Bess
AJ and I fell into a routine that meshed with my usual steady, less-than-exciting life—early evenings spent by the fire, then dark and sweaty nights rolling together between the sheets before parting ways in the early hours of the morning. The air grew colder outside, snow falling daily on my little side of the mountain, but our passion burned bright inside my cabin. A few days turned into two weeks, and all of a sudden we were a couple.
He cooked for me, took me back to his house—the one he built with his own hands—and showed me all the rooms designed to hold a big family someday. I smiled and murmured my praise of his handiwork, but it all seemed presumptuous on his part.
We went to AA meetings and sat separately, hurrying home to reconnect physically as soon as they were over. It was a relationship based in convenience, but didn’t feel exactly that way when we were in the moment.
It felt passionate when we were together, but truthfully, who else wanted me?
Lane invited me to Florida. No, he didn’t. Not really. He was just being polite.
Was I settling? Was I confusing the first display of any physical attention in close to half a decade with passion and heat?
And what really gnawed at me was that I imagined somewhere deep down inside AJ, he felt guilt or some responsibility to see this through with me. He was my sponsor first and my lover second.
But it had been so long since I’d experienced affection of any kind. It was truly the first time my body responded so vibrantly to a man’s touch, I couldn’t stop whatever crazy train we were riding.
Our newly formed relationship met head-on with its first obstacle today, Christmas Day, December twenty-fifth. It was a day for family, friends, lovers, prayers, wishes and peace, and I was driving my usual route to work as dusk colored the sky pale pink and gray in anything but peace.
My warm breath created a smoky fog when it hit the cold air in the car, my gloved yet still-cold fingers fanned out over the wheel, my stomach tied in knots over my choice, but I had to do what I felt I had to do.
I was working. AJ wasn’t.
He wanted me to go to the dinner he was hosting for friends at his home. I wanted to work.
It was an argument that began in the middle of the night last week. AJ slid out of me, taking care to wrap me tight in the blanket as he went to dispose of the condom, and came back with a warm cloth to clean me up. Always the caring, thoughtful one, he turned to me and tucked a stray hair behind my ear as he whispered, “Christmas is just a few days away, Bess.”
“Really?” I said, somewhat teasing and a tiny bit sarcastic.
“Yeah, babe,” he said, his voice cracking with something I didn’t quite recognize.
I decided to try to lighten the odd tension I sensed building between us. “I got you a little gift!” I said while batting my eyelashes.
AJ threw his leg over mine, careful to not lay all his weight on me, and gripped my hip firmly, letting me know he wasn’t in the mood for joking. “Got you something too, but that’s not the point. I want you to come to my place for dinner. A bunch of us from the meetings, we all get together every year to avoid big boozing-up type parties. We cook and relax by the fire, and I need you there.”
“I’m working,” I whispered as I tucked my head under his chin, then placed a small kiss on his chest.
“Get out of it,” he murmured as he kissed the top of my head.
“I can’t, AJ. I work every year. You deal with the holidays your way, and I deal with them in mine.” I felt his body stiffen, and didn’t have the strength to look up and meet his eyes.
“Bess, that’s not fair. We’re together. I’m there for you, and I want you to be there for me. I want us to be together for the holiday, under the mistletoe.” He tucked his finger under my chin and brought my face up to meet his.
I shook my head. “I can’t, AJ. Please don’t push, but I need to work. It’s how I deal. I’m sorry, I know I’m letting you down, but I just can’t be with you on Christmas Day. I can come over for a little while when I finish up work, though.”
At this, he moved to get out of bed and slipped back into his jeans and flannel shirt. “Well, that sucks and I can’t accept that, Bess. You’re not my booty call. I have feelings for you beyond you stopping by at night.”
And then he left, just like that. The odd thing is, I didn’t even get up to watch him pull away.
Yet as I drove to work this morning, images of his truck pulling away kept blending with memories of my mom walking down the stairs and never glancing back.
It made me wonder—did he turn around and look behind him as he drove away?
Lucky for both my drab mood and myself, my shift started as soon as I changed at the WildFlower. The line for Christmas brunch snaked down the hallway from the restaurant. We were full with reservations, but there was no way we would turn away the families who showed up at the last minute—we would just hustle even harder.
Better for me. My mind will stay occupied.
The crisp white tablecloths were dusted with glittery fake snow, and candles glowed inside the poinsettia centerpieces. The room smelled like fresh pine thanks to the dozen or so fresh trees lining the perimeter of the dining room, decorated with shiny baubles and wide gauzy ribbon shot through with gold thread, and every so often I caught a whiff of eggnog from the special French toast on the buffet.
