It’s sex. I like coming. But that’s not why I came over here. Sarah wanted to talk to me, and this was a good opportunity because honestly, I’ve been meaning to talk to her as well.
The last thing I expected was for us to end up having sex on her rug.
And now I feel like shit, even as I enter my house and see Gabby up with Morris, entertaining the little cat with one of his toys; a stick with a feather on the end of it.
“Oh hey. Everything okay? You really should have let me drive you,” she says, and I feel guilty all over again.
I don’t owe her any explanations. She doesn’t know where I went, and yet I feel like I still need to tell her.
Should I?
No. That’s only going to make her mad. But why would it? She doesn’t want me anymore… but then again she had sex with me. That could have been a tension release.
She explicitly let me know she doesn’t want to get back with me, so why am I even bent out of shape about this?
Maybe I should just go to bed. No sense sharing a piece of information that’s not going to benefit anybody.
The next morning I wake up to sounds. Sounds like cutlery.
I head to the kitchen and see Gabrielle dancing. She put little decorations up a few days ago; nothing much, just a tiny Christmas tree for the counter, something small in the bathrooms the way she used to.
She was always great at decorating, but now it looks like she got an actual Christmas tree and dressed it. It looks like a fake one, but still; it’s gorgeous, and it’s lit up.
Sarah would do little things like that too, but not to this degree where the whole house felt like Christmas on Christmas Eve.
Morris, of course, is climbing to the top of the tree, playing with an ornament that looks like a fluffy ball hanging from it, trying to get it off.
The cat is successful and launches off the tree onto his feet, light as a feather, and runs past me when I try to grab him.
“Morris!” I call out, trying to grab the cat, but he’s gone. At that point Gabrielle turns around.
Her hair is in one long braid down her back, and when she sees me she gives me the brightest smile, and my heart just stops.
Just stops.
There’s music playing faintly in the background, and whatever she’s cooking smells amazing.
“Happy Christmas Eve,” she says, smiling.
She’s always happy on Christmas Eve.
It hurts, remembering how last Christmas Eve was depressing as hell because I spent it without her, since we were divorced. I spent it with Sarah after she came back from hanging out with her family, who she barely hangs out with.
All we did was drink hot chocolate and fuck each other and then watch Christmas movies. She ordered us a bunch of takeout and tried to bake a cake, which failed epically.
At the time, even through the pain, I thought it was cute. But even as I sat there with Sarah last year in bed as she sucked me off to make up for it, I kept thinking about Gabrielle, wondering what she was doing, wondering if that Christmas Eve she was under somebody else, making them smile, cooking a big breakfast for them just because she believes so heavily in Christmas spirit.
“You just going to stand there, big boy?”
I smile, and something comes over me. Strolling shyly up to her, I lean in to hug her, pulling her close.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I say quietly, just holding her, not wanting to let go.
Gabrielle pulls back after a while, still holding her smile.
“I was thinking… we can do the Christmas Bash. It’s pretty stupid, but I kind of miss doing it with you,” she says.
God. She’s in such a good mood.
