2. Bastian

BASTIAN

“No, no, no! That’s the wrong tree! What are you, morons? Take it down before I fucking scream!”

Sterling had arrived at our palatial loft apartment in a bad mood. I knew he would. Not simply because he’d left all his Christmas shopping to the last minute and would now have to battle the crowds at Neiman Marcus. Not simply because all the good ribbons in the wrapping department would be gone, and he’d have to settle for plain reds and greens. And not simply because his father Milton Waterford—co-owner of the Waterford-Chancellor—had used rising inflation as his excuse to halve this year’s Christmas bonuses for all the staff in the sales and marketing team where I worked head of strategy and development while Sterling worked as director of social media and PR… Not that Sterling was ever really expected to put in the hours the rest of us did. Being the son of the hotel owner came with its perks, like demanding the decoration and maintenance team put up your Christmas tree for you five days before Christmas.

No, I knew he’d arrive in one of his self-proclaimed “foulies” because he knew I was leaving for Mulligan’s Mill the next day and he was pissed as hell that I was going.

I had arrived home earlier from work that day to pack for my trip. When I opened the door, I found half a dozen staff members from the hotel’s decoration and maintenance team erecting a towering, all-white Christmas tree that came within an inch of the ceiling in our two-story-high living room. As the crew climbed ladders and hung oversized silver baubles and giant white bows and small individual crystal chandeliers that were supposed to represent snowflakes, I recognized the tree as the one from the hotel lobby the year before last.

Every year, a brand-new Christmas tree was installed in the hotel lobby, specifically designed to wow guests, draw the attention of local media, and become a talking point of the festive season.

It was a reflection of those who chose to stay at one of Chicago’s most prestigious hotels.

It was a show of wealth and taste.

It was a splash of style and a symbol of success.

Apparently not even rising inflation could topple the tradition of a new tree each year.

This year the hotel-lobby tree was a flourish of pinks and purples, almost like a gigantic flower bloom.

Last year the tree was entirely gold, adorned with gold-leaf doves and peacocks perched on the branches.

The year before that… was the tree now standing in our apartment.

That is, until Sterling came strutting in, stopped and stared in rage, and began screaming.

“That is not the tree I asked for!” He didn’t just drop his Neiman Marcus bags onto the floor, he threw them across the room, before pulling at the tufts of his bleach-blond hair. “I wanted the one with the birds! Where are the fucking pigeons? I want gold pigeons! Take this shit down, put it back in storage, and get me the gold tree! Fuck!”

I was already pouring Sterling a gin and tonic, knowing it was the quickest way to calm him down, something that everyone in the room wanted at that point. Quickly I splashed the alcohol into a tumbler at the bar in one corner of the living room, not bothering to measure quantities, then walked calmly toward him. “Sterling, babe, drink this. I know you’ve probably had a hard day, but you don’t need to take it out on the people putting up our Christmas tree.”

“A tree that would have been up weeks ago if my father hadn’t worked us into the ground getting next year’s online-accommodation packages ready early. And then to turn around and halve our fucking bonuses?” He snatched the drink and downed half of it. “What an asshole.

I noticed the team of decorators— already dismantling the tree—stealing looks over their shoulders at Sterling. Quietly I said to him, “Sterling, babe, why don’t we save the Milton-bashing for later… when we don’t have so many of your dad’s staff around.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Bastian. Everyone knows how much I hate the old curmudgeon. I’m allowed to vent and I don’t care who I do it in front of.” He turned to the crew of tree decorators and said loudly to them, “You don’t care if I mouth off about my miserable, money-pinching father, do you?”

The workers at the tree all turned quickly back to their jobs, none of them willing to look over again or dare open their mouths.

“See?” said Sterling. “None of them give a fuck, so why should I? Besides, I have good reason to be in a foulie. I’m mad! I’m mad at my father for being such a tight-ass, I’m mad at the tree for being the wrong tree, and I’m mad at you for leaving me all alone for Christmas.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve told you a thousand times I’m sorry.”

“And I told you a thousand times if you were truly sorry, you’d either cancel your stupid plans or take me with you.”

I heaved a sigh, then turned and headed upstairs to the bedroom. Sterling may have been fine to air his dirty laundry in front of our fellow Waterford-Chancellor employees, but I wasn’t. “I need to pack,” I mumbled as I walked away.

Sterling, as expected, followed me, but not before topping up his drink even more generously than I had.

In the bedroom, I pulled my old suitcase out of our walk-in closet, flopped it onto the bed and flipped it open. I started pulling clothes out of the closet and roughly packing them when Sterling stormed in. “Why? Why won’t you cancel?”

“I told you. I haven’t seen Lonnie and Ronnie in over three years. At least not face-to-face. I miss them. They invited me for Christmas and… and I wanna go. I miss Mulligan’s Mill.”

Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it’s not him you miss?”

“No. Of course not. Benji and I are done. Hell, I made sure of that. He hates me.”

“Then why the hell would he want you showing up for Christmas?”

“I… I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know.”

“Well, he’s going to find out eventually, don’t you think? Or will you be hiding under the dinner table like a naughty dog during Christmas lunch?”

“Of course he’s going to find out.”

“And how’s that going to make him feel? Don’t you think dropping into Mulligan’s Mill unannounced is going to ruin the fuck out of Benji’s Christmas? Jesus, Bastian, for a nice guy you can be so stupid and selfish sometimes.”

“I’m not dropping in unannounced. Lonnie and Ronnie know I’m coming. It was their idea.”

“And what’s their motive? Have you asked yourself that… or would you like me to add na?ve to your list of shortcomings?”

