4. Christian

FOUR

CHRISTIAN

There were plenty in the attic, but they were a mess. Untangling them would take me all night, so I stuffed the decorations into a large box and took it with me. Two pairs of hands would do it sooner than one. Besides, if Milo really needed more decorations in his shop, he wouldn’t mind untangling them with me.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” I asked Dad.

“Absolutely,” he said, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the steps leading to the attic’s trap door. He reached up to take the box from me so I could get down safely. “We like to rotate them.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered under my breath.

“Come again?” Dad asked joyfully.

“Nothing. The house is beautiful,” I said. It was true. There was a massive sleigh perched on the roof of our house, drawn by the reindeer, with the first pair already flying upward, held so by a discreetly placed skeleton structure that was invisible at night when the lights glimmered madly.

I wondered what we looked like to an alien spaceship from my old comics. Were they scratching their heads up there and writing academic papers about the distress beams we put on every night for all of December? Did they have conferences with their leading experts guessing the evolutionary purpose of gingerbread houses?

“And you tell Milo he’s welcome to keep them,” Dad said. “I’ve been meaning to drive to Chicago to look for something new anyway. Something you don’t see around Christmas Falls every year.”

God save us all , I thought. If flying reindeer weren’t exciting enough, I feared the size of Dad’s ambitions.

Dad patted my shoulder after I took the box in both arms. We headed back through the hallway and down the stairs, where Mom had stretched Christmas lights all the way along the banisters, rounded the Christmas tree near the bottom of the stairs, and went out with a rather cheerful “Don’t wait up.”

After the shortest debate with myself, I tossed the box into the car. A light dusting of snow came from the sky and slicked the roads and sidewalks, which would have been just fine for an evening stroll had I not had this humongous box of decorations for Milo.

The drive was so short that my car barely heated up by the time I arrived in front of Milo’s Jingle Bites. The wrapped candy logo lifted my heart as if I were walking into a pillow fortress at the age of eleven.

It was a strange feeling. Almost unfamiliar. It had been a long time since I’d felt this sort of warmth spread through my chest.

I lifted the box and carried it from my car into my old friend’s shop, triggering the brass bell above the creaky door. The shop was empty until Milo stood up from behind the counter, making me jump back in surprise. He must have been on his knees.

“Hello, stranger,” he called with a dimpled grin that bore every ounce of familiarity that had once existed between us. Again, the same question crossed my mind. Can it be so easy? Because he sure made it seem easy. As if the last fifteen years hadn’t happened at all. As if we’d never grown apart.

“Greetings, shopkeeper,” I said, making him laugh instantly.

Dear God, when did I last make someone laugh like this? But I didn’t let that thought show itself on my face. It merely twisted my heart with regrets, but my smile stayed on. “I see you bring goods to trade,” Milo played along. “Let us barter, friend.”

A snort broke out of me as I sat the box on the counter. “They’re yours, free of charge. Consider it a welcome back gift from my family.”

Milo lit up. “Wonderful, but I’ll still trade you.” He produced a small basket of countless different chocolates in too many shapes and forms to count. There was a box there, individual bars, and plenty of unique pieces, each carrying Milo’s hand-drawn logo and type. “This is for your parents.” He slapped my hand away as I reached into the box to pick up a chocolate bar. “I’ve got something else for you.”

Actual giddiness filled me at the sight of mischief on his face. “Really?”

Milo shot me a look of ‘How dare you doubt me?’ He tilted his head toward the door in the back of the shop. I felt unworthy of walking into his kitchen as he led the way behind the counter and into the polished, clean area where he did his magic.

On a large platter, there were Christmas tree-shaped chocolates waiting for us.

“I’ve been trying something new with cherry syrup, but it kept ending up too sweet,” he said, a sliver of frustration crossing his face. “So I swapped the syrup for a cherry liquor. I think it works better this way. What do you think?”

