How the Grinch Stole My Heart

by Annabelle Costa

  Well, he must sort of know what it means if he did it to Jeremy.

  “Fine,” I mumble. “You can pick him up at ten and bring him back for dinner.”

  Greg’s face lights up. In spite of how much I hate him these days, sometimes I see glimpses of the guy I used to love. “Thanks, Noelle. I really appreciate that.”

  “No problem.”

  It’s not like I have any plans for Christmas Day anyway.

  Chapter 35: Jeremy

  I can’t believe it.

  I can’t believe Noelle is Henry’s mom.

  When I opened the door and saw her there, I almost fell over. She looked so sexy in that low-cut dress, it took my breath away. I was just so happy to see her that I didn’t put two and two together right away. Like, why was my date for the evening in the apartment of the kid who’s inexplicably become my arch-nemesis? Then when I realized what the situation was, my whole world fell out from under me.

  I would have gone out with her anyway. I know she’s great—the fact that Henry is her son doesn’t change that. But after what I had to say about the kid, I knew I had blown it for good. That kid really hates me.

  After I realize she isn’t going to open the door for me, I limp back to my own apartment, where Luis is holding up a splintered toothpick triumphantly. “Fixed it!” he says.

  Great.

  “Thanks,” I say. I slip him a tenner before he goes, even though we’re not supposed to tip. Old habits die hard. And he was quick at fixing the lock. Of course, there’s no date for me to rush to. It doesn’t matter if I’m locked out of my apartment anymore. I don’t have to shower and change clothes tonight. I don’t have to do either of those things ever again.

  And just like that, the events of the day hit me like a ton of bricks. I need surgery on my arm. Taylor has a baby. I’ve blown it with the one woman I’ve really liked in the last four years.

  Christ, I need a drink.

  I’m not supposed to drink. I’m really not supposed to drink. I had a couple of seizures after my stroke, and I was on medications to prevent seizures for three years until I was cleared to get off them, but I was told in no uncertain terms that alcohol could trigger a seizure. On top of that, I’m taking that medication for my muscle tone (that barely works, incidentally) and one to prevent headaches, both of which don’t mix with alcohol. Also, my balance is already bad enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

  Funny how I don’t give a shit about any of that right now. I want something to numb the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. Alcohol should do the trick.

  The biggest problem is I don’t have anything to drink in the apartment. I haven’t had a drink in six years, aside from the night Taylor dumped me. So if I want to dull the pain, I’ve got to leave my home.

  I look out the window. The snow is really starting to come down. By tomorrow, I’ll be trapped here for the duration. But there’s a liquor store two blocks down. I can make it there. If I fall, I fall. Another pain to focus on would be welcome right now.

  After walking one block, I’m starting to regret my decision. The snow is starting to accumulate, and the streets are really fucking slippery. My crutch slides every time I put it down on the pavement. I’m walking slower than a little old lady. Little old ladies are literally passing me.

  I hate snow. I hate the Christmas lights surrounding every tree on the street. I hate all the couples snuggled together on the street to keep warm. I hate snow.

  Bah, humbug.

  When I see the neon lights of a liquor store, my shoulders sag in relief. If it were any farther, I wouldn’t have made it. I carefully navigate the last half a block, wondering if there’s any chance if I could spend the night at the liquor store.

  The guy at the cash register is an old man who’s probably owned this store for forty years. He gives me a funny look when I stumble inside, but I hardly notice it. I walk over to a display of whiskey bottles.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the old man, “could you grab one of these bottles for me to buy?”

  The guy gives me a funny look again, but he ambles around the counter, picks up a bottle of the dark amber liquid, and brings it back to the counter. He rings up at sixteen ninety-five, and as I pull out my wallet, my left hand is shaking. Badly.

  “You okay?” the old man asks me.

  “Fine,” I mumble.

  Get it together, Grieder.

