Christmas Cliché

by Tara Sivec

  I’ve seen the tree he’s talking about. It’s in the big, informal living room back behind the dining room. That’s where there’s a big screen television hanging above the fireplace, and people can hang out, and play games, and watch TV, and be a little louder than in the quiet sitting room. I’ve only been in there for a few seconds to ask Joy a question earlier, but I did notice it was the only tree in the house without some sort of theme. It was filled with all sorts of mismatched ornaments and I loved it.

  Jason lifts his chin toward the top of the box, indicating I should grab the bag.

  Pulling it off the top of the box he holds, I open it and look down inside, smiling when I pull out the ornament he bought. It’s the “obnoxious” burlap ornament I was eying—a clear Christmas ornament ball filled with strips of burlap, with a red-and-white-check bow and loop to hang it from the tree, and the word Believe painted on it with silver glitter.

  “We always pick ornaments that have something to do with who we are or whatever we like or something,” Jason explains as I gently put the ornament back into the bag and carry it myself, grabbing my bag of candles out of his hand as well. “My mom seems to always pick out an ornament that has something to do with baking, and Jen has an obsession with snowmen, so her ornaments are always snowmen-related.”

  “I think you cheated this year,” I inform him, bumping my shoulder into his as we walk up the front steps to The Redinger House, and pause in front of the door. “That ornament was my choice and has nothing to do with you.”

  He shakes his head at me, shifting the box of ornaments to the side.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he says quietly, his feet crunching in the snow when he closes the distance between us. “Every year going forward, when I pull out my ornament for this year, you’re all I’m going to think about anyway. Makes sense I should get an ornament that made you have hearts in your eyes like a cartoon character.”

  He’s trying to lighten what he just said to me with an adorable smirk, but Jesus, I can feel the weight of his words pushing me further and further away from Los Angeles the more time I spend with him, and the more time I spend here. The idea of being back in California for Christmas a year from now, with these words he’s saying to me and the way he makes me feel nothing but a memory, makes me want to sob like a baby.

  “You’re making it really hard for me to remember I don’t live here,” I tell him softly.

  “Good.”

  I laugh at his quick, firm reply.

  “Look, I get Millie and the way she is. She grew up differently. But so did you. Millie definitely doesn’t belong here, and she’s being a good sport. But you…” He trails off, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly shakes his head, like he can’t believe whatever it is he’s thinking.

  “Me what?” I whisper.

  “You just… you fit here. I know you have a lot of shit you need to figure out, but I just want to make sure you know that and you don’t forget it. I see you cooking in the kitchen. I watch you chatting with guests and laughing with my family, not giving a shit if you have five-star service or if you have to borrow my sister’s clothes, and just now being patient with Peg and inviting her for movie night and…. I don’t know. You just look like you fit here.”

  My throat gets clogged with emotion and I smile up at Jason.

  “My dad used to say that to me every year when we came here,” I tell him. “My mom and my sisters begrudgingly put up with all the old Christmas traditions and staying in my dad’s family home instead of a fancy hotel or resort, but he would always say, ‘Allie girl, you just fit here. As soon as you get that first sniff of mountain air, I can see a change in you. That’s why you’re my favorite, but don’t tell your sisters.’”

  Jason and I both chuckle softly when I relive that memory.

  It’s so quiet and peaceful, standing here on the front porch at night, with snow softly falling all around us, out from under the cover of the porch. The glow from the porch Christmas lights give us just enough light to see each other, and I want nothing more than to take advantage of this romantic moment, lean forward, and kiss the man in front of me. I’m pretty sure he’d let me, with the way his eyes are staring at my mouth, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I haven’t kissed a man in years, and I definitely never initiated any of those boring-as-hell kisses. I don’t want him to be disappointed. He’s said all these amazing things to me and about me, and what if I kiss him and then he’s like, “Yeah, I take back all that stuff I said. Millie probably roofied me. Wow, have you ever even used your lips before?”

  Now my heart is beating even faster, but it’s from nerves instead of excitement, and it’s all too much pressure for me.

  “I can’t take this anymore,” Millie suddenly announces loudly, as she dramatically opens the front door with a flourish. “You two are just like those ridiculous Christmas movies on TV that Jen has been making me watch all afternoon, where the two main people never kiss until the very end and you want to slit their throats. You are just one big Christmas cliché.”

  Nope, no longer even the slightest bit cold. Pretty sure my entire body just went up in flames.

  “Mountain man Jason, might you also be the town vet, as well as a widower who is raising his daughter all alone, while also having the added pressure of being Santa’s son? We already know Allie is the big city spinster.”

  “Heeey,” I protest, shooting an annoyed glare at Millie. “What are you even doing here? I thought I’d never see you again after heading over to the other side of the mountain.”

  John took a group of guests over to the ski resorts and shopping earlier, and I’ve never seen Millie move so fast when he announced what time the van would be leaving. I was fairly confident that as soon as she stepped foot into one of the spas, she’d forget who I was.

  “I found myself longing for the simplistic, Amish ways of this side of the mountain.”