I took a piece, and it smacked the soul out of my body for an instant. It tasted like winter and Christmas. It tasted like joy. This wasn’t a simple cherry liquor. There was something in it that tasted precisely how I would imagine the needless of a Christmas tree to taste if they were delicious.

“I think I’d like to apply for this job if you need a professional taste tester,” I said, reaching for another.

Milo beamed as he turned away, shrugging as if it was no big deal. “Good, then.” He said it casually, but his voice vibrated with happiness.

I ate the second piece before offering to untangle the decorations with Milo.

He looked at me a little shyly. “If you’re not in a hurry, I’d love that.”

I have nowhere to be. Nowhere at all , I thought.

“Why do you need more decorations anyway? This place is already glowing like Santa’s living room,” I said.

“Can’t a boy have a secret or two?” Milo winked.

“We never had secrets,” I mused, walking back to fetch the box.

Milo followed. “It’s a special project,” he said conversationally. “Is there such a thing as too much in a town like this?”

“I supposed you make a great point,” I said, my voice straining as I lifted the box. “Where to?”

“This way,” Milo said, leading through the narrow passage to a small studio on the side of the shop. “Don’t get lost in this vast maze.”

I laughed a little, holding it back a heartbeat later, and put the box on the table by the window. It offered us a view of the street between the shop and the town hall, snow falling steadily, fluttering in the air where the orange lights made it glow. “It’s cozy.”

Milo looked around. “Don’t know about that, but it’s good enough for a single guy.” He gestured at the chair. “See, I’ve got two. Battle-ready for guests.”

I sat down while he moved through the kitchenette and put some water to boil. On a small tray, he set out two mugs, one of which made my heart leap. “You still have it?” The words practically jumped off my lips.

Milo looked into my eyes, and time slowed down. The glimmering look in those big blue marbles of his grabbed my attention and held it captive. He licked his lips, dimples slowly emerging as he smiled. “Of course.”

I had bought him the snowman mug during the last Christmas festival in the town. By that time, we’d both known it would be our last. Milo’s parents had already made the arrangements to move away the following summer after Milo’s school year ended.

“I forgot about it,” I admitted.

He kept his smile on as he turned away from me and put teabags inside the mugs. He poured the hot water over the bags and brought the tray to the table, putting it next to the decorations. On the other side of the box, there was a clutter made of scissors, papers, and fountain pens. I figured Milo had to be making tags for his chocolate delicacies.

“Single, huh?” I mused.

“Erm, yes,” Milo said, his voice pitched higher like I was asking something awkward. “But I meant living alone.”

“Oh. Right,” I said, flashing him a grin. The ceiling was low and angled, and it matched the wooden floor. The kitchen was snug but enough for one guy, and there was a fairly large bed tucked in the corner on the other end of the room.

It made sense that Milo was single. He’d only just returned to Christmas Falls this summer and had a whole business to set up. Maybe a nasty breakup sparked this move. Or maybe I was just pretending that moving to your hometown after a nasty breakup was the reasonable thing anyone would have done.

I didn’t know what else to do. Laura’s tired face veiled in the cigarette smoke for the first time in two years since she’d quit, her hair a tangled mess, her weary eyes looking at me and looking through me. “I can’t go on like this, Christian.” She’d never used my full name except when she was dead serious, always falling back to Chris, which I disliked just as much.

“What do you mean?” I’d asked, heart sinking. That morning, I’d gotten a lukewarm promise that the company would contact me regarding the extension of my temporary contract after a review. I’d wandered the streets of New York until the evening, when I found Laura sitting by the window, much like the way Milo sat now, her ashtray full of cigarette butts and her face long.

“We’re so unhappy,” she’d said, quickening my heartbeat and making me open my mouth to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re not. I know you’re unhappy, Christian.”

“How can you possibly know that?” I demanded, thinking it would sway her.

“Seriously?” she asked, not raising her voice or even her empty gaze. “When was the last time we did anything together?”