  I take a few deep breaths and get my hand to stop shaking enough to pull out a twenty dollar bill. For a moment, I’m scared the guy won’t sell the bottle to me, but he opens up the cash register, and I let out a sigh of relief. I tell him, “Keep the change.”

  Christ, I don’t want to have to get three dollars back in my wallet. That’s worth three dollars to me.

  He puts the bottle in a plastic bag for me, which is the only way I could manage to get it home, and even that is going to be dicey. The bottle isn’t huge, but big enough to throw off my balance. On a sunny day, it would be a problem I could overcome. Today it’s going to be an issue.

  But fuck it. I’ll get home somehow.

  It’s even slower going home than it was in the other direction. I’m trying to be very, very careful. And I’m good until about ten feet from my building when my right foot steps in a deceptively big pile of snow and won’t come out. I’ve got strength in my right hip and knee, but just enough to overcome gravity and the weight of my leg. Not enough to overcome a bunch of snow.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

  I struggle for a minute, trying my damnedest to work my leg loose without falling in the process. I even put down the liquor bottle, hoping that might help. It won’t budge. This is a fitting end to my day.

  As luck would have it, a cop is walking by with a cup of coffee in his hand. He’s around my age or a few years younger, but in much better health, obviously. His uniform is padded for the weather, but he barely looks cold, even though it’s below freezing out.

  “You need some help, sir?” he asks me.

  A few people have stopped to watch my struggle. Right. Because everywhere I go, I’m a spectacle.

  “My foot’s stuck,” I say. “I just… if you could clear some of the snow…”

  The officer is great, even though I hate this. He kicks the snow away from my foot until I can move it again. And then when my crutch immediately slips on the some ice, he catches me. I’m sure I look like a mess. Someone who shouldn’t be out in this kind of weather. Or at all, maybe.

  His brow furrows. “Can you make it home on your own?”

  I nod and gesture at my building. “I’m just right over there.” Then I nod down at the plastic bag with my whiskey in it that I laid down in the snow. “Can you grab that for me?”

  The officer picks up the bag, and his eyes widen when he sees what’s in it. “Are you sure you should be drinking this?”

  Am I sure I should be drinking that? Like maybe it’s a mistake that I purchased a big bottle of Jack Daniels? What the fuck kind of thing to say is that?

  “Yup,” I say. “It’s medicinal.”

  Is alcohol ever medicinal? No, probably not. That would have been a better one if I got caught with a joint. Then again, alcohol is perfectly legal thanks to the twenty-first amendment, so I’m within my rights to have it. I’m of age.

  “All right,” the officer says reluctantly, as if he’s considering taking it away from me. Let him try. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  He studies me for a moment. “I’m going to walk you to the door.”

  All right then. I don’t feel like I need a police escort for the remainder of my journey home, but then again, I don’t want to get arrested tonight. So if he’s insisting on walking me home, I’m going to allow it.

  I don’t think I’ve ever needed a drink more than I do at this moment.

  Chapter 36: Noelle

  “I’m really confused, Noelle.”

  Shannon was kind enough to come over t
o comfort me after my date with Jeremy went horribly wrong before it even got started. I think she might have had plans with her husband—some kind of date night like the kind Greg and I used to have—but instead she’s here. And I’m so depressed, I don’t even feel bad about ruining her night. I need comfort.

  “What’s to be confused about?” I ask bitterly, as I take a bite from the pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream Shannon brought when she showed up. It’s Cherry Garcia, which is actually one of my least favorite flavors of ice cream, but I don’t care. It’s creamy and fatty and I’m eating it.

  “Like, how did you not know Jeremy Grieder lives right down the hall from you?” Shannon reaches out to take a spoonful of ice cream. “How is that possible? He’s right down the hall!”

  She makes a good point.

