After Christmas

by Anna Catherine Field

  “No,” I reply, pushing open the screen door, “I didn’t.”

  I’ve been looking for an excuse to quit, and Julian just gave me the perfect reason.

  It’s a testament to how much relief I feel about being done with the family business that I agree to go to the Dive later with my best friend Avery. Social media had been filled with chatter about people coming back for the holidays, and as soon as we walk through the door it’s obvious an impromptu Haven Island reunion is happening.

  The Dive is up on the north end of the beach; tourist location during the summer, local hangout the rest of the year. It’s been decorated for the holidays, the palm trees out front wrapped in colorful lights and large, shiny balls hanging from the fronds. Painted scenes decorate the windows; Santa and his reindeer, candy canes and elves. Christmas music, more rock than traditional, blasts from the speakers and the mood inside is jubilant.

  My brothers are all here, including Tillman, who is working behind the bar. He smiles when he sees me searching for a table. Miller and Van are in the middle of the room, surrounded by a group of friends. We find a booth in the back corner.

  “Can I sit on that side?” Avery asks, gesturing to the seat facing the room.

  “Sure.”

  I glance back and observe that Miller is in her direct line of vision. I roll my eyes at my friend. “Really?”

  “It’s not about Miller,” she replies, although we both know it is. She’s had an unrequited crush on my brother since middle school. “I just feel more comfortable with my back against the wall.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  There’s no point telling her that Miller is a lost cause. I have told her. Countless times. Miller is an irredeemable flirt. No serious girlfriends—ever. His longest relationship is with Julian, who is seated next to him. My brother’s best friend and partner in crime is the town’s other most notorious flirt, although, he has had a few serious girlfriends. Including the one sitting across the table from him, Shelby Rose. The grin on her face says exactly how happy she is that he’s home.

  Avery snorts. “I’ll stop obsessing over Miller when you stop obsessing over Julian.”

  I shoot her a glare. “I am not obsessed with Julian.”

  “He looks good though, I haven’t seen him in a while. College suits him.”

  I shrug. “I guess. Too bad his personality is still terrible. He’s such a jerk.”

  “Was he a jerk or were you just looking for an excuse to quit the business?”

  The waitress walks over, and we both order the Dive’s infamous bacon jam cheeseburgers and fries.

  “He was definitely a jerk. He basically kicked me out of the house,” I say. “But quitting is win-win for me. No more estate sales, I get to enjoy my Christmas break, and I can completely avoid Julian Edge.” The deadline for the After Christmas show is fast approaching, and I’ve barely done anything.

  “Is your mom mad?”

  I wrinkle my nose.

  “You haven’t told her, have you?”

  “No.” I look over my shoulder, seeing Julian nose to nose with Shelby Rose. “I may let him do that for me. Technically, he fired me, so it’s not exactly like I quit.”

  “I doubt your mom will look at it that way.”

  She’s right. Mom will be hurt, but she’s known this day was coming. It’s not my fault if she didn’t want to accept it.

  Our dinner comes, and we eat our juicy burgers, only pausing when friends drop by the table. It’s a good mix of people that still live around here and others that are just back for the break. The room gets louder as the night goes on, and from across the room I see Tillman breaking a sweat as he pushes out orders. Miller, Van, and Julian have moved over to the dart board. Back in the day they were champions, engaged in some long-time rivalry over who was the best player. As usual, a pack of girls cheer them on, including Shelby.

  “I guess she’s ready to pick back up right where she left off,” Avery says. “How long did they date?”

  “A while.” Two years. Junior and senior year, but he left her behind like everything else on the island when he went to college.

  “Maybe his mother’s house isn’t the only baggage Julian isn’t willing to unload.”

  The room grows hot, and the crowd around the dart board builds. When Avery spots an old friend across the room, I take the opportunity to head outside on the deck. There’s a small view of the ocean over the dunes, but the sound of the waves bounces off the nearby buildings. I inhale the fresh, salty air that never fails to soothe me.

