CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

BRANDON

 

For many people, when asked what they consider to be the most romantic holiday, they would promptly respond with, “Valentine’s Day.” I supposed they wouldn’t be incorrect in their feelings, given the day’s amorous history and commercialized sentiment, but no, for me, it has always been Christmas Eve.

There was something in that intimate hush that lulled over the Earth, that momentary sense of peace that brought those Wise Men travelling through the desert all those years ago. The desire and need to be closest to those you care for most, the magical awe of the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, and the sensual kiss of the fireplace against rosy cheeks. All of it combined, painted a picture of cozy warmth, one to fall in love with over and over again.

And to me, that was exactly what love should be.

But of course, that wasn’t the type of love I had found myself in. I was in the torturous kind that left me lying awake when I should have been sleeping; tossing and turning through the stresses of wondering if her feelings for me ran as deep as mine for her. Wondering how I had allowed myself to get into such a predicament. Wondering how the hell it was I would confess my true identity to her. Wondering why the hell I had approached her in the Reade’s parking lot all those months ago.

Brandon the Nice Man.

I had come close the night before, under the mistletoe in Bill’s shop. The guilt of her not knowing had hit me hard in the gut after a kiss that had manifested into something of a tornado of emotion. I had been within millimeters of telling her everything when the world suddenly appeared around us, and the reality of her being unavailable drove a stake through my heart.

The Reade family urged me to run after her in some display of storybook valiance. I thought about it for a few moments, allowing enough time to pass for her to get into her car and drive away; subconsciously deciding that it wasn’t the right time long before she had even reached the shop’s jingling door.

But would there ever be a right time, I thought, rubbing a hand against my jaw.

My thoughts had left me entranced by the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree in Nick’s living room, oblivious to the other guests around me. A far stretch from the one leading the Wise Men to Bethlehem, I wished upon the gaudy tinseled star that I could blink and suddenly be one of the few dozen couples jammed into Nick’s house. With my arm around Holly’s waist, gabbing about the new addition to our house or a new recipe we tried as our contribution to the holiday spread.

I blinked, and while I wasn’t surprised to find myself still alone on that couch, it took a hard bite against my inner lip to keep myself together. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed a hand through my hair, and wished for the lovesick teenager in my mind to give it a fucking rest.

The sound of a throat clearing brought me to open my eyes just as Nick’s father nudged my boot with the toe of his loafer, pulling me from my wishful thinking—a welcomed distraction. He handed me a tumbler of what I could only assume was something alcoholic, and I accepted the glass gratefully. Anything to numb the ache that seemed to be a permanent fixture in my day-to-day living.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Richard Bolton said, and he toasted with the glass in his hand. “Merry Christmas, son.”

“And a merry Christmas to you, sir.” I raised the glass to him before tipping it back into my mouth. The familiar warmth of Scotch slid down my throat.

“Here alone?” The man who acted as a second father for much of my life had asked me that same question on every occasion since Julia was no longer in the picture.

I smiled solemnly. "You know it.”

“She’s out there, Brandon,” he said, nodding with certainty.

“I know,” I replied, gazing into the therapeutic slosh of the amber liquid. And she’s with someone else, I thought, and the Scotch turned to poison on my tongue.

He cocked his head and his forehead crumpled in thought. “Then go get her,” he encouraged, leaning forward to gently tap my shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Wish it were that easy.”

Mr. Bolton straightened his back, shoved his silver-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his beak-like nose, and pointed a finger at me. It struck me then that I was looking at Nick in thirty years, and the thought gently lifted a side of my mouth into an almost-smile.

“Never underestimate the power of a man in love, Brandon,” he said. His finger wagged for a moment before he nudged his foot against my boot again, and off he went to schmooze with the other guests.

I sniffed a laugh before downing the rest of my own glass, and got up from the couch to find the kitchen sink. After weaving through the clusters of friends and family members, I found Nick and Ashley hustling to get Christmas Eve dinner out onto the buffet table. Lynn, the eldest of their three daughters, was carrying trays of food on unsteady legs as though she were performing on a tight-rope, and upon entering the kitchen, I hurried over to her before she could drop the aluminum pan of roasted potatoes.

“Thanks, Uncle Brandon.” She exhaled a sigh of relief, dramatically wiping her brow.

