Page 16 of A Very Cheeky Christmas

I quickly get myself dressed, finger-brush my teeth and go in search of fat and caffeine. As I pass through Andrew’s living room, I stop at his Christmas tree. The colored twinkly lights are already lit, illuminating the various ornaments.

It’s not a professionally decorated tree like they have at department stores. There are no matching, colored glass balls or specific color schemes or themes. No, these are ornaments that clearly mean something to him.

There are ones that look as if made by a small child. An upside-down palm print painted onto a card and then made to look like a reindeer. One of the googly eyes has fallen off though.

Then there are several from all over as if he collected them as he’d traveled to different places. This is what a Christmas tree is supposed to be. Not those manufactured ones I grew up with where a team of servants would put together something so perfect looking. You were never allowed to touch it or even stand too close.

A sense of longing I don’t quite understand surges inside of me and my eyes start to sting.

“Come’er, sweet thing. I made coffee. I know you love coffee,” Andrew calls from the kitchen.

How does he know that? I mean aside from everyone generally liking coffee. So it’s a decent guess. But when I get into the kitchen, he has my favorite creamer out on the counter as well as the special no-calorie sweetener I use.

He holds out a mug to me. “Here, darlin’,”

“Thank you.” I take a sip and it’s perfect. Before I can ask him how he knows how I take my coffee, there’s a ringing sound that blares through the kitchen.

“That’s them,” he says, giving me a wink. “Come meet my family.”

“I should get dressed first,” I say. Then skirt away from him. Once I’m back in his room I put my bra on under the scrub shirt I’d already tossed on. My panties from yesterday are in less than great shape so I put them on inside out, then pull up my scrubs. I toss my dark hair up into a messy bun, then quickly wash my face.

I creep out into the living room and listen.

“I still can’t believe you’re not coming home until after New Year’s,” one of them says, his sister, maybe. “I think this is the first time you’ve missed.”

“No, you remember, Audrey. There was another year when he couldn’t come because all the flights were cancelled due to weather,” an older man says. Probably Andrew’s father.

“But he’s got the narwhal to keep him company,” the sister says again.

Narwhal? What kind of narwhal is he going to be spending time with?

“When do we get to see her for ourselves?” an older woman asks.

Wait. Her?

My breath catches in my chest as it hits me.

I’m the narwhal.

Wow, he called me a fucking narwhal? Like, okay, I guess that’s better than just being a regular whale because narwhals are pretty cool with their horns. But still, a whale.

He called me a whale.

This guy that I thought was so amazing. So kind and funny. Too good to be true.

Right.

What’s that old saying? If someone seems too good to true, they probably are. Well, that’s certainly true.

I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit, and here he is telling his whole family he bagged a fat chick.

I step into the room.

“There she is. Come meet my family, sweet thing,” Andrew says, holding his hand out to me.

The contrast between his tone and his words is so sharp it’s like a slap in the face. For one horrible minute, I don’t think I can walk out of here. Certainly not without bursting into tears.

But I can’t do that. I can’t let him get the better of me.