  “I don’t know.” I scoop a cherry-laden blob of ice cream into my mouth. “We never ran into each other in the hall. I’ve only been living here for two months.” I swallow the blob of ice cream. “I thought he was an old man.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Yes, I figured that out, Shannon.” I dig around in the ice cream, trying to get a scoop without much cherry. Cherry and ice cream don’t mix. “He’s been really awful to Henry. I can’t believe it. He seemed so nice at the restaurant… and he’s… well…”

  Her lips curl into a smile. “Cute?”

  I wince. “I can’t believe I thought that.”

  “You’re allowed to think that.” She reaches out to take another scoop of ice cream, but I hold the container out of her reach. I need this more than she does. “He is cute. Really cute. And I honestly don’t think he’s a bad guy. He’s just… well, obviously he’s been through some stuff…”

  “He had a stroke,” I say, suddenly remembering what Fanny told me back when I didn’t know Jeremy was Mr. Grinch.

  “Wow,” she murmurs. “He’s so young. That must have been rough.”

  “It doesn’t give him a right to be a complete douchebag. I mean, he slammed the door in Katie’s face.”

  Shannon laughs. “Oh, she deserved it though. He kept asking her nicely to stop singing, then she launches into that endless ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ song. It was actually pretty funny if she didn’t get so offended. The other girls thought it was hilarious when he did that.”

  I’m not buying Shannon’s excuses though. Jeremy called my son a brat. And yes, maybe there’s a chance Henry really did flip him off, but still. Henry is a child. An adult worth anything is supposed to rise above that.

  No, there’s no chance I’m ever going to go out with Jeremy Grieder.

  There is, on the other hand, an excellent chance I’m going to finish this entire pint of Cherry Garcia.

  Chapter 37: Jeremy

  Thump! Thump!

  Oh Christ, this is the headache to end all headaches. I barely remember anything after my second shot of whiskey last night. Everything is just snapshots. I watched a bunch of reruns of The Office. I threw up in the sink. I passed out on the living room sofa.

  And now there’s someone pounding on my door.

  It’s not the kid, at least. If it were him, I’d lose my shit right now—I really would. But it’s someone knocking.

  Maybe it’s Noelle? Maybe she’s knocking on my door to tell me she changed her mind and decided she wants to go out with me tonight?

  No, not too likely.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  I struggle to sit up on the couch and the pain intensifies in my head. If this is another stroke, I’m going to be so pissed off. My mouth tastes terrible, and I feel like I’m going to hurl. I’ve still got my glasses on, so that’s a plus, but my shoes and AFO are off, and I don’t even know where my crutch is. I probably furniture-walked to get to the couch. But in order to get from the couch to the door, I need my crutch. So where the hell is it?

  Is this going to be some kind of Hangover-type deal where I’m going to have to retrace my steps from last night to find my damn crutch? I mean, it shouldn’t be that hard, considering I’m fairly sure I spent the whole night in the apartment, drinking and watching TV. Still.

  The thumping stops abruptly. Then the lock starts turning. I nearly lose my shit, until the door swings open and I see the puff of white hair.

  It’s Fanny.

  Jesus, I almost had a heart attack.

  “Fanny,” I manage. “What are you doing here?”

  She shuts the door behind her and rounds the couch to talk to me. The look on her face when she lays her eyes on me is a harbinger of what I’m going to see when I eventually make it to a mirror. I’m guessing I don’t look so hot.

  “Jeremy,” she gasps. “Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “No.” I told her about my stroke, so I guess that’s what she’s thinking. “I’m fine.”

  Then she notices the half-full bottle of whiskey on my dining table. Wow, I can’t believe I drank all that. “I thought you’re not allowed to drink.”

  “Allowed by who?” I retort, wincing at the jab of pain in my temple.

  “Whom,” she corrects me.

  I groan. I’m really not in the mood. “Fanny, what are you doing here?”

  “Joe mentioned to me this morning that a police officer escorted you home last night,” she says, “and he told Joe he was worried about you.”

  I rub my face with my left hand. “I had a little trouble in the snow, that’s all.”

  The snow. Christ, there must be a ton of it on the ground. I won’t be able to leave the apartment for a month.