I placed the tray among the other steaming dishes of food, and turned back to the eight-year-old looking way too old in her Christmas dress and high-heeled shoes.

“Why don’t you go play with the other kids?” I reached out a hand to tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind an ear. “I can help these losers out with the rest of this stuff.”

That brought out a giggle from her. She turned to her parents, asking to confirm that it was okay to abandon her duties as Kitchen Helper.

“Thanks, B. Now she’ll be making it a point to call us her loser parents.” Ashley groaned, turning to point her pregnant belly in my direction with a hand on her hip. “Go ahead, Lynnie. We’ll put Uncle Brandon to work, but you owe him one.”

“I’ll settle for a hug,” I said with a laugh, catching the worried look in Lynn’s green eyes, perfectly matching her mother’s. With a look of relief, the girl outstretched her arms up to me, and with a swift bend, I wrapped my arms around her waist and lifted her up, squeezing around her. With her arms tightly around my neck, I groaned with enthusiasm. “You give the best hugs. That’s why you’re my first favorite niece.”

“First favorite gets the best presents, right?” She gave me a wide-eyed hopeful stare.

“Maybe, but don’t tell Second and Third, okay?” I said, putting her feet back on the floor.

Satisfied, Lynn ran off to join her sisters and cousins in the basement playroom, leaving me alone with her parents in the bright country-style kitchen. Ashley shook her head, mumbling that I better not have spoiled them again, and I could only shrug with a little smirk plastered on my face.

Nick spooned candied yams into a tray and passed it into my hands. “So, how are things going with You-Know?” His voice implied that he was teasing me, while his eyes held something deeper. Something a little like hope.

With the tray securely next to the mashed potatoes and steamed carrots, I shook my head in response to his prying, and said that it was over. Nick’s tone quickly changed to one of concern, and asked what the fuck had happened with an accusing touch that I didn’t exactly appreciate. In as few words as possible, I mentioned that I had missed my window of opportunity the moment she had found herself a boyfriend. I threw in that I had been almost successfully avoiding her for the past month, but then the kiss crossed my mind. Try as I might, I couldn’t fight the smile that stretched my lips as Ashley handed me a basket of fluffy warm biscuits.

“Hmm, I haven’t seen that look in a long time. What’s that for?” she teased with excitement, poking me playfully in the chest.

This was precisely the problem with knowing the same people for most of your life. They had plenty of time to learn every little nuance about you.

“Nothing,” I said, but not convincingly enough. Nick shook his head, demanding I spill the beans, and so with nowhere left to run, I did. The short story was concluded with a duo of sighs blended with hopeless romanticism, and I said, “It really doesn’t matter, though.”

Ashley shook her head, rubbing the purple velvet over her engorged belly. “Why would you say that?” I once again mentioned the little issue of her having a boyfriend, but Ashley only shrugged, cradling the bump in her hands. “I’m not really sure that’s an issue.”

“And what makes you say that?” I implored, intrigued by the statement.

The little pregnant lady with the long wavy hair and green eyes sidled up next to me. “Well,” she slyly said, wrapping an arm around my waist, “would a woman who’s happy in a relationship kiss another man like that? I mean, she could have stopped it before you shoved your tongue down her throat.”

“I didn’t shove—never mind,” I muttered with a shake of my head. “You do make a compelling argument, though.”

Nick sliced into the ham, the steam fogging up his glasses instantly. “Relationships end, dude. I’m not saying to sleep with her while she’s with the guy, but maybe some incentive wouldn’t hurt on your part.”

“Sounds like he already gave her some incentive, hon,” Ash threw in with a poke against my side, and I groaned.

Nick snickered with a laugh, and his face lit up as though he were just struck with sudden brilliance. “Maybe she’s only with this guy because she’s under the impression you don’t want anything to do with her. You ever think of that?” He jabbed the knife in my direction.

“Stop pointing that thing at your pregnant wife,” I laughed, shielding Ashley with an arm. “But that’s a good point,” I said thoughtfully, and I found myself startled by just how out of practice I had been in the department of romance and was quickly learning just how much better I was writing about it, rather than actually doing it.

Ashley took over with the slicing of the ham to let Nick walk from room to room with the announcement that dinner was about to be served. I insisted on taking the knife from her, giving her the gift of a few moments to get off her swollen feet and into one of the kitchen table chairs. The sharp tool sliced through the ham with ease and using my weapon wielding skills, thanks to research-required sword fighting lessons, I cut the meat with a precision and speed that made Ashley snort with laughter.

