Page 8 of Her Secret Santa

“If I want it?” I ask incredulously. “Holy shit, of course I want it!”

We hug, giggling and bouncing in my excitement. Sure, it’s nothing permanent, but something steady through December will take so much stress off my shoulders. I’ll be able to pay rent and the nursing home bill for December, both of which I have been worrying about.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I gush into her hair before pulling back to beam at her. “You’re an angel.”

“Fallen one, maybe,” she jokes, clinking our wine glasses together. “Besides, this was mostly selfish. I’m going to go insane if I have to be at the mall regularly over the holiday season, and now I’ll be able to bother you.”

A thrilled laugh bubbles from my lips, and I shake my head at her as I swallow a sip of wine. I can’t deny that I’m excited to get to see her more often. I usually have so little free time that we only see each other on the weekends, and even then it’s hit or miss.

Allie orders us pizza with a coupon she has and we settle down on the couch she’s had since college, as she tells me all about the rebrand she and her team is working on. She works for a graphic design company—one that she’s tried to get me into, but they require a college degree, so no luck there—and she gets to do some of the coolest stuff.

“You know what?” Allie says as she drains her third glass of wine, a tipsy grin on her face. “No more moping! We found you a job, and we’ll find you something long term before January. Things are going to be totally fine, I just know it!”

I grin at Allie affectionately, cradling my wine glass against my chest. She’s always been the confident one between us, and it’s nice to live vicariously through her sometimes. The twinkling of the Christmas lights she has pinned up on her walls makes her living room feel cozy and a little dreamlike, and it’s easy to imagine that either of us can afford more than on-sale wine and tiny apartments. It’s nothing more than a silly daydream, but maybe one day she’ll have real plants in her apartment instead of framed pictures of pretty trees that she prints at work.

“Ok, listen,” she says, standing and immediately pausing to find her balance before rounding her rickety old coffee table and rushing into her bedroom. “We’re making wish lists! Christmas lists! It’s going to be our tradition from now on!”

I can hardly even hear her through the walls, but I giggle drunkenly in agreement. We’ll probably forget about this by the morning, but it sounds like a great idea right now. She bursts back into the room with two pens in one hand and way more paper than we could possibly need in the other. I laugh at her exuberance as she rushes back toward the couch and sets paper and a pen in front of me.

“You have to make a Christmas list foryou,” she says firmly, wagging her finger at me. “I don’t want to see anything about making time for other people or donating more money or volunteering more. You have to be selfish, just once, ok?”

I laugh at the suggestion. She’s always on my case about doing more for myself, but I get by just fine. There are plenty of people out there who need help way more than I do.

“What would I even write?” I ask. “I barely even want anything.”

She hums thoughtfully, leaning over to grab my glass of wine for herself. I nudge her with my elbow playfully, but there’s no way I’ll finish it on my own, so it’s better if it doesn’t go to waste.

“You want a laptop,” she says, pointing at the empty page triumphantly. “You want a laptop and a job in graphic design.”

My nose crinkles when I grin at her, but I obediently write both of those down. I don’t know if wanting a job really counts as being selfish, but working in graphic design as anything other than a freelancer is kind of a pipe dream, so it’s close enough.

“And you want to put money in savings when you get your new job instead of giving it all to Brooke and thrifting stuff for the residents at the nursing home.” That one may not be something Iwant, but it would be selfish of me, so I write it down without complaint. It’s not like this is some kind of binding contract. “And you definitely want to take your very best friend in the whole wide world for a spa day with the money from your new job.”

That makes me properly laugh, and I toss my head back in mirth before writing it down.

“What about a perfect white Christmas?” I ask, already jotting down notes.

“Ooh, yes, you have to go window shopping and make snow angels and ice skate,” Allie agrees immediately. “And maybe even go to a fancy Christmas ball or a gala or something you have to get dressed up for.”

“That sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” I tease, but I write it all down anyway.

It’s not like I don’t want to live in a fairy tale, it’s just that Ican’t. It’s not real life. But dreaming about it is fun.

“What about a boyfriend?” Allie suggests, tapping the page excitedly. “Write down that you want to meet someone special.”

A boyfriend is too much right now. I can barely even make time to see Allie, much less date and get to know someone completely new.

“I don’t have time for a relationship, Allie,” I whine, rolling my eyes.

She huffs out a sigh and finishes the last of the wine.

“Alright, then how about experiencing your sexual desires, or something like that?” she asks. “I know what you read, little miss, and I know some random hookup will not give you what you want.”

I blush furiously at hearing her say it so frankly, shaking my head and burying my face in my hands. I’m not exactly shy about sex, especially when I’m talking to Allie—she knows aboutallof my fantasies, from the collars and ropes to the whips and chains. I just don’t have a lot of experience, and the guy who took my virginity was really only interested in getting himself off. It was… less than pleasurable on my end. I’ve been too nervous about having another shitty experience to actually go after it.

“Clara,” she wheedles, “this is supposed to beselfish. Just write it down. This is about what you want.”

She’s always been too damn good at reading me, and even better at talking me into things. If it was as easy as having what I wanted, I’d have been tied up and choked and made to cum until I couldn’t talk years ago. People don’t just get everything they want, and I’ve resigned myself to my fantasies.

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