Page 25 of Back Home For Christmas

“I live in a high rise.”

“I’m sure you would find a way around that small detail with all your ingenuity.”

“Look at you throwing out compliments. If I didn’t know you any better, I might think you actually liked me.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why is that?” He asked. I turned a full 180 degrees in my seat to level a look of disbelief his way.

“I knew you were a jerk, but I didn’t realize you were dense too,” I said. We had only made it to the outskirts of town, and a stray flurry hit our windshield before melting immediately. That didn’t bode well for a quick trip.

“Speaking of jerks,” he said. “You aren’t exactly nice.”

“Why should I be nice to you?”

“Why shouldn’t you be? Why do you hate me?”

“I’m not trying to be mean, but do you really lack the critical thinking skills that you don’t know? From the moment you became friends with Darren, you have gone out of your way to torment me. When we were young, you played pranks at my expense, you came up with stupid nicknames, you told everyone at school private things that you learned about me from Darren.

“When we got into high school, you recruited your girlfriend to help torture me, you spread rumors, you made the whole football team show up at my art show and make fun of me. You have had a perpetual frown in my presence unless you were laughing at me. You were always just so cool, and you considered everyone outside of your clique as losers. You thought you knew better than everyone. All you do is criticize and judge. No one could possibly live up to your standards.” I couldn’t seem to stop myself once I got started.

“Even your friends, like Darren, weren’t cool enough for you. You found the things that make people feel vulnerable or self-conscious and you exploited them. But the truth is, you aren’t cool at all. Underneath that calloused exterior, you are just a boring, cookie-cutter guy who can’t do anything but copy trends and shit on things that make everyone else happy, probably because deep down you aren’t happy at all. I don’t know if you have ever been happy a day in your life.”

He was quiet for a while. “Well, don’t hold back, Kitty Cat,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said, sullenly.

“You aren’t exactly innocent.”

“Seriously? How so?” I asked.

“You are pretty judgmental yourself. You give Darren shit all the time.”

“Okay, that doesn’t exactly compare to bullying me for my whole life,” I said.

“I didn’t bully you,” he said.

“Hmm,” I said. “We will have to agree to disagree.” I tuned out and watched through the window as “White Christmas,” changed to, “Joy to the World.” We must have been on the easy listening station that switched over to Christmas classics for the months of November and December. Outside the window, the world had that muted pre-snow feeling. We drove the main road along the shoreline with the stretch of beaches on one side and cute, million-dollar bungalows on the other.

Growing up in a vacation destination had its drawbacks, like big crowds four months out of the year, empty streets the rest, and a tiny school where everyone knew each other’s business, but whenever I let myself slow down long enough to appreciate it, I recognized how lucky I had it. We existed in a sort of buffered calm that most people only felt on vacation. Sure, there was stress and work, but that all melted away the second my toes hit the sand, or I walked the smooth wood planks of the board walk. That feeling was the essence of my photography back when I let myself enjoy it. Every picture was an opportunity to capture the little bit of magic that infused my life at the beach. I tried to reclaim that sense of peace now as I watched the world pass by, but even the distant ocean wasn’t powerful enough to dent the uncomfortable silence I found myself in.

“You aren’t wrong,” Jay said, then cleared his throat.

“I rarely am,” I smirked with a sidelong glance.

“I bet you aren’t,” he said.

“Wow, now look who is throwing out compliments,” I said. “You are a changed man.”

“I guess you bring out the best in me,” he said. I felt his gaze move in my direction, but I kept my eyes glued out the side window. I certainly didn’t want to see the mockery in his eyes, and on the off chance there was something even partially genuine there that would be infinitely worse. I did not want to have any more sympathy for Jay Crowley than I already developed after the Aubrey saga. I wondered if Darren ever talked to Jay about that. Part of me wanted to ask while another part screamed, stay out of it!

I sighed, deciding to get comfortable for the long haul. I pulled my legs up under me, reached into my bag, and pulled out a new crochet cozy project. I probably should have been mulling over my essay outline on my phone, but I could tell I wasn’t in the head space to think or plan or write. Not with Jay so close. Although, I wasn’t in the right head space more often than not. Alright, fine, I was never in the right head space. I was avoiding my outline and essay like the toxic joy kill that it was. The other people in my final semester all had this feral, compulsory style where they could study, write and work anywhere, sitting in a tree like guerrilla warfare for students, waiting for the bus, or while their best friend talked their ear off.

I could only work if the circumstances were absolutely perfect, and given my mental instability, that meant I rarely did much at all. My fellow wannabe psychologists gave me all kinds of tips and tricks, but nothing ever really worked. I knew there was a life lesson there, but I wasn’t ready to analyze yet what it was. And now, I had the benefit of the shop on the brink of disaster to throw myself into.

“Are you…crocheting?” Jay asked with a side-long glance in my direction.

“I like to sell my Christmas cozies in the shop. Besides, what else am I supposed to do? You are’t exactly a great conversationalist,” I said, feeling instantly stupid in the way only Jay could manage to induce. Jay had a way of belittling me with a simple condescending phrase, which left me feeling like either a stupid child or a complete loser.

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