Page 1 of First Christmas

Chapter 1

“Natasha!”

I dropped my straightener on the vanity’s top and sighed at the mess on Lucas’ side. His toothbrush was rinsed, but laying two inches away from the holder and the toothpaste was uncapped beside it. His hair brush was inside the sink, up on its end, carelessly tossed when he’d left for his pre-sunrise start of shift this morning. Beard hair was everywhere from where he’d obviously trimmed it.

Lucas and I had been together for a while now, engaged to be married, and quickly coming up on our first Christmas living under one roof. I met my dark brown eyes in the mirror and shook my head. It’s been more of an adjustment than I anticipated. I’d spent so long being lonely, that now, living with another adult, has proven to be more of a challenge. I wasn’t prepared.

Sure, I’d had Nat cohabitating with me all these years but this was different. I had been in an abusive marriage thirteen years ago and left the moment I found out about her. Having a child was different than this, you taught them what to do and enforcedit. I’d always been organized. Everything had its place and was labeled. I didn’t think I was some Type A bitch, but man, being engaged and living with someone was sure showing me a lot about myself.

I loved my fiancé. He quite literally saved me from a lifetime of loneliness and gave my daughter the father figure she had always been missing in her life. He was six-feet-six-inches of husky, tattooed, close-cut-bearded sexiness. But the man was a slob. Okay. . .maybe I was being a little dramatic when I said slob. He was a little messy. He was always in such a rush that he didn’t leave enough time to clean up after himself.

I, on the other hand, was used to planning extra time to make sure I could put things back where they went.

“Natasha!” I yelled again at the lack of response, “We’re going to be late!”

I turned the straightener off and laid it on the hot mat on my tidy side of the sink. I stopped to give Lucas’ area another moment of serious side eye. I ironically didn’t have time to clean up after him today.

I knew it shouldn’t bother me this much. No one came into our private bathroom unless it was an emergency, no guests would see it, but I’d always liked things neat and tidy. My ex-husband had lived like an actual slob and been a borderline hoarder. He hadn’t let me clean and I’d often be in trouble if I broke and did so.

When I was finally free of him, I’d let myself clean and organize to my heart’s content. I was even able to earn a living as a professional organizer. The fact that half of my bathroom looked like this was bothering me more than the typical person. I’d developed some major obsessive-compulsive tendencies over the years that I used to help when my anxiety manifested. Thetherapist I was seeing currently was helping me work through these things.

I walked down the hall to the bottom of the stairs, and looked up for any sign of life from my daughter. Her dark head finally came into view at the top. She was still in her pajamas.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “We have to be at the school in thirty minutes. This is your last week before Christmas break.”

I’d taken the next few weeks off until after the New Year to spend time with Nat. I’d never been able to do it before as a single mother. Lucas was adamant I do it this year. As I looked at my thirteen year old she wrapped her arms around herself. I smiled softly at her choice of pajamas. She was wearing sleep shorts that matched one of Lucas’ police tee shirts, and her hair was rumpled. Her light blue eyes met my own and I noticed she looked flushed.

“I don’t feel good,” she mumbled with a soft groan.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. This wasn’t in the plan.

She turned to walk back down the upstairs hallway to her room.

I jogged up the stairs tucking my beach-waved, ebony hair behind my ears.

“Should’ve gone with the ponytail,” I said to myself, grabbing a towel she’d left on the floor as I went.

Turning into Nat’s room, I caught her ducking into her private bathroom, and immediately heard the tell-sign of vomiting.

“Fuck,” I sighed softly, wiping my hands over my face. “Honey, are you okay?” I asked, knowing she’d get upset if I came in there to mother hen over her.

Gone were the days when she ran to me when she was sick. She informed me daily that she was a teenager now. I approachedthe bathroom doorway, giving her room a onceover. Her phone charger and phone were laying on the carpet by the nightstand. The carpet under her bed was somehow crooked, laying across the hardwood floor. Clothes were everywhere instead of in the hamper. Her fairy lights were on and television paused on some obscure movie she and Lexi had been watching the last time they were up here together.

I picked up the gym bag she used for volleyball and immediately held it away from me. I thought teenage boys were supposed to be the stinky ones. Turns out it was teenagers as a whole. Lucas was definitely rubbing off on her. I guess it looked like a typical thirteen year old’s room, but it was getting bad.

I stopped and took a couple of deep breaths.

Now was not the time.

Usually my anxiety set off a cleaning and organizing mood and it was worse than usual today. I guess my special Christmas season anxiety was kicking in.

Nat came to the bathroom door, groaning and still looking pale. I placed my cool hand against her burning forehead.

“Oh, baby. Get in bed. I’m going to get the thermometer, you're burning up.”

I turned on my heel after she nodded weakly at me and walked barefoot back down the hall and stairs. Opening the hallway closet, I swear to God my eye twitched. It too was an absolute disaster. I was starting to feel like a raving bitch. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Moving around unfolded linens and towels, I found the sick basket.

I’d always had a tub, bucket, or basket with kleenex, a thermometer, and medications for any ailment ready to go. Being a single mom meant I had no time to hunt and gather these things sometimes. There was no one else to yell at tograb them when your toddler was projectile vomiting or pooping across the house. It had just stuck with me at this point. Balancing the basket on my plus-sized hip, I jogged back up the stairs and down the hall. I was relieved I hadn’t put my hoodie on and was just wearing my leggings and soft, short-sleeved shirt.

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