn. He’s just unveiled his ultimate truth to me, and so I must do the same.

  “I lied to you earlier. I am dating someone. His name is Derek, and we’ve been together for a couple of years now. I didn’t tell you because I began to feel something for you. Something I can’t explain, but something nonetheless.”

  He doesn’t even look at me. He keeps his eyes locked on the flashing television screen. Heartbreak unfolds on the screen. The male character walks away, shaking his head, worried about what his onscreen girlfriend just told him.

  He clears his throat as he stands up, collecting his glass.

  “I’m sorry!” I call after him as he rounds the couch.

  He turns toward me. “Don’t be,” Ryan says. “Don’t.”

  I don’t say anything because he’s right. I don’t have to be sorry. Neither does he. We both messed up here. We both were at fault. We both held onto a tremendous lie.

  “We’re both lost,” he says. “Maybe that’s why we shouldn’t even try this. Maybe that’s why this isn’t going to happen.”

  His head dips low like there’s an entire bag of toys on it. He drags his feet across the floor as he slowly makes his way down the hall. I watch him disappear around the corner. His door shuts with a hard bang.

  I collapse onto the couch. The tears have already started dripping down my face. There’s truly nothing more to say here.

  What a Merry Christmas Eve tomorrow will be.

  DAY FOUR: DECEMBER 24

  27.

  I have a hard time sleeping. My mind races like I’ve had a cup of coffee before bed. Heart pounding so hard I’m sure my ribcage will crack, the bed sheets are stiff as cardboard, the mattress is a bed of rocks. The air is stuffy and warm, no amount of stripping will make it any easier. The darkness doesn’t fade into light, not in any sense. Just pure darkness. Time drifts on slowly. I don’t know how I’m going to make this work.

  Sweat pours from my temple. There’s nothing comfortable about this. This is going to be a struggle for a long time. There’s no hope for me now.

  Eventually I fall asleep. My eyes spring open and the sun gleams out the window. I didn’t even shut the blinds last night. I stand up to look outside. A pure blue sky remains in the backdrop. The yellow streaks of sun lay across the snowy ground. Water drips from the light posts and roof outside. The snow is melting.

  Christmas Eve in L.A.

  That’s probably why I’m so warm right now. The heating temperatures of the sun, the summer-like vibes of Los Angeles, and the melting snow make one lethal combination.

  Outside my bedroom door exists a world I can’t seem to face, not directly at least. It’s a world where Ryan lives. I’m not mad at him, probably not as much as he’s mad at me. I mean, my lie was pretty bad. Sure, he wasn’t completely honest with me either. He had this entirely complicated relationship with his wife — ex-wife? — who basically held control of his company by the throat. In a way, his entire life was in her hands.

  But then again, I never told him the truth about being in love with another man. I never mentioned Derek and our two-year relationship. I’m just as bad as he is.

  I can’t be the victim though, and neither can he. We both committed faults here. We both held back significant lies from each other. And there’s probably a reason for that. We wanted to see where our courtship went and what possibilities there were of being together. Nothing else. Otherwise we would have been upfront and honest about our lies.

  It’s time for me to face the music. My flight leaves tonight at six o’clock, so I can handle that pretty easily. Just a few hours in the apartment with him. We can avoid each other until then. And then I’m out of here, going back home to Connecticut to spend time with my family.

  I guess this is a good thing. It means I can see Derek again without any of the guilt hanging on my shoulders. He’s the right guy for me. Strong, smart and knowledgeable. He’s a safe choice. His career is nothing as volatile as working a tech company where an ex-wife had all the control. That just spelt disaster outright.

  I open the door to the room and step out into the hall. Everything’s quiet and the apartment feels completely empty. I don’t hear the lingering buzz of Chives, no drips fall from the sink, no creatures are stirring. Just a still silence as though it’s the middle of the night.

  Slowly I walk out into the common room. Sitting on the kitchen island counter, again, are four cups of coffee. Even today he’s decided to grab some brew. I walk over and snatch one up. Just because we’re caught up in this odd fight doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore some morning bean water.

  My body aches like I have an emotional hangover. The sadness and guilt still hangs on me like a black ooze. It sits at t
he bottom of my gut like a thick rock of coal.

  So this is it then. Clearly I won’t be seeing him around, at least not on purpose. I’ll just go back to my room, swipe through my iPad and wait until it’s time for me to catch an Uber and head off to the airport.

  The silence of the room is slashed in half as a shrill sound comes from the back of my ears. I turn and see Ryan pulling along a piece of luggage, the tires screeching against the wooden floor of the common room. He picks up his baggage and leans it against the counter. He slides past me and grabs a cup of coffee.

  “Morning,” I say.

  “Morning yourself,” he replies.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, figured I’d go home.”

  “Utah?”

  “Yeah. Utah. Try and do some stuff for work. Now that the weather is cleared up I can fly out of here on my plane. Shouldn’t be too bad.” His eyes dance away from me. He’s purposefully avoiding me. I know that move all too well. Walking around in circles, eyes skirting away from the one image you want to look at most.

  “Well, that sounds great.”

  He nods, sipping his coffee, raising his smartphone up to his eyes. He scrolls through the screen.

  “When’s your flight?” he asks.

  “Six.”

  “Excited to go home?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah.”

  The silence returns, this time stuffing our room like a giant elephant that just won’t disappear. The unspeakable discomfort roams around us. If only we felt comfortable enough to ask each other. If only we could think of something to say. It wouldn’t take that much to apologize to each other. We could easily forgive each other for the lies and then move on. It doesn’t take too much effort to do that. One person has to take the leap.