  The door behind me opens, allowing music and voices to filter outside. I look back and exhale. Julian Edge stands in the doorway, hair tousled by the breeze. His jaw clenches like he’s considering turning around. I can’t allow that without a parting shot.

  “Did you come back out here to fire me again?”

  His eyebrow lifts. “If I heard you correctly earlier, I think you quit.”

  I lean against the railing, wondering if I should leave or not. Why should I? I was here first. To my surprise, he holds his hands up in surrender.

  “I came out here to get some fresh air—and some space.”

  “From Shelby Rose?”

  He grimaces and slides his hands into his coat pockets. “That obvious?”

  I shrug. “You don’t seem like you came back in town to rekindle relationships—you know, other than with my brother.”

  He laughs. “Miller is my ride or die. We’re solid if I live here or not.”

  “Is that a term dudes use to describe their relationships with one another?”

  “It is now.” He rocks back on his heels. “For the record, my sister is furious I told you to give me back the key and leave.”

  “Molly has always been the smart one.” I say it deadpan, but I finally admit, “You did me a favor anyway. It’s no big deal.”

  “Is that what you mean by not wanting to do this anymore? You’re quitting the business?”

  “I’m in art school now, and I’m just not into it anymore. I don’t want to spend all my time going through people’s things. It depresses me. I want to create, build, and explore. I can’t do that if I’m constantly surrounded by other people’s musty, old junk.” I wrinkle my nose. “Sorry—"

  “No, I get it, more than anyone, I get the need for the outside world.” He tilts his head. “Congrats on art school. I know it’s something you’ve always wanted.”

  He did? “I’m just in Savannah and still living at home, but I do have plans on getting my own place.”

  “In town?” His interest perks.

  “No. Why would I move in town? I have everything I need here? The beach, my family, friends.” I shrug. “I’m content here.”

  He runs hand through his hair. “Except for work, right? This was going to be your last job?”

  “Yes, like I said, I was doing my mom and Molly a favor.”

  The door swings open and music pours out on to the deck. Shelby, all blonde hair and long legs, stands in the doorway with a perky smile on her face. “There you are. It’s your turn to throw.”

  Julian and I share a look. His pleading, like he wants me to save him.

  Not a chance.

  “You better get in there,” I tell him. “Your ride or die is waiting.”

  He glares, knowing I’m tossing him under the bus. I lift my chin, daring him to challenge me. He doesn’t take the bait, walking back inside with Shelby, and leaving me alone on the deck.

  Although I may have won that round with Julian Edge, for some reason it doesn’t feel like it.

  4

  Julian

  They showed up at seven a.m. armed with dust cloths, garbage bags, and little square price tags. I’m still half asleep when I walk into the kitchen, and Molly shoves a bacon and egg biscuit from the Sugar Bowl in my hand. I stare at it, feeling the warm heat burning through the paper wrapper. It’s the perfect meal to revive me after a day of traveling and hanging out until two a.m. with Miller on the back
porch of the bar.

  It’s also a bribe.

  I consider eating it anyway. My mouth is watering, but then I see Ms. Fleetwood carrying a lamp that has always sat on the end table in the living room into the den, and my appetite vanishes.

  “Where is she taking that?” I ask Molly, who is sorting through a box of what looks like mismatched silverware. “What are you doing with that silver?”

  “Julian, we talked about this,” she says. “Neither of us need, or want, any of this.”

  What she says is rational—or at least I know it should be—but seeing everything in disarray and the price stickers…my heart starts to pound and sweat coats the back of my neck.

  “You said we were just going to go through some things. I haven’t had a chance to pick out what I want.”

  “You’ve had weeks, months, really. Even before mom,” she swallows, “died. You just didn’t want to deal with it.”

  “Well, I’m here now. So let’s deal with it.”

  She holds my eye and then throws her hands in the air, “Fine, what do you want?”

