Page 13 of Texting My Secret Santa

I tap my finger against my chin. It’s nice that he’s taking an interest. Maybe, once this is over, we could be friends. Or perhaps I could forget about this whole Asher thing and actually date somebody appropriate? What a world that would be.

Me:My dad used to work away a lot. He was a traveling salesman. The last of a dying breed, he called himself. He always made sure he was back for the holidays, even if only for a few days. So, my mom, brother, and I would ensure it was as special as possible. We knew how important it was to him to come home to a happy family. Even if we’d been arguing, we’d put that behind us. We’d let the Christmas cheer take over. I never forgot the magic of that feeling. I will never forget how transformative it could be. One second, we’re struggling to get into the spirit. The next, the spirit is taking us over. Is that cheesy enough for you, Grinch?

I click send, hoping I haven’t gone too far, but he asked. You can expect an essay if you get me talking about the holidays. It’s in my blood.

Minutes pass, then an hour. No reply. Nada. I focus on my work until the end of the day. Then I check it.

There’s still no reply. I don’t get it. The conversation was going well, and he suddenly decided not to text back. It leaves mefeeling overexposed. I’ve shared too much, made an ass out of myself.

That evening, when I return home, I must have a sour look on my face. Dan looks up from his open laptop in his usual spot at the kitchen island. “You good?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t look … well, as ecstatically happy as you usually do at this time of year.”

“I’m fine,” I say, grabbing a coffee pod.

“And a coffee at this time of the evening?”

“What’s with the psychoanalysis?” I say, shoving the pod into the machine without much Christmas cheer. I slam the drawer shut, happy for the loud whirring sound to block out any other questions Dan might have.

I’m not safe for long. He looks at me in that searching, concerned way. One downside of being so close with my big brother is that he genuinely cares and wants to spend time with me. That never felt like a negative before I started fantasizing about his best friend.

As he keeps looking—and I continue stubbornly refusing to speak—I wonder if my Grinch, my Secret Santa, might’ve been the person to save me from this inappropriate attraction to Asher. I could’ve broken the rules, found out who he was, and went on a date.

Sure, I would’ve been thinking of Asher and comparing him at first. Maybe, if I kept trying, I could’ve gotten over that and found a place of genuine affection and desire. I could have anormal relationship, not one that ends with me breaking my big brother’s heart.

“Are you going to drink your coffee or stare into space?” Dan says.

“It’s still hot.”

“We’ve been sitting here in frankly awkward—some might say torturous—silence for five minutes.”

Is that true? Jeez. From the temperature of the java, he seems to be correct.

“I want to get some late work done.”

I won’t get much sleep tonight, anyway. I put myself out there with my Secret Santa, sharing personal stuff. It felt like oversharing. I was on an emotional limb, and his non-reply was like he cut that limb off.

Overdramatic? Sue me.

“Seriously, sis, you know we can talk about anything you want.”

Nope, we can’t. It’s not like I can casually start outlining how I’ve been fantasizing about his bestie.

Maybe I can share the Secret Santa stuff, but that would mean admitting my idea has one flaw we should’ve seen coming. People are going to make their texts personal. He made an HR comment during the announcement. It’s true. It’s a nightmare waiting to happen.

Or maybe everybody else has more self-control than me.

“Another night owl,” Dan says, grinning when Asher walks in.

Asher smiles at my brother, then walks to the fridge. Is he purposefully not looking at me? Maybe he’s annoyed that I touched him. It wasn’t a big deal. I just put my hand on his chest. It was instinct, a reaction.

“Busy evening?” Dan asks as Asher makes himself a sandwich.

“I was on the phone with Mom. She wants me to swing by her place tomorrow to help decorate her tree. Wants to make up for old times, I guess.”

“That’s great, Asher.”

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