“Laura, it’s hell out there,” I said. “I’m trying my best.”

She shrugged. “I guess your best just isn’t gonna cut it, Christian.”

I had nothing to say to that, but I’d riled her up enough to want a fight now.

“You never do anything nice anymore,” she said. “You used to buy me flowers. And no, Christian, it’s not about the flowers. I don’t need flowers, but it was nice to know you thought of me on your way home. And dates? When was the last time we went out on a date? I’ve been trying to invite Hannah and Bert for a double date, but you’re always too tired, too busy, too whatever.” She pressed the cigarette into the ashtray, crushing it with an ash-stained finger and giving it a twist before reaching for the pack. “And while we’re at it, maybe you don’t mind going six months without sex, but I do. I haven’t felt attractive since spring, Christian. And the last time we did anything, it felt like you weren’t even there. Like you weren’t with me. There. I said it.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came. I closed it.

“I don’t wanna be coldhearted, but I don’t even believe you when you tell me you love me. I’m sorry. I just don’t.” She lit her cigarette and inhaled a lungful of smoke.

“So, wh…what are you gonna do now?” I asked.

She looked at me, gaze moving slowly over my face, not finding whatever it was searching for. When she was certain it wasn’t there, she looked out the window and took a moment to let that sink in.

I didn’t know what she needed then. Had I thought she needed me to fall on my knees and cry that I truly loved her, I would have. Had I believed she needed me to lift her out of the chair, take her to bed, and show her what unrestrained passion looked like, I would have tried my best. But the truth was, she was right. Sex had never been great, but I’d accepted it. I’d decided it was just fine. You couldn’t have everything, and having lukewarm encounters instead of scorching ones was alright. The last time we’d made love, it had been the culmination of weeks of flirting followed by excuses. She had a headache; I was sleepy; watching TV until late in the night was fun for both of us; we had a few drinks, and I wasn’t feeling up to the job. When it happened, it felt obligatory. It felt like she’d given herself to me because of an unspoken expectation. And I had taken her because letting her go would have hurt her feelings.

But that was just sex.

She was right about the rest, too. She was right that I couldn’t make time for people coming over. What was I supposed to talk about? My inability to keep a job? The skyrocketing rents? The desperate feeling that if we scratched the surface, we would find that this relationship was held together with duct tape and necessity? They weren’t exactly dinner party topics.

“I’m moving in with my mother,” Laura said.

My mouth dried. “Laura…”

“Don’t,” she said. “Please. Let’s break up the way we always were together—without a fuss.”

Without passion , she meant. The words almost stabbed me, but I lacked the necessary passion to get angry.

It was a week later that I realized the very last thread that held me here was severed. The emptiness in me was so vast and dark that I couldn’t stay in New York and continue facing the size of my failures. They stared out at me from every shop window and mirror. They looked into my soul whenever I inhaled. They were everywhere around me.

I couldn’t afford to stay in the city. Not without asking my parents for help. And at twenty-eight, there were few things I wanted to do less than run to Mom and Dad for rent money. So you moved in with them instead , a voice told me.

“Huh?” I blinked, realizing that Milo had spoken.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

I considered it before answering. I was warm and fed, my bills were settled, my town was aglow, and my old best friend had magically returned to my life by sheer coincidence. “Yeah,” I said, a smile stretching my lips. “I really am.”

Milo’s gaze lingered on me for a few heartbeats, and then he pulled the box closer between us and began the work. “It’s such a strange feeling, right?”

I looked at him, not quite able to focus on my work while he was there. Something about his presence so near me simply held my gaze.

As if we were reading each other’s minds, he said, “There’s so much to catch up on that I don’t know where to start.”

I chuckled, and Milo joined me. “I feel the same.” Except, there were things I just didn’t want to talk about. Not even with Milo—or, especially not with Milo.

A long time ago, we’d played pirates, terrorizing the town elders with our antics. Back then, I had always been Captain Blackbeard, and Milo had always been my first mate. I wasn’t so sure if I had it in me to take the lead.