  I hope there’s milk in the fridge. I should have picked some up while I was buying the whiskey.

  “And I brought the key to your apartment, just in case,” she says.

  I frown at her. “When did I give you a key to my apartment?”

  Fanny slides onto the couch next to me. “We traded last year, remember? I said I wanted you to have it in case I broke my hip.”

  “Oh right. And I asked why you were giving your key to the one person wouldn’t be able to help you if you broke your hip.”

  “Listen, buster. I’m a decrepit old lady. If you don’t see me around for a few days or there’s a funny smell coming from my apartment, you need to go investigating.”

  “Don’t say that.” I can’t even think of something happening to Fanny. She might be annoying, but she’s my only friend in the whole world right now. She’s the only one who seems to give a shit about me. I barely even talk to my parents these days, probably because they got sick of my moaning. “I’m the one who’s decrepit. You’re spry.”

  “Spry!” She smacks her leg and laughs. “I like that. But I am very old.”

  “Not that old.”

  “Guess how old I am.” She pats her hair and poses for me. It’s so funny, I almost laugh, despite the throbbing in my skull. “Really. Take a guess.”

  “Uh… seventy-five?”

  “I’m ninety-one!”

  I almost choke. “Ninety-one! You’re kidding!”

  “I am very well-preserved,” she says proudly.

  If I make it to ninety-one, I won’t be flouncing about town, carrying huge sacks of bagels. I’ll probably be confined to a bed, unable to move more than two fingers. Luckily, I’m pretty sure I won’t make it to ninety-one. If I hit forty at this rate, I’ll be amazed.

  “So,” Fanny says, folding her arms across her chest, “what inspired you to give yourself alcohol poisoning?”

  I wonder if Fanny knows Noelle, considering she lives in the building. If she does, she’d probably put in a good word for me. But I don’t want that. I don’t need some old lady talking me up. Anyway, I think I blew it for good with Noelle.

  “It’s a long story,” I say.

  “Meaning you don’t want to tell me.”

  I rub my temple with my left fingers. “Yeah, something like that.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, studying me. “Does this have anything to do with Noelle Moore in 5H?”

  I look up sharply, w
hich causes a jolt of pain in my skull. “Why do you say that?” My heart speeds up. “Did she mention me? What did she say?”

  A smile touches Fanny’s lips. “Well, that’s an answer, isn’t it?”

  “Fanny…”

  She pats my knee and leaps to her feet faster than I ever could. Ninety-one, my ass. “I’m going to make you some eggs. Those did wonders for my husband when he had a hangover.”

  “Okay,” I agree, because I don’t have the energy to protest right now, and I’m willing to try anything that might help. “Um, also… do you see my crutch anywhere?”

  “Did you lose it?”

  “It’s somewhere. I just don’t know where it is.”

  Fanny clucks her tongue. “I believe that’s the definition of ‘lost,’ Jeremy.”

  Well, great. At least I was responsible enough to take off my shoes with my AFO still inside the right one, so I put those back on. I can get up and walk if I’m holding onto the couch, but that will only get me so far.

  “Could you check the bedroom, Fanny?” I call to her.

  She comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her tan slacks. “Any chance you left it at Noelle’s place?”

  I wince. “No. No chance.”

  I’ve got a cane I could use if somehow the crutch doesn’t turn up, but to my relief, Fanny emerges from the bedroom holding my crutch triumphantly. Thank fucking God. I knew it couldn’t have gone far, but the way my life has been going lately, I could very well have tried to flush it down the toilet.

  Chapter 38: Noelle

  Dina’s Facebook status this morning: “Isn’t the city beautiful after a snowstorm?”

  God, I hate Dina.

  Dina does not have to be awake at six in the morning to get ready for the breakfast rush at a diner, so she has every reason to be cheerful this morning. If my date with Jeremy had gone as planned (or better than planned), I would have been tired right now. But I would have been tired and happy.