“What are you talking about?” I flopped my favorite jeans into the suitcase, wishing this conversation was over already. “Not everyone has an ulterior motive, Sterling. That’s just you reading too much into things.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It’s as plain as day, Bastian. Lonnie and Ronnie are trying to get you back with Benji. Don’t get me wrong, they seem like lovely people, and it’s clear how much they adore you. But they also adore their son. It doesn’t take a Nobel Prize Winner in Mathematics to put two and two together.”

I stopped packing and turned to him, taking him by both arms. “Sterling, enough. You’re overthinking everything again. I’m not going to Mulligan’s Mill to get back together with Benji. I’m not falling into some matchmaking trap his parents are setting up for the two of us. I’m going because, well, it’s something I need to do. I left so suddenly, I left so many things unsaid, unresolved, so many questions unanswered. I feel like I owe Mulligan’s Mill an explanation. I owe Benji an explanation.”

Sterling pouted. “Then why won’t you take me with you? Instead of leaving me here with my insufferable family of bores.”

“You know I need to do this on my own. It’s going to be hard enough seeing Benji for the first time in all these years. You being there, it’ll just complicate things.”

“Is that what I am now? A complication?”

I gave a gentle laugh and hugged him. “No, of course not. Well sometimes, yes. Sometimes you’re a pain. Sometimes you’re a mess. And sometimes you’re just a plain bitch to everyone. But you’re my boyfriend. And you’ll still be my boyfriend when I get back in a week’s time. You hear?”

Sterling gave a grizzly little groan and pulled out of my embrace. “But how am I going to get through Christmas with Milton and my fifth but by no means final wicked stepmother? I won’t know what to do without you there. They’re just that little bit more bearable when you’re around. They like you. Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.” I reminded myself of that every day.

“They do and you know it. It must be nice, although the thought of being likable is so exhausting. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Stop the pity party. I tell you what, why don’t you go downstairs and tell the decorating team that the tree is just fine. Tell them to leave it up and go home. Then put all the gifts you bought yourself under the tree and once I’ve finished packing, I’ll take you out for a nice dinner.”

“How did you know all those gifts were for me?”

“Because I know you. Now stop being such a Scrooge McDuck and smile, would you? We have one more night together before I fly out in the morning.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Sterling pouted. “I’d rather give up pedicures for a whole year than spend Christmas Day with my family.”

“You don’t have to give up your precious peddies. And you don’t have to spend Christmas Day with your family either. Why not skip it completely? Why not book yourself your very own Christmas vacation away from it all?”

Sterling’s eyes lit up and he gasped with excitement. “Ooh, a festive season in Fiji! Yuletide in the Yucatan Peninsula! What a fabulous idea!” He turned and raced out of the bedroom, shouting to nobody in particular. “I must release the Elves, I must spread the joy! Christmas is saved!”

I puffed my cheeks as another sigh escaped me. To say that Sterling was a complex creature was something of an understatement. He was spoiled and rude and needy in all the wrong ways, although to be fair, he was not a neurotic, narcissistic mess simply of his own making. The expectations of his billionaire father had clearly taken their toll. But if someone had told me four years ago that I was going to leave Benji— who was undeniably the man of my dreams— and end up with a pretentious, pompous prima donna like Sterling Waterford, I would have told them that their crystal ball had a crack in it.

But Sterling came along at a time when I needed someone. Desperately.

I’d only just started in the marketing department of Waterford-Chancellor, having just fled Mulligan’s Mill and abandoned the man who should have been the love of my life. I was riddled with guilt, racked with pain, lost and confused and doing my best to focus on a new job, a new chapter, a whole new life. Somehow Sterling saw through the veil I had tried to hide behind.

Sure, I might have been a stray pet to him at the time; something cute and cuddly to look after.

But I needed looking after, and despite his theatrics and egocentricity and the occasional nuclear meltdown, Sterling was there for me.

He was not a bad person.

He was just the very definition of high maintenance.

But Sterling had his strengths too.

He often made me laugh.

He made me want to calm his chaos and that often brought me a sense of happiness.

And he had given me comfort, when comfort was all I needed.

He just wasn’t… the one.

I had known this from the start of our relationship, and I was quite certain he did too. But what we had kinda worked for us. It was good enough for both of us, and that seemed okay.

For now.

Through the door to the bedroom, I could hear Sterling’s loud voice downstairs, as he cooed and ahh -ed at the tree he had ordered to be torn down ten minutes earlier. Now he was singing its praises, as well as gushing over the work of the decorating team, his turned-around mood obviously buoyed by the thought of Christmas in Barbados. Or Bermuda. Or wherever it was he would end up sipping cocktails on Christmas morning.

I had to sit down a moment.

I eased myself onto the bed and realized now was a good time to make the call that I’d been putting off for the past few days.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed a number.

The caller picked up almost immediately and said my name; evidently I had been added to their caller ID list.

“Hi, yeah it’s me,” I said into the phone. “If it’s not too late, I think I’ll take you up on that offer… Are you sure it’s doable?... Okay, great, let’s book it in. I get into Mulligan’s Mill tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll be staying at the Larsons’ house. I’ll call you then. Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone… Thanks, I owe you.”

I hung up the call and continued packing, anxious and excited and terrified about my return to Mulligan’s Mill.

From the very back of the bottom drawer of my dresser, I found the tackiest, cheesiest Christmas sweater of all time. It was something Sterling had forbidden me to ever wear, threatening to torch it if I ever dared to put it on.

So I’d kept it hidden… until now.

I chuckled to myself as I looked at the four Elves embroidered on the front of it, each of them doing a dance move from the Village People’s song, “ YMCA .”

A flood of memories came rushing back.

Good memories.

Memories of him .

“Time to go back home,” I said to the knitted Elves. “What do you say?”