Page 52 of All I Want For Christmas

“Of course not. Those thingshurtwhen you’re a kid and you carry it with you to adulthood. What was Christmas at your house like? Describe a typical day.”

Blue chewed her lip and leaned forward a little so she could see him. “Are you sure you want to listen to all this? It’s not like I was actually abused or anything.”

But he just nodded. “Yes, I want to hear it. Get it out. Rant if you want. You’re entitled to your feelings.”

She hesitated, but then she leaned back against his chest and played with the edge of the bedsheet. “Well. My dad only saw me a few times a year, and he never wanted me for Christmas. He always went skiing. Sometimes he would send me a present, sometimes he would forget altogether, and most years I got a five dollar bill in the mail. Which, let me tell you, five bucks didn’t go very far even twenty years ago, and it’s not like my dad was hurting for cash. But it wasn’t the dollar amount, it was like I said, being an afterthought. He’d never even call.”

Christian laced his fingers through hers and squeezed.

“My mother was all into social justice and charity, which was great. I mean, I think it’s awesome that she’s dedicated her life to helping others, but when you’re six and your friends are all getting Barbies, being told your mother donated money in your name to the Red Cross just makes you resentful. She’d lecture me about starvation in Africa and I’d just wonder why it was me who had to give up toys so they could eat when no one else had to. It wasn’t like my mom gave up buying clothes or spending a ton of money on airfare to exotic locales or on her yoga classes. She was, and is, a hypocrite. Which makes me feel terrible saying out loud, but it’s true.”

“So she didn’t give you presents at all?”

His voice sounded so appalled, Blue instantly felt better.

“Not unless you count hemp mittens as a legit Christmas gift.”

“That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“One year, yeah. Some years I got nada. Or the time when I was twelve that I got a handwritten note from all about all the ways I had let her down the previous year and how I could improve myself spiritually.”

Christian’s jaw dropped. “What thefuck?”

“We didn’t have a Christmas tree either. Environmentally unsound, obviously. Like the gas-guzzling SUV she drove.”

“That is fucking horrible.”

Christian’s vehemence amused her. “So now you know why I don’t dig Christmas. It was something everyone else had and I envied them at first, then just resented the holiday altogether. For other kids, it was the best day of the year. For me, it was...lonely.”

“That sucks. And your parents should be ashamed of themselves. They were both selfish. And your mother has wonderful ideals in theory but she did you wrong. I bet my ass when she was six she wanted a damn Barbie too. She expected you to be a mini-adult and that was cruel. And she was a hypocrite and you’re allowed to say that out loud if it’s true. Which it clearly was. Is.”

Hearing someone else say the things Blue had always felt lifted a gigantic weight off of her shoulders. She’d always felt like she was the one lacking, like she was horrible and petty to feel the way she had as a kid, when she knew in her heart her feelings were legitimate. And somehow, having spoken them out loud and having them validated by Christian, she felt decidedly less bitter.

“Thanks,” she said softly, turning and giving him a kiss. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you ever get a good gift? Anything at all?”

She didn’t even hesitate on that one. “Yes. Just once. I was eight, and my dad had been to New York for Thanksgiving andhe bought me a glass snow globe. He gave it to me for Christmas, and it was even wrapped and everything. And I loved it...it was like magic. You shook it and the beautiful little flakes danced around the high rise buildings. They had wreaths on them for Christmas and I imagined that in a big city like that, with all those people, you would walk down the sidewalk in the snow and never feel lonely ever...”

The image of the cityscape dissipated in her mind and Blue cleared her throat, wondering what the hell she was doing. She was just going to shut up now.

“Have you been to New York?”

“No.” Because what if she walked down the sidewalk in the snow at Christmas time and still felt lonely? She didn’t want to ruin the magic, the hope.

“You should...it would be like embracing Christmas, hope, a different life for yourself than what your parents created.”

Or be crushed. One or the other. It freaked her out that he had used the wordhopeas well, that he could somehow pinpoint her emotions, that he hadn’t just shut this whole conversation down with an ill-timed joke five minutes ago.

She didn’t know how to deal with him, with any of this, so she just said, “You’re quite the philosopher, you know that? Not what I expected.”

“Nah. Just a guy who is content and wants amazing people he knows to feel the same way. And you have a choice now, you know. You can keep Christmas as a time of year that makes you unhappy, or you can decide to let it in and make some of your own traditions.”

“Like margaritas in bed in a cheap motel?” she said, mustering up a sassy smirk. This was all too raw. She needed to retreat.

Part of her figured he would argue or sigh that she was ditching the serious tone of the conversation. But he didn’t. Aftera second, where he searched her face with an intensity that was unnerving, he nodded.

“Exactly. Margaritas in bed on Christmas Eve. I like it.”

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