Page 54 of Holiday Hostilities

It’s definitely a living space upgrade… the company, I’m not so sure about.

I can purchase some bagpipes if that would make you feel more at home.

Or wear your underwear.

I could’ve happily gotten through my entire life without that particular mental image.

I’m just illustrating how much better of a roommate I’ll be, that’s all

Okay, okay, it’s a roommate upgrade, too. Although I’ll never admit to saying that.

Glad to hear it, because I’m pulling out all the stops to win Roommate of the Year over here. I even made up the master bedroom for you.

I first figured that she would sleep in a guest room, but then realized that one of them has all of my hockey stuff in it—jerseys, framed photos on the walls, memorabilia, and so on—while the other one is chock-full of my crochet projects.

As hilarious as the thought was, I knew Olivia would not enjoy staying in a room basically enshrining my career, nor a menagerie of half-finished crochet animals. And so I came to the conclusion, unbelievably, that giving her the master would involve the least amount of work.

After moving my things to the shrine room, I made up the master bedroom for her with fresh sheets. It’s got a huge California King bed and an even huger ensuite bathroom with a steam shower that could probably fit half my hockey team in it (as alarming a thought as that is). I’m sure she’ll appreciate the space and privacy after what sounds like a dumpster-fire apartment experience.

My phone rings, and I step away from the group to answer it. “Hello?”

“You don’t need to give me your bedroom!”

“Hello to you too, Olivia. Nice to speak with you this fine afternoon.”

“I have no time for small talk,” she grumbles, sounding not unlike her brother. “I don’t need the master. I’ll happily take a guest room. Seriously.”

“Awh, come on. I thought you’d enjoy sleeping in my bed.” I smirk, unable to help myself from prodding at her a little. “My thousand thread-count sheets are an experience everyone needs to have at least once in their lives. After all, they are used to pure physical perfection sleeping on them.”

“Are you really bragging about how many women you’ve bedded, Marino?” Her tone is positively scandalized, and my smile widens.

“I told you to get your mind out of that gutter, Lil Griz.” I keep my voice low. “I was talking about myself, actually.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “I don’t know how you even get out of bed in the morning with an ego that inflated. Surely, it’s incredibly heavy to carry around.”

“Keeps me in that perfect shape you were just talking about.”

“I…” She makes a snorting sound, then erupts into laughter. “I can’t with you. You’re the worst.”

“See, you keep my ego in check. We’ll be the best roommates ever.”

“We’ll be something, all right.” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm, but even with the distance between us, I can tell that she’s smiling.

“See you later,Olivia.”

“Not if I see you first,Aaron.”

Laughing, I end the call, now almost excited for her to move in.

This Christmas season is sure going to be interesting.

20

OLIVIA

I walk towards my departure gate at Chicago O’Hare slowly, pulling my wheeled carry-on suitcase behind me and trying to ignore all of the wreaths filled with twinkling lights that decorate Terminal 3. The tinny sounds of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” carry from the convenience store on the left, and wafts of peppermint mocha emanate from the Starbucks on my right.

It’s like the spirit of Christmas got drunk and threw up all over the airport.

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