  “Or, you asked the local sheriff if he could get you some drugs, and he asked you to leave and never come back,” Jen says casually as she walks behind Millie through the entryway with an armful of Christmas blankets.

  “He looked sketchy and like he might have good drugs.” Millie shrugs to us.

  “He was dressed as Santa!” Jen shouts back as she disappears out of sight.

  “Like I said, sketchy. No one wears velour anymore.” Millie shudders. “Anyway, since you two aren’t going to do anything exciting out here on this porch, let’s focus on me.”

  She grabs my arm and tugs me into the house as I give Jason a longing glance over my shoulder. It warms my heart that he seems to be looking just as morose as I feel that we were cock-blocked by Millie. Maybe by the time the trolley ride rolls around, I’ll have a little more confidence.

  “I’m going to need you to explain the movie I just watched,” Millie says, pulling me through the dining room. “He was a nutcracker who came to life, but he was also her high school boyfriend who broke up with her on Christmas Eve. There was a spell. And a dog that could communicate with Santa. And a gingerbread house competition. And she found out she was actually a princess of a small country I’ve never even heard of, and I’m pretty sure was made up. Also, there was a beloved inn that was on the verge of being shut down that everyone had to save. Now I know why I’m Jewish. Christmas is very confusing.”

  “Well, hello there, sexy Santa! Can I sit on your lap later?”

  “I just want to apologize to you, Jason, for judging you and your people so harshly all my life,” Millie says, turning around in her seat on the trolley to face us.

  Jason laughs under his breath at her statement, and his body gently shakes next to me. The old fashion wooden trolley seats are barely big enough for two, which means we’ve been pressed up against each other from shoulder down to thigh since he slid in after me ten minutes ago.

  It’s been extremely warm on this trolley for the last ten minutes.

  “No offense, Jason,” Millie continues, leaning close
r to him over the back of her seat and lowering her voice. “But I just assumed poor people cried all the time and ate a lot of soup. Everyone is so… happy.”

  The trolley is almost completely full aside from a few empty seats up toward the front. Everyone is chatting, and laughing, and already dipping into the spiked eggnog and hot apple cider Jen set up in the empty first row. The trolley has been decorated on the outside and inside with multicolored lights, garlands, and wreaths, and right now, the florescent overhead lights inside the trolley are still on, until we’re ready to leave.

  “It’s just mindboggling.” Millie sighs as she takes in the festive atmosphere on the trolley and, indeed, how happy everyone is. “I have oodles of money, and I haven’t been happy since 2001.”

  “Do you have a good childhood memory from that year?” Jason asks, being the wonderful man he is and not taking offense at all to the poor comment.

  “Yes.” She sighs again, a dreamy smile taking over her face. “The first time I got Botox.”

  “At eleven?” I laugh, quickly doing the math and wondering why I’m even surprised.

  “I know.” Millie shakes her head as she turns back around to face the front of the trolley. “Such a late age to start proper skin care. I don’t even know how I showed my face in public before sixth grade.”

  Everyone suddenly lets out a cheer as Joy steps up onto the trolley, dressed as Mrs. Claus, complete with a long, red velvet dress with white fur trim, a white apron, and a matching red velvet bonnet.

  “Another Redinger tradition,” Jason says, leaning over to speak into my ear over the cheering and clapping and chanting for Santa. “My parents always dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus for the trolley ride. And I can’t believe I’m telling you this, and you are sworn to secrecy forever, but when we were little, they used to dress Jen and me up as elves for this trolley ride.”

  I laugh at the visual, even though his warm, minty breath—since he stole another peppermint nougat out of my pocket when he sat down—is floating around the shell of my ear, making me feel all hot and tingly.

  “Oh, I’m going to need to see pictures of this,” I tell him through my laughter.

  “You will never, ever see those pictures.” He laughs right along with me. “I’d really like for you to keep looking at me like you do, and those pictures will ruin everything.”

  I pull my head back a little so I can look at him.

  “How exactly do I look at you?”

  My words come out all breathy, because come on. I’m looking at him right now. And we’re sitting so close, and I can feel how warm his body is, and breathe in how good he smells, and I can only imagine how I’m looking at him. My tongue is probably lolling out of the side of my mouth. I’m assuming I’m panting a little.

  “Hopefully the same way I look at you,” Jason says after a few seconds of his eyes flitting back and forth between mine and my mouth. “Like I want to kiss the fuck out of you.”

  Check, please!

  Right when I start to grab Jason’s hand to drag him the hell off this trolley and into a dark corner somewhere, the loud cheering and chanting for Santa suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, and nothing but silence fills the trolley.

  “See, this would have had a much better impact if Joy would have also gone with my outfit suggestion,” Millie complains. “Now, no one understands my vision, because she just had to go vintage.”

  With an annoyed shake of her head, Millie slides out from her seat in front of us and marches down the quiet aisle to the front of the trolley, where everyone is currently staring with wide eyes and open mouths.