“Pal, you have that job from now on,” she said, kicking off her flat sequined shoes. “So, Nicky told me you’re rewriting the new book.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed and raised a brow, looking up at her from my carving. I was sure she had never read one of my books, simply because battle and carnage were never her cup of tea and to get through one of them would have been torture. 

“Tell me about it,” she said with a slight smile, hugging her arms around her belly as she closed her eyes, taking the moment to enjoy the quiet kitchen. “Start from the beginning. I know nothing about your shit,” she laughed apologetically.

“Yeah, I figured,” I grumbled, and took a deep breath.

“Well, Alexander Breckenridge begins his story as a nobody. He works in the stables at a Lord’s castle but he always had dreams of doing something more. You know, something important that people would remember him by, so he practices with an old sword until he’s a pretty kick-ass swordsman.

“Then, one day he finds himself recruited by the King’s Guard to battle, after witnessing his unmatched skills with the sword. They’ve pulled him in to fight against a force they’ve never seen before, and because he’s so damn good, they’ve assumed he’s prepared to face whatever the hell it is, and long story short, he blows their socks off.

“Anyway, this more or less has placed him into a much more notable position, and he’s found himself doing well. He’s a Knight, the Lord of his own castle, has his pick of any woman he could possibly want and often has, has all the gold he could ever want, and he saves entire villages and kingdoms from both the natural and supernatural on a regular basis. He’s happy for a while, but he eventually realizes that, although it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, it’s ...” I noticed that the knife had stopped moving; my eyes staring into and beyond the candied yams on the buffet table. “It’s, uh, pretty fucking empty.”

“Uh-huh,” Ashley said with an adoring smile, gesturing for me to go on.

“He realizes that his heroic life means little if he can’t share it with someone. He wants someone to wait for him. He wants a son to carry on his family name. He wants … something he cares about to fight for, because all of those kingdoms and people, they mean nothing but a paycheck to him at the end of the day.”

“So, basically, he needs a damsel to save and love.” Ashley batted her eyelashes, clutching her hands together for effect.

“Basically.”

“And you have this planned out, right?” I nodded, and her face took on a smug expression. “So, I guess it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“What?”

“This whole thing with Holly.”

With the ham successfully sawed off the bone and the meat piled haphazardly on a platter, I dropped the butcher knife and set to washing my hands with Ashley’s smirking stare boring holes into my back. The evergreen-scented soap filled my nostrils, reminding me that we were there for Christmas Eve dinner and not to piece together the ruins of my love life.

Ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, I turned back to Ashley. “My real life is a little different than the life of a fictional character. I decide what goes on in his world, and I make it happen.” I tossed the paper towel in the garbage with a smoothness that would make Shaq drool. “He needed a damsel, so I made one up and gave him the skills to woo her with his charm and impressive manhood. That’s not how the real world works.”

The sounds of four dozen people swarming towards the kitchen seemed to fill the surrounding area and we knew our time together was soon coming to a close. Ashley waved me over to her and with an arm around my back and a hand in mine, we together got her on legs that were immediately unsteady but within moments, she had regained her balance and waddled over to hastily drop serving spoons into the trays of food.

“I know nothing about your manhood—thank God—but you certainly have the charm,” she finally said, pointing a spoon in my direction. “All I’m saying is, you needed a damsel, and the universe provided. All you have to do is decide what comes next, and make it happen.”

When the room had filled beyond the point of breathing anything other than someone else’s air, I slipped through the double French doors to the back deck, where I took a seat on one of the chaise lounges overlooking the lavish greenery of the backyard. A light dusting of fresh snow had sprinkled over the yard, and still recovering from the suffocating warmth from inside, the chilled air hadn’t begun to affect me through the comfortable thickness of my sweater.

I looked towards the sky, the snowflakes catching onto my eyelashes and speckling my view of the stars. That hush had blanketed over the world—the one I had always perceived as being romantic. I allowed temptation to pull my imagination towards what Holly could have possibly been doing in that moment, and not surprisingly, the only fantasy I could conjure was one of her in the arms of some guy far better looking than I was, with a body I could envy. There was a backdrop of a roaring fireplace, a couple glasses of an expensive wine, but the details were unimportant as I watched his hands roam down her back, lingering on the ends of her dark hair before continuing their descent towards the ass I had watched walking away from me enough times to classify me as a pervert in the eyes of women everywhere.

