Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

“Seriously? You’re siding with Jason?” I said to Kay later in the week as we both virtually climbed our way to Mount Everest from the warmth and safety of stair machines in the gym. We tried to meet up here three times a week after work. Kay took her workouts seriously, which kept me honest. There was no slacking on her watch.

“Of course I’m siding with Jason.” Panting, Kay shrugged. “It’s a city.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I huffed out my words with ten minutes left in my workout. God, please help me finish. This is brutal. But I’d eaten a box of Twinkies for lunch, so now it was time to pay up.

“In a city,” she replied, “you get access to incredible restaurants, art, culture, and vibes, but with it comes crime, gross smells, weirdos, too much traffic, and the homeless. It’s part of the deal.”

“The guy is literally a foot from my garage, and I have to get out of my truck to open it, not to mention, I have to walk all the way to the back stairs to get inside.” Our building didn’t have direct access to the garages, which were four separate spaces. You had to use the concrete stairs that ran between our building and the building next door. At the bottom of the stairs was a steel gate leading to the alley.

“You’re always complaining about your apartment building. So move.”

“Pfft! To a new skyrise condo like yours?” No character. No charm. Just lots of stainless steel, elevators, and shiny new tile. I loved older buildings. They had personality that made the neighborhood unique.

“You’d probably save four or five hundred a month,” she pointed out. “Plus, secure underground parking and a security guard.”

“No thanks.” Though, I might have to consider moving soon if the owners—some big company—raised the rent again. If it weren’t for the place being one block from my favorite coffee shop and Christmas boutique, plus a short commute to work, which I did by bus when the weather wasn’t a ball-freezer, I would have moved already.

“Meri, I can get you a rental in my building. My company manages the property. You just need a steady job and good credit, which we both know you have.”

Good job, perfect credit. Never missed a payment.

She added, “Just say the word, and I’ll find you a place. Even an old crappy one like you have now.”

“Hey,” I protested, “just because something’s old doesn’t make it crappy. But thank you.”

“What are friends for? Especially if it helps you get to the finish line faster. If you get there.”

She meant that she still didn’t believe I’d keep my word about not spending myself into the poorhouse for Christmas. Even though we were talking again, things were still tense between us, almost like Kay was pre-angry and fully expected to be let down again. Guilty until proven innocent.

“I’ll get there,” I said. “In fact, I’m going to my storage unit this weekend to sort through all of my stuff. Want to come?”

“Can’t. Going to hang out with my sister. She’s pregnant.”

“Again?” I said.

“Yep. Number four.”

“Jesus. She’s a year younger than us.” I started pumping my legs faster on the stair machine, making my large tatas bounce all over the place.

“I know, but why are you doing that?” Her eyes darted to my feet and then to my chest. “Jeez. Go easy on the girls, Meri. They might fall off.”

“I’m getting oxygen to my ovaries. It could be a while until I put them to use.” I didn’t even have a boyfriend.

She laughed. “Not sure it works that way, but the exercise can’t hurt since cookie season is coming.” She paused. “Oh, by the way, I started seeing someone.”

I stopped climbing.

“Guy from work,” she added.

My jaw dropped. “Coffee guy?”

She smiled. “He’s dinner guy now. Also breakfast. Two times.”

My eyes went wide. “Ohmygod. That’s great. Why didn’t you tell me?” She’d been pining for him for months, trying to work up the courage to tell him she was interested without it getting awkward. Dating at work wasn’t easy these days. Lots of HR landmines. But how else were people our age supposed to meet other dysfunctional, horny, semi-responsible adults to settle down with?

“I didn’t want to jinx it, but he’s…wonderful.” Her cheeks began glowing to a rosy, smitten shine. “I even let him go down on me.”

The guy on the stair machine next to her looked over and grinned, giving a nod of approval.

“Mind your business, perv,” I barked and then looked at Kay. “Big step. I’m proud of you.” Like me, she had her hang-ups. Hers were mostly rooted to the fact her parents refused to let her have a phone, razor, or makeup until she was eighteen. Super-hippies. She’d never even tried meat until she was thirteen. My ham sandwich. Anyway, I helped her defy them any chance I got, as a good teenager and best friend should, but there wasn’t much I could do about her razor situation. I gave her one every time my mom bought me a pack, but she had to decide when to use them. Summertime was always the worst for her because her parents would know if she’d shaved since we spent lots of time at the pool. Unfortunately, her first boyfriend, at the age of sixteen, discovered the hard way what she had going on down there. Seventies bush. Wild, unfettered, womanly jungle meant only for the most seasoned explorer.

He had not come armed with a machete.

Nor had he been prepared for a mouthful of bristly foliage.

Yet the fool had gone diving in with an open mouth, like an eager child attacking an ice-cream cone. What happened next was a nightmare of gagging and coughing since he’d apparently inhaled a curlicue. Kay never recovered from the event, even if she’d taken control of her life after high school. The woman had a punch card for Brazilian waxes.

“So, was it good?” I asked, snapping my eyes toward the interloper next to us, who was now pretending not to listen.

“It was better than good.” She leaned toward me. “In fact, he asked me to, you know, grow it out a little, and I did.”

“What? Wow, Kay! You have a baby bush now?”

Proudly, she nodded. “I do. I mean, it’s just a landing strip—for, like, a small Cessna—two prop max, but he’s super into it. And honestly, I’m liking the break from the pain.”

