“We usually go to my aunt’s on Christmas Day. It’s a sort of family tradition. But my cousins are a bit obnoxious. I’m just not sure I’ll feel fully... festive if I spend it with them.”
My heart backflips as an idea lands. “Well, hey, since we’re both avoiding our families, why don’t we spend it together?”
She kisses me. “I’d love that. Just got to... let Mum and Dad know.”
“I don’t want to cause any—”
“No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “It won’t be a problem, I promise.”
A few moments pass. Then she gets up and moves toward the window. Lowers the blinds, asks me to switch off the lights. I oblige.
She squats down and plugs in the fairy lights we’ve draped across the tree. A mini supernova erupts, washing the walls with a multicolored glow. “Maybe this is the year we start seeing Christmas differently,” Callie whispers.
I push away all thoughts of the future, and the past. Because in this moment, tonight, I’m happier than I’ve felt in a long time. “I think you could be right.”
41.
Callie
In the end, the only way I could square spending Christmas Day with Joel was by agreeing to go to Mum and Dad’s for dinner on Christmas Eve so they could meet this mystery man of mine. I think a small part of Mum didn’t believe he even existed.
Joel delighted them, of course. He asked all the best questions, laughed at Dad’s jokes, spoke warmly to Mum.
Before we left, as Joel was using the bathroom, Mum whispered to me, “Well, I think he’s lovely, darling. Very down-to-earth.”
Meanwhile Dad, with his arm around Mum’s shoulders, said, “Nice lad.” And their shared smile in that moment was all the approval I needed.
•••
I wake on Christmas morning to the sound of clattering in the kitchen. Heading in there, I find Joel barefooted in jeans and a checked shirt, staring blankly at a saucepan. Murphy’s sitting hopefully at his feet.
Joel glances over his shoulder and smiles. “I was going to ask how you like your eggs, but there’s a flaw in the plan.”
I hop onto a stool. “What’s that?”
“I have no idea what to do with eggs.” He breaks into a grin, passes me a Buck’s Fizz. “Will this make up for it? Happy Christmas.”
•••
Lunch goes more smoothly than breakfast, mainly because Joel’s had the foresight to purchase the entire contents of a supermarket freezer aisle, so it’s simply a case of dividing it between oven and microwave. I get a twist of guilty pleasure as I think of what my mum—home cooking’s sternest advocate—would say if she knew we were cooking preroasted potatoes, gravy from granules, and bread sauce from a packet that pings when it’s done. Something about it feels deliciously rebellious.
When I tell him this on the sofa after lunch, Joel grins. “If using a microwave is what you think of as rebellious, your parents gotverylucky.”
“Oh, they still haven’t seen my tattoo.”
“Don’t think they’d approve?”
“You do remember my tattoo, don’t you?”
For a few moments he holds my gaze, then says softly, “Not sure. Maybe I need a quick reminder.”
My stomach is all flames as I smile and oblige, lowering my jeans to reveal the inked patch of skin. Joel leans forward and then his mouth is on mine, the most heartfelt of kisses, before he draws away, starts to trace the bird’s outline with a single finger. At least a minute passes before slowly, gently, he works his hand down inside my jeans, inching lower and lower without once breaking eye contact. He lets his fingers brush the edges of my underwear again and again, a tease so prolonged it’s almost unbearable. And then, finally, he moves his hand between my legs, whereupon I roll back my head and close my eyes, soar off high into the sky.
•••
“I got you something,” he murmurs later, breath sweet and warm against my hair, one finger still tracing the ink on my hip.
He fetches a gift from beneath the tree. Sitting up, I feel his eyes on me as I unwrap it and break into a smile. It’s a carafe and two tumblers,identical to the ones we drank from that night at the Italian restaurant, before my interview at Waterfen.
