Page 14 of Merry Little Hate Notes

“Do you still have a crush on him?” Dad chuckled.

I whipped around, holding up the spoon. “Absolutely not. Who said I ever did?” The truthful accusation was beyond offensive.

“Honey, from an anthropological perspective, it clearly makes sense. Both you and Brandon are attractive, raised by highly educated parents, your body mass indexes are healthy, and your IQs are high. To be drawn to each other just makes sense when you look at it through the lens of mating strategies.”

Leave it to my dad to make this all about science. Regardless, there was nothing scientific going on between my old neighbor and me. And ... “There will be no mating between Brandon and me.” I shook my head in disgust for effect, even though once upon a time I’d named all three of our children. Adriana, Cordelia, and Portia. I’d been in my Shakespeare era. Still not sure why I pictured Brandon as a girl dad.

“That’s a shame. The offspring you two would produce would be exceptional.”

My mouth fell open. “Excuse me? Since when have you wanted me to have a child with Brandon?” This was front-page news for me. For some women, this might be a weird conversation to have with a father. But Dad was never weird about things like sex and our bodies. When I started my period, he gave me a book about how different cultures celebrated it as something beautiful. He always made sure I never felt ashamed of my body.

“I never said I wanted you to. That’s up to you, of course. I’m just stating as far as the betterment of society goes, combining your gene pools would be beneficial.”

I spat out a laugh. “Brandon wouldn’t agree with you. He thinks of me like a gray sprinkle on a rainbow cupcake.”

“That’s absurd. No one would say that about you, especially Brandon.”

If only Dad knew that was exactly how Brandon felt about me.

“Please, just take my word for it.”

“I would love to, except all the empirical evidence speaks to the contrary.”

“What evidence is that?”

“The utter fascination in his eyes every time he looked at you.”

Fascination? More like anticipation for all the new ways he could torture me.

“Dad, I love you, but you’re not remembering things clearly.”

“You think so?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“I know so.”

“All right, honey, if you say so.” He went back to reading the news and drinking his smoothie.

I turned around and finished our lunches, feeling unsettled about the conversation I’d just had with my father. Normally, Dad read people and situations well, given his study of cultures and the world, so for him to think I’d ever fascinated Brandon was off-putting. On the other hand, he still believed my mother had only left him because of his drinking. I’d never had the heart to tell him the truth. I’d never had the heart to tell anyone but Christian, and I never got that opportunity. Maybe it was better that way.

“I think we should get a Christmas tree this year,” Dad said out of the blue.

I slammed a bento box shut and turned around, my heart erratically beating. Where was this coming from? First, he wanted me to stop worrying about him, and now he wanted to reintroduce the possibility of magic into my life. I wasn’t sure I could take that. “What? Why?” I begged to know, like he was asking for some horrendous thing. I thought we were on the same page when it came to the holidays—ignore them. It wasn’t like we were scrooges who went around bah-humbugging. We simply muddled through them and kept to ourselves as much as possible.

“I was just reading this abstract about how Christmas is more important now than ever. It’s a connection to family and friends and links us as a society and to our past.” Dad gave me a poignant look. “I think it’s time we revisit Christmas. You used to love it so much.”

Oh, had I ever. But ... “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I stammered.

“Holly,” Dad said tenderly. “Do you know why we named you Holly?”

I nodded, loving the reason so much.

“Holly is a sacred name, especially this time of year.It was believed that holly trees offered refuge and protection during the Winter Solstice, the day on which you were born. The best day of my life,” Dad choked out.

“What about when Christian was born?” I smiled through my watery eyes, missing my brother and my old life so much.

“That was a wonderful day too, but there was just something special about you, Holly. There always has been. Like your name, you have offered refuge and protection to many, especially me. It’s about time I offered the same to you. I want to give you back the things you love. Or at least as much as I can.”

“What if those things never really existed?” I asked like a frightened child.

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