Jealousy burnt a hole through my mind’s projector, and I was looking at the sky again. The snow was falling at a steadier pace, and I wondered how long it would be before I could pass for Jack Nicholson’s character at the end of The Shining.

I could always take Ashley’s convoluted advice. I chuckled with mischief at the thought of stealing another man’s woman. It had dawned on me that I had set out to do just that when I made the decision to kiss her under the mistletoe. Some ridiculous attempt to get her to forget about the boyfriend with my lips of sensual magic. A feeble attempt at taking a shot at her. I had given her that gentle nudge without even the tiniest bit of guilt, but a guy really up to no good would have chased her into the parking lot. That wasn’t me, and if that’s what it was going to take to steal her away from this guy, I wasn’t up to the task.

“But,” I said to the dancing snowflakes, “she isn’t happy.” 

And that was something to hold onto.

 

***

 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” My mom’s voice was strained with emotion brought on by another Christmas gone without seeing her only child’s face. “I wish you would come down here and be with us for a while. There’s no reason to spend Christmas alone.”

“I’m not alone, Mom.” I sighed, dropping the leather coat on the ornately carved banister as I climbed the stairs, not bothering to look into the darkness of either the empty kitchen or living room as I went.

“Brandon, you haven’t had a Christmas with us in two years!” she pleaded, driving a painful stake into my heart poisoned with guilt. I heard the gruff voice of my father in the background, telling her to leave me alone. “Oh, stop it, Jack. I can ask my son to spend one holiday with me.”

Crossing the threshold of my bedroom, I kicked off my boots and put my parents on speakerphone, freeing my hands to get undressed for bed. I sighed with irritation, listening to the two of them argue about who I did or didn’t have to spend holidays with.

“You know,” I chimed in, “you can always come up here for Christmas next year.” There was a break in their bickering, and I shook my head with a smile.

“Well, I guess we could do that,” Dad mused, and then mentioned, “We could meet your girlfriend’s family.”

“Oh! That’s right!” Mom exclaimed. “You could have brought her down here for this Christmas, though …”

I pulled the sweater over my head, static collecting through my hair as I sighed again at the mention of her. I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell them on Christmas that the whole thing was a farce.

“We’ll see where it goes, guys. It’s still early, you know?” I pulled off the red polo I had worn under the sweater, leaving my skin exposed to the cold air of the bedroom.

It was Mom’s turn to sigh. “I know, but I’m just so excited that you’re seeing someone. She must be really special to get your attention.”

“And keep it,” Dad chimed in with a chuckle from somewhere in the background, and I had to laugh.

“Yeah, she is,” I agreed, undoing the buckle of my belt and sliding it through the loops of my pants with the soft hum of leather against cotton. I worked at the button and zipper as Mom asked how work was. It was a question I had always despised, and I often wondered if Michelangelo had been hounded much while painting the Sistine Chapel. “It’s good. Slow, but you know ...”

“Hey, what if you came down here for a while? Just for a vacation to clear your head? With the new girlfriend, I bet you’ve got your share of distractions going on up there and maybe that’s getting in the way of your work,” Dad suggested, and I heard mumbles come through the speaker, and then he added, “Or you could bring her down if you wanted. Okay, Carole?”

I smirked at myself in the mirror, amused at how right he was without even realizing it. The offer was attractive. I could see myself on their condo’s balcony with laptop resting comfortably on my knees, the ocean breeze gently whipping my hair away from my face and a glass of Scotch by my side to accompany the view of the Atlantic.

But then I remembered, she wasn’t happy. How could I leave when there was still hope?

“Tempting, Dad. I’ll think about it, okay?” I climbed under the flannel comforter. “I’m exhausted, guys. It’s been a long night.”

Dad sighed with a detected hint of disappointment. “Alright, kiddo. We’ll talk to you soon. Give our love to Holly, okay?”

My head hit the pillow as my eyes watered at the sobering remark. An emotion-ridden huff passed through my lips and I looked to the empty space beside me, as though she had laid there a thousand times before and was supposed to be there then.

“Yeah, I will,” I croaked, my voice breaking. “Love you, guys. Merry Christmas.”