Page 10 of Stuck With My Christmas Crush

“Yes. Gosh Jason. Coachella is hands down the best way to spend three days.”

“I’m sorry. You’ve lost me.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard about the best festival in the entire world? Where have you been?”

“Peacekeeping for the United Nations.”

“Oh. Right. In that case, you’re forgiven. But you should go one year. It’s… Well, just go.”

“Alright. Maybe I will.” There’s a moment before I say, “So, here’s the number. I’ll dial it for you if you want.”

“Yes please.”

“It’s ringing.” As Charlie takes my phone, I notice how her eyes are sparkling behind the smeared mascara and smudged eyeliner. She really is very pretty.

“Thanks,” she says smiling warmly which causes my pulse to race. I swallow hard.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” I walk away to get a grip on myself and to give her some privacy. Lou could be her boyfriend for all I know. They might be serious. She could be engaged to Lou. I don’t even know why that matters. It doesn’t. I hear snippets of her conversation in the kitchen. She says things like ‘don’t worry’ and ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I see you’. Are these the sorts of things you say to your fiancé?

I realize that I’m eavesdropping, so I wash some dishes and tidy things on shelves, and think about what to cook. Something hot. A soup maybe.

Charlie ends the call and smiles at me from the doorway.

“Lou’s going to come and get me, no worries. Calvin’s coming too. They’ll be a couple of hours which is alright, isn’t it?”

“Sure. That’s fine with me.” I open the fridge. “I’m going to cook some food,” I say over my shoulder. “You’re welcome to share. Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“Thanks for asking. I’m actually starving, but I’m vegetarian. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I’m not, but I can make a meat-free noodle soup. Something like that? Would that be okay?” I close the fridge door and lean on the kitchen counter, aware of the feeling of contentment in cooking for Charlie, and the idea that we have a couple of hours together.

“Perfect. Thanks.” Charlie stands framed by the doorway. Her make up is smudged, her damp hair chaotic. Pink glitter sparkles. She’s pretty as a picture. I realize that I’m staring and lower my gaze.

“I’ll show you where the bathroom is,” I say remembering that Charlie must be dying for a shower. I lead her from the kitchen through the living room to the bathroom. “Help yourself to whatever’s there. Shampoo, um. Anything, you know.” I turn the handle and push open the door for her.

“Oh, goodness. Look at me!” Charlie sees her reflection in the mirror above the hand basin. “What an absolute mess.” Her hands smooth down her bedraggled hair.

“You’re alright.” I laugh. “Anyway. Take your time. I’ll sort out some dry clothes and leave them outside the door for you.” I turn to leave but Charlie stops me.

“Jason.” She lifts her chin to regain some dignity, then says, “Thank you for rescuing me and for not being a psycho ax murderer. That would have been the icing of disaster on the cake of catastrophe today.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m still going to lock the door.”

“You can’t. There’s no lock.”

“Alright then. See you in a minute.”

Charlie closes the bathroom door, and I go to my bedroom. I open the closet to find some warm clothes for my fairy guest. I surprise myself by considering what she might like: plaid or plain? Grey or blue? T-shirt or shirt? I hold a shirt in each hand but then I decide on a selection and allow Charlie to choose. Everything will be oversized on her, but my track pants have a drawstring at the waist, and she can roll them up at the ankles. I find a pair of thick hiking socks, but I don’t have any shoes that are going to fit. Never mind. We’ll figure something out.

I hear the shower running and Charlie singing as I leave the pile of clothes outside the bathroom door. In the living room, her ridiculous fake fur jacket still drips on the rug. I take it to the kitchen and wring it out again, more thoroughly this time, before giving it a shake and arranging it to dry on a coat hanger.

Pink glitter seems to be everywhere. It’s on the carpet. It’s on the couch and the chairs. It’s even on Rocko. And it’s on me. It’s a biohazard, an environmental debacle. I decide to vacuum when Charlie moves on to fairyland or wherever she’s going.

In the kitchen, I take some vegetables from the fridge and find a packet of noodles. I could make a stir-fry or a mee goreng. Something hot and nourishing. Maybe a curry laksa. I have most of the ingredients.

I hear the bathroom door open and Charlie yelling out a ‘thank you’ before she shuts the door again.

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