My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories

“It’s a pretty good fit,” I managed to say.

She made it so our fingers were linked and, for a few long seconds, we just looked at each other. I glanced at her lips before forcing myself back to her eyes. Her face grew more serious, and she cleared her throat softly. “I have to admit something. It’s kind of bad.”

“Uh-oh,” I said, nervous she was going to pull the plug.

“I didn’t really procrastinate. I bought my plane ticket home weeks ago.”

In my drunken state it took me a few seconds to realize what she was saying. She’d chosen not to go home. Which meant she was avoiding something. Possibly someone. My heart pounded against the inside of my chest.

“I just never went to the airport,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m a coward.” She scooted a little closer to me on the couch. “Do you think less of me now?”

“Why would I?” I said.

She shrugged. “What are you thinking, then?”

I swallowed and stared at my drink for a couple seconds. When I looked back up at her I said, “I’m thinking about what it would be like to kiss your cheek.”

Haley breathed deeply and squeezed my hand. “Maybe you should find out.”

But when I leaned in, aiming for just inside her left ear, she turned suddenly and I ended up kissing her on the lips instead.

It was just a peck and then I pulled back and looked at her. Both our eyes locking on each other’s and our chests going in and out and in and out. Without thinking, I took her face in my hands, gently as I could, and I kissed her again. Longer this time. Not a peck, but the real kind. And she kissed me back.

She shoved me onto my back, still kissing me, her hands gripping wildly at my hair, mine slowly moving down her warm body. “What are we doing?” she breathed into my ear.

“I don’t even know,” I said, and then we were kissing again.

I got lost in it. Her lips. Her touch. Me and Haley. She’d made me dinner, and now we were together on her couch. It didn’t seem possible. And for a few seconds, my amazement pulled me out of my body. I found myself hovering up near the ceiling, watching everything unfold in awe. But then I forced myself to focus on her lips again, and the feel of my hands on her stomach, and I rematerialized.

It was all so … alive.

I felt like I was breathing the world into my lungs.

In a few minutes, I flipped her onto her back and pinned her arms. And I pulled away and just stared at her, both of us breathing, wanting more.

“What is it?” she said.

“I wonder more things,” I told her.

She closed her eyes and slowly opened them. “I know you do, but…”

“Like how it would feel to be with you.”

When she didn’t answer, I lowered my face toward hers and we kissed some more, but this time I felt this surge of energy so powerful my mind slipped away completely, and I reached up and undid her blouse, one button at a time, and then I reached around her back and undid her bra clasp.

That’s when she stopped me.

She turned her head and spun out of my grip and immediately started re-clasping her bra and buttoning her blouse.

“Oh, shit.” I watched her, my stomach flooding with nervous butterflies. “Shit, I went too far, didn’t I?” When she didn’t answer right away, I said, “Haley?”

She stood up and covered her face with her hands for a few seconds. When she removed them, her expression was worried. “What am I doing?”

“It was totally my fault,” I said.

She started to pick up our still half-full wineglasses, then she put them back down and went to the door and pulled it open. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Shy. I’m sorry.”

“I apologize, Haley. I got carried away—”

“Just, please,” she said, cutting me off.

And she wouldn’t look at me. That was maybe the worst part of all. If she’d have just looked at me, then she’d know how sincerely apologetic I was, and everything would be okay. But she never did.

“Okay.” I moved through the door, into the hall. I hit the elevator button and stared at my shoes, listening to her door click closed behind me.

Christmas Day

Haley didn’t come down for a shower on Christmas morning.

I waited around in the living room on the couch next to Olive, listening for her knock, but it never came.

I stared at the text of my novel, but really I was analyzing the night before, from every possible angle. It always came down to the same thing: me. I knew she had a boyfriend. Yeah, maybe the fact that she didn’t fly home meant they were on the rocks or whatever, but still. I’d taken it too far.

Why’d I have to be that guy?

The one who always wanted more?

I didn’t call home until noon because of the three-hour time difference. I talked to my dad a little, but mostly I talked to my sis. Merry Christmas, we both told each other. She described all the food she was making, and how Pops was driving to Chula Vista to pick up Grandma, who had promised to bring a big stack of tortillas. Then they were going to drive up to the cemetery with flowers. “It won’t be the same without you,” my sis told me.

“Yeah.”

“No, I’m serious, it’ll be the first time I’ve ever gone there without you.” She paused. “You better not be spending today alone, Shy. Because that would just be sad.”

“Oh, hell no. A few friends are coming over and we’re baking a ham and shit. It’s gonna be legit.” I switched the phone from one ear to the other. “I still wish I was with you guys, though.”

“By the way, Peanut’s tooth is better. We can tell ’cause he’s constantly hounding us for food again. Which you started.”

I smiled, remembering how I used to sneak Peanut my dinner scraps on the sly.

We talked a little more, about my old man, who she claimed was doing better, too, and then I told her I had to go get ready for my friends. We said our good-byes, but before she could hang up I said, “Oh, and Sofe?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay away from dudes.”

I showered with the door open and put on the best shirt I’d packed for cat sitting, and I even put some of Mike’s gel in my hair, trying to tame my crop. Then I sat with the cat and read my book, though secretly I was still listening for a knock.

Snow-Covered Stoop

I woke up from a nap to the sound of Olive scratching at the front door.