  I look around the room, overwhelmed. On first reaction, I don’t want any of it, but at the same time, I want all of it. Right where it belongs, right where it’s always belonged. But Molly and Ms. Fleetwood are moving things, and I can’t remember if something is missing, or what it looked like. My heart kicks up a notch, and on impulse, I reach out and grab the box of silverware. “I need these.”

  She rolls her eyes. “For what?”

  “I just do.” Spurred by what I know are irrational emotions, I pace around the room. I spot a figurine of a frog. I snatch it off the table. “And this.”

  “Jules…” Molly’s voice seems far away. I can barely hear it over the pounding in my chest.

  “Where did she put that lamp,” I say, barging out the door and into the den. I see the lamp with a price sticker on it. Five dollars.

  Five dollars?

  This lamp is magnificent. It’s brass and has engravings on the side. The shade is a little dusty, but I can clean that.

  “Excuse me,” I say to Ms. Fleetwood, who watches me carefully, “This is not for sale.”

  She frowns, eyes assessing the lamp. “Are you sure? Lamps like that aren’t much of a commodity these days. People prefer something a little more modern.”

  “Good, then no one will care if I take it.” I grab the base of the lamp and jerk the cord from where it’s coiled on the floor.

  “Honey, I know this is a challenge and maybe moving a little fast for you. Unfortunately, we’re just on a timeline with the holidays approaching. Can we sit down and talk things over?”

  I try to take a breath. Try to say something rational, but I open my mouth, and nothing comes out. Nothing. It’s like the words are frozen, lodged in my throat.

  “Ma,” Tillman says, walking in the room wearing a Fleetwood Estates shirts. “We got the truck ready to head to the dump. What needs to go?”

  Ms. Fleetwood cuts them a look, and they both glance over at me, seeing the lamp, and the box, and what I assume is a panicked look on my face.

  “The dump?”

  “It’s just garbage, honey.” Her hand touches my arm, the one holding the lamp. I roughly jerk away. Instantly, I see the hurt on Ms. Fleetwood’s face, and in that swift moment, everything seems too much.

  I storm to the door, shoving the lamp into Van’s chest and the box into Tillman’s. Glancing down, I see the biscuit in the box and grab it before leaving the house.

  “Julian, dude,” Tillman calls. “Come back, man.”

  “Let him go,” Molly says, exasperated.

  I propel myself forward, clenching the greasy, wrapped biscuit in my hand and walking down the street. I pass the Fleetwoods' house and the bed and breakfast next door owned by Robinsons. I cut through a small alley that I know leads two blocks over. The one we used to catch lizards in when I was a kid.

  The alley has a narrow, dirt road, and the houses that back up to it are still historic, just not the larger officers' homes like mine. Most are decorated for the holiday, wreaths on the front doors, garland across the white picket fences, trees on the front porches and in windows.

  My mother loved Christmas—all holidays, actually. As kids, we didn’t mark time by the calendar, but by the flags that she hung on the porch. Valentine's, St. Patrick’s, Easter. Red, white, and blue covered the summer months; from Memorial to Labor Day. Fall meant the colors changed to oranges and yellows. Located so far south, the seasons weren’t harshly defined on Haven Island, and Mom made sure they were acknowledged.

  But Christmas was different. She loved it the most, and among the other decorations, she placed several trees around the house where she hung both antique and new ornaments from the limbs.

  I swallow back the lump in my throat, realizing that with everything going on at the house, it won’t be decorated for the first time in decades. And that it will be my first Christmas without her.

  I pass the small backyards where all my friends and neighbors lived growing up. In weeks, they won’t be that anymore. Once Christmas is over, the house will be empty, then sold, then gone forever.

  Isn’t that what I want? To be away from Haven Island forever?

  My heart rate evens out as I walk down the quiet roads. A black and white cat darts between the bushes. and I glance over, looking down a skinny path. The cat runs down the trail, and at the end I see more cats milling around and a small, child-sized house. I also see a girl sitting on the edge of a small block of cement.

  Collins.