  “You told me this was what all the Santas were wearing now! I look like a damn fool!” John yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Millie as she struts down the aisle toward him.

  “What in the actual fuck is my dad wearing?” Jason asks in shock from next to me.

  “That’s definitely something from the Millie collection.” I smile with a shake of my head.

  Poor John, who I’ve only ever seen wearing heavy flannel shirts and old, baggy jeans he probably bought brand new when he was a teenager, is now dressed in a fitted red leather jacket over a tee shirt that says Christmas Rocks, along with red skinny jeans and black-and-white-checked Vans. The only flannel on him comes in the form of a red-and-black plaid infinity scarf around his neck.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Millie shouts, her arm around John’s shoulder as she addresses the trolley. “Please, do not be alarmed! I have done extensive research on your Santa fellow this afternoon, and John is embracing what we like to call Fashion Santa.”

  Millie then steps back and gestures to John like she’s a gameshow model, revealing him as the main prize.

  “Fashion Santa is a trim, dapper man, who is ageless.”

  “These jeans are rather slimming,” John mutters with a shrug, trying to shove his hands into the tight pockets of his jeans then throwing them up in annoyance when he can’t do it.

  “He enjoys high-end menswear and documenting his travels on Instagram,” Millie continues explaining, holding her phone up in front of her and John and pretending to take a selfie. “Just say no to velour, and shapeless suits you have to stuff with a pillow. Fashion Santa is a sexy Santa, and that’s what this world needs. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.”

  With that, Millie takes a seat in the front row, right next to the drinks, filling herself a giant cup of spiked egg nog.

  “Well, hello there, sexy Santa! Can I sit on your lap later? Rrrraaawr!” Joy says, making a cat-scratching motion with her hand when she steps next to John, and the entire trolley starts cheering and clapping again when Joy has given her approval.

  “Eeew,” Jason grumbles from next to me, making me laugh at his misery that his mom is definitely digging John’s new look.

  Sexy Santa gets behind the wheel of the trolley, Mrs. Claus sits down in the front row opposite Millie, the overhead lights go out, and off we go.

  I’ve been excited for this trolley ride ever since I heard about it, looking forward to seeing the other side of the mountain and all the Christmas lights we’ll see along the way. But as soon as the bright, overhead lights go out and the trolley is pitched into darkness aside from the soft glow of the Christmas lights, all I can think about is being here in the back row, pressed up against Jason, feeling like we’re all alone since everyone else is preoccupied with staring out the windows and talking to each other.

  Jason’s thighs are spread and his hands are folded together casually between them, while my stupid leg that’s pressed against his is bouncing up and down nervously. I feel like a teenager on her first date. While I’m busy staring down at my hand resting on my bouncing thigh, wondering what Millie would do that doesn’t involve anyone being stabbed, Jason’s hand suddenly reaches over and rests on top of mine. I automatically flip my hand over under his, twining our fingers together. Just holding his hand gives me butterflies, and I don’t even bother trying to hide my smile as he tugs on our joined hands, pulling me closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder and almost whimper when I feel him press his lips to the top of my head before resting his chin there.

  The trolley cruises along the road around the base of the mountain, slowing down to a crawl whenever we come up to a house with an impressive Christmas light display, riders ooing and aahing when John talks with a microphone through the speaker, pointing things out and sometimes adding in a little history or story about the home or the owners.

  “I haven’t been on this trolley ride in about three years,” Jason says, his chin still resting on my head. “I forgot how entertaining my dad is when he’s giving his Christmas light tour.”

  John is like a grumpy stand-up comedian, who is really just complaining about a lot of shit he hates, and people think it’s funny. I’m definitely enjoying him every time he turns the microphone back on.

  “This numb nuts over here actually went to jail for three days when he punched a guy, fighting over that blowup gingerbread ma
n at Walmart on Black Friday. Someone sing something festive!” John orders.

  Millie immediately stands up at the front of the trolley, and everyone screams, “Nooo!” With a huff, Millie sits right back down, and a nice rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins.

  “This is definitely something I wouldn’t want to miss.” I laugh, watching a few of the older guests, who must have dipped into the spiked drinks a little early, get up and start dancing in the aisles.

  “It wasn’t just that my family has a lot of traditions and gets to be a little much this time of year. A lot of times, I always feel like the odd man out. My mom and dad have each other, Jen has Brian, and then there’s Jason, the loser single bringing up the rear.” He laughs at himself, and I squeeze his hand that is still firmly clasped in mine. “It’s nice experiencing this stuff with someone else. Makes me appreciate it and enjoy it more. Even if it’s just this year.”

  Excuse me, could someone please remove this knife from my chest?

  “Why do you think Millie and I met when I was curled up in the fetal position in one of the bathrooms during a party at my family’s house? I never felt like I belonged at those extravagant things, so I’d make a quick appearance and then hide out in the bathroom the rest of the night,” I tell him. “It became our thing. She’d always have her driver go get us McDonald’s and bring it to us in the bathroom. We’d eat chicken nuggets, sitting on the floor in fancy ball gowns.”