I’d bet. “So when do I get to meet him?”

“I dunno. It’s all still new. Maybe give us a week or four months?”

Huh? “Kay, I have to meet him.”

She looked away.

“What?” I knew her, and this was a clear sign that she didn’t want to say something. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

She groaned. “He’s a Buddhist.”

Buddhist? “And?”

“Well, he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, Meri.”

Holy crap. Was my best friend telling me that she didn’t think I’d get along with a person, her possible future person, because he wasn’t into Christmas?

“Kay, how can you say that? You know me. I mean, yes, I loooove Christmas, but I’m not going to shun the man of your dreams if he’s anti-Santa or not a Jesus groupie.” Like my parents. I mean, how many crucifixes did one house need? Last time I’d counted, they had eighty-three Jesuses on the cross pegged to the living room wall. Blue-eyed Jesus, bleeding Jesus, angelic Jesus, Black Jesus, and my personal favorite, Latin lover Jesus with the tan and amazing six-pack. They had every flavor imaginable.

“You sure about that?” Kay asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why?” I asked.

“Mike,” she said.

My latest ex? “What about him? He loved Christmas.”

“No. He liked Christmas. Like a normal person. But the moment he told you that he wanted to spend the holidays in Canada with his parents, who only celebrate with a simple family dinner, you started talking yourself out of being with him.”

“Not true. He dumped me because he said I was too uptight,” I argued.

“Exactly. You’re so obsessed with Christmas that you’ve literally forgotten the entire point.”

“Oh, shut up, Miss Bah Hum Booger. I get the point just fine.”

“And yet,” she said, “I’m terrified that you’ll try to talk me out of dating Lick. The moment you two meet, you’ll start gushing over your party plans, and you’ll brag about your decorations.”

“Hold on. Back up. His name is Lick? And he went down on you?” I bit the inside of my cheeks, trying not to laugh.

“See! This is why I didn’t want to introduce you,” she snapped. “And for the record, Leonardo is his real name. Lick is some family nickname.”

Did I want to know why? Yes, yes, I did. But that could wait. “So you were afraid I’d tease your new man, Lickasaurus?”

She gave me a hateful look. “I know you’ll tease him. And then scare him off with your psychotic relationship with the month of December.”

“I won’t deny my addiction, but I don’t see why that concerns him?”

“He won’t share your enthusiasm, and you’ll feel like it’s a slap. Then you’ll be calling him a hater.”

I gasped. “No, I won’t.”

“Meri, it’s time someone told you the truth.” She got down from her machine and stepped closer to me, lowering her voice. “It’s one thing to want to celebrate your special day, but you have to stop obsessing over Christmas. And before you accuse me of being a hater, let me clarify: Christmas is not about parties, decorations, or gifts, it’s about opening your heart to others. It’s a feeling, not a thing. And the only way to feel it is by giving from the heart. Not material things, but heart things. Actual kindness from the soul.”

“I’ve gone to five weddings and eight baby showers in twelve months.” Everyone I knew seemed to be getting married or starting families. “Do you have any idea how many gifts that is? All I do is give, give, give from the heart all year round.” Why was she saying such ugly crap to me? Hater.

“You are a generous person, but during the holidays, the merry Meri monster takes over. You try to mesmerize everyone with your elaborate decorations and wow them with the expense of it all. But if you really wanted to give, you’d do it without expecting anything in return, including validation.”

I felt like Kay had holiday punched me in the chimney chute. Sure, I liked receiving compliments about my masterful decorating skills, but I didn’t need validation. My deep love of Christmas was what drove me. And I couldn’t believe she didn’t want me to meet her non-Christmassy boyfriend.

“I swear to you,” I said, “if you introduce me to Lick, I won’t even mention the word Christmas, okay? Why don’t you guys come over for dinner after you get back from seeing your sister? I’ll make lasagna. He can eat that, right?”

She gave me a look.

“What? I don’t know if he’s, like, a super-vegetarian Buddhist or one of those holiday-only religious people like me.” My parents were super Catholics, but I pretty much phoned it in all year except for major holidays. Drove my mom crazy. But I figured that God made me church lazy, so he didn’t mind.

“I think it might be better if we find neutral ground—ease him into the world of Meri since you’ll already have your decorations up.”

“Whatever you think’s best.” I smiled contentedly, ready to prove myself. I could let go of Christmas and act like a normal person who enjoyed the holidays but whose life didn’t revolve around them.

Couldn’t I?

“Oh,” Kay added, “you can meet him at Friendsgiving. You’re coming, right?”

She held it every year on Thanksgiving since neither of us went to our parents’ until Christmas. Our town was a five-hour drive in the mountains if the weather was good.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied.

“But you know the rules, Meri. You have to bring a plus one.”

“No…” I whined. “This again?” She knew I wasn’t seeing anyone.

“It’s tradition. We all have to bring a person who’s flying solo for Turkey Day.”

It was a nice tradition, but I hated the task of asking around the office or texting my level-two friends—aka “good friends” but not best friend—to see if anyone would come with me. “Fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s my girl,” she said. “Now move your ass. You still have five minutes to go on the machine to burn off whatever crap you ate for lunch. It was a Twinkie, wasn’t it? I can see the guilt on your hips.”

More like twelve Twinkies, but who was counting?