  I stare down the long pathway tucked between the houses and watch her quietly sit among the cats. I shouldn’t be surprised. The semi-feral island cats have always been her passion.

  She her hand runs down the back of a calico, and glances up, noticing me. It’s an awkward moment because I know there’s no reason to stop. Collins and I have never been friends. She’s always just been Miller’s tag-along sister. She’d never had much patience for us together, and although I’d noticed when she moved out of her kid phase of gangly legs and a too-big nose, the girl I threw out of my house the day before is way past that now. Miller’s little sister isn’t just cute, she’s gorgeous.

  I’m not sure if it’s my need of somewhere to hide or the fact I’m a glutton for punishment that propels me down the path toward her—but that’s what I do.

  The cats scatter when I arrive, slinking into the bushes and watching me from a few feet away. They eye me as skeptically as Collins, who clips the top of a bag of kitty chow, gives me a curious look.

  “I see you’re still the resident cat lady,” I say, in a possibly unfortunate opening.

  “Unless you came to share that biscuit with me, I’m not sure why you’re here.”

  I look down at my forgotten breakfast, clutched tight in my fingers. I hand it over. “It may be a little smashed.”

  She takes it, our fingertips brushing during the handover. Collins scoots over, giving me a spot to sit. It’s an odd gesture, but I take it. I have nowhere else to go. Obviously not home.

  She unwraps the sandwich and gasps. “What did you do to this poor biscuit?”

  I run a hand through my hair. “I may have had a meltdown up at the house.”

  “A meltdown.”

  “Yes, a temper-tantrum-y meltdown.” I sigh and drop my head into my hands. “I declared my need for a box of mismatched silverware, snatched an ugly lamp out of your mother’s hands, and shoved both at Tillman and Van when I ran out the door.”

  She pulls off a crumb of bread and pops it in her mouth. “So you’re still having a hard time cleaning out the house.”

  “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Then don’t do it. Let Molly take care of it.” She holds up the wrapper and offers me some. I pull out a piece of bacon.

  “But what if she gets rid of something important?”

  A cat inches over, probably from the smell of the food. He runs his body across Collin’s legs li
ke he’s marking his territory. She offers him a small crumb and he sniffs it.

  “What’s going on here, Julian? You don’t live here anymore. You don’t want the house. It has to be cleaned out…”

  “It’s just moving too fast. It’s not just stuff; but it’s my mom’s stuff. It was all really important to her. I keep thinking about how upset she would be about all of this. About people being in her house touching her things—about Molly and I throwing out stuff we know is,” he swallows, “was important to her.”

  “It sounds like she passed on her value of 'stuff' to you.”

  A familiar knot twists in my stomach. I look down at a second cat that has inched over, sniffing my boots. “Maybe.”

  Her long, dark hair falls over her shoulder as she scratches the chin of the cat at her feet. The move reveals her neck, pale and slim, and a thin clasp of a chain. She turns her head and eyes me. “If you want some advice from someone who has done this a few times…”

  My jaw sets. “I really don’t.”

  She shrugs, drops the remainder of the biscuit crumbs on the ground and stands. After a few comments to the cats, she grabs her cat food bag and starts down the path without another word.

  What’s wrong with me? Why am I being such a jerk? Collins is just trying to help, and for some reason, she’s the only one willing to talk me through this. My heart pounds like a warning as she walks away. For some innate reason, I know if she turns that corner, I’ll regret it.

  Just before she gets to the street, I stand up and call, “Wait.”

  She pauses, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

  “I’d love some advice, if you’re willing to give it.”

  Collins waits for me to catch up to her before she dives in. “Start with the stuff you know is garbage. Actual garbage. Then the recycling. Then move to the next phase and get rid of the things you know you can’t use. Clothing, shoes, that sort of thing. If you take it step-by-step, you’ll start to see the things that really call out to you—the stuff you really want, as well as the stuff you really don’t."

  What she says makes a lot of sense. “You’re saying I need to have a plan.”