I racked my brain and came up with the simplest thing I could. “What made you come back?”

Milo’s long, slender fingers worked to untwine Christmas lights and roll them neatly again. He had a deliberate and decisive way of moving his hands like there was nothing he couldn’t do with them. “At thirteen, it’s much harder to make friends than when you’re eight or nine. And I mean real friends both in high school and college. So, after roaming around, I realized I felt like I was ripped out of here. No matter what I was doing, I wondered what it would have been had we stayed. I wasn’t built like you. I wasn’t meant for all that.”

That made me laugh darkly. “Right. Because it worked out so great in my case.”

Milo rolled his round shoulders in a shrug. “At least you did what you always said you’d do.”

I bit my lip. I’d spent those years telling him how I would leave this place. I’d dreamed of bigger things than Christmas Falls. “And I’m back where I started. You could say it was all a waste of time.”

Milo sucked his teeth and looked at me. “How could it be a waste of time? You’re richer with these experiences.”

I held my breath and wondered why I was so ashamed of telling him the truth. After all, if I couldn’t confide in Milo, was there anyone I could trust? Either he was the same old Milo I had once known, who would keep my embarrassments to himself, or he was a completely different person, in which case none of it mattered anyway. Carefully picking my words, I said, “All I have to show for it is a string of lost jobs and bad breakups.”

“Then we’re not so different at all,” Milo said with some sympathy but no pity for either of us. “Tell me.”

And so I did. I told him about Laura, not going into the details of underwhelming sex, and I told him about the jobs I did in New York where they always told me I was good but never good enough to be picked for the job. I told him how I returned here with my tail tucked between my legs and a feeling like I would never amount to anything filling my heart.

“Two years,” Milo said, almost as if congratulating me. “I never made it past three months, Christian. Serves me right for picking the wrong guys.” He looked at me fearfully when he spoke those words, observing me for any reaction.

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t realize.”

He still watched me intently, waiting for something.

I smiled my warmest smile for his benefit. “You shouldn’t have a problem finding a good guy in Christmas Falls.”

The relief on his face was heartbreakingly visible. Had he really thought something would change just because he was into guys? My words removed the last trace of worry from his face, smoothing out the creases of concern and replacing them with his soft and tender beauty.

Milo licked his lips. “I don’t know. I only ever wanted one guy, but that never would have worked.”

“Why not?” I separated some colorful trinkets into two piles, checking if any were damaged.

“He couldn’t love me the way I wanted,” Milo said wistfully. He picked up his mug. “Nobody can have everything.”

I spotted a cracked ornament and set it aside. “I’d say there’s plenty of fish in the sea, but I’m not so sure about that.”

Milo laughed, although it wasn’t the soft, melodic laughter from earlier. “Who’s got the time for dating?”

I did. I had all the time in the world, only not even the slightest interest in ruining two years of someone’s life the way I had Laura’s. I was out of that game. The truth I didn’t say to Milo, not because of some great secrecy but because it was a pitiful thing to acknowledge, was that I just didn’t know how to make someone happy. I didn’t know how to be the person they wanted.

I would rather be on my own than watch a person I loved go through the slow and painful process of falling out of love with me.

Something in me was broken, I was sure of it. Something that was intact in everyone else, that filled them with passion and drive, that made me wake up with a smile on their face and walk through life with an unwavering desire to dedicate themselves to another human being, simply didn’t work here.

In the weeks since Laura had left, I often wondered if I had mistaken my loneliness and the simple comfort of her company for love. Had I loved her, or had I been used to her?

But these questions were pointless.

I tried Milo’s tea. Like all things in here, it was no simple chamomile. The cinnamon and orange peel filled my body and my soul. The flavors of winter wrapped themselves around me, and everything seemed fine. Just now, in the small studio beside a little shop, in a town so small and far away from the world, life was good.