Page 5 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
“Which TV show to binge while I eat ramen noodles.”
“Man, I know you’re not into Christmas, but that’s taking it kind of far.” Ryan’s forehead scrunched. “It’s just one day a year. Family, good food…what’s so bad about that?”
“Nothing, if that’s your experience with the holiday.” Nick snatched a sharpened pencil from his desk and twirled it between his fingers. He and Ryan had become better friends the past year. Ryan had even gone so far as to connect his parentswith Nick about potentially investing in his dream—one outside of the advertising industry. But that didn’t mean Nick had to explain why he morphed into the Grinch one month a year.
“So tell me”—Ryan tossed his cup into Nick’s wastebasket, then hopped up on the edge of his desk as if settling in for story hour—“what’s your experience?”
Guess they were doing this.
Nick hesitated, craning his neck to glance around. The rows of unoccupied desks, laden with twinkle lights and mini desktop Christmas trees, proved most of their co-workers were still at lunch—or already using well-earned vacation time to start their holiday early.
“My Christmas experiences…” Nick settled back in his chair. “Let’s see. Last year, I played sick in order to avoid my parents, if that tells you anything.” He cringed as he remembered getting sick for real a week later, which felt like a sign from God about lying.
Ryan crossed his arms, as if waiting for more.
“Okay, the year before that featured eating at a Chinese buffet alone while my parents were with a client in England.” Nick snapped his fingers. “No,Ireland.And the year before that, I made it through ‘family’ dinner”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“but decided to bail about the time my mom, wearing pearls, mind you, toted ‘homemade’ cream puffs from the kitchen.” More air quotes.
Ryan blinked a few times. “I don’t get it. That sounds delicious.” He leaned in from his perch, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’m hoping Lydia grows into her baking ability. Don’t tell her that.”
“I’m sure theyweredelicious. The clients my parents were trying to impress at the time sure thought so.” Nick grunted. “Probably wouldn’t have if they’d seen the bakery box in the trash can like I did.”
Ryan shrugged. “Doesn’t every mom try to pass off baked goods as her own at some point in her life?”
“Sure.” Nick returned the pencil to the holder on his desk, pausing to align it evenly with his calendar. “Once or twice. Buteveryholiday meal for my entire childhood?”
Ryan winced. “Yeah, that’s a flag.”
“I couldn’t relax in my own home. Christmas for the Kinsleys was just another photo op, strategically arranged to help them climb the corporate ladder. Everything always had to be perfect.” Nick swallowed. Including him.
Until the one year he wasn’t.
The sheriff’s firm grip on his shoulder, the echoing ring of the doorbell. It all lived in Nick’s head rent-free, when he let it. Ice crunching under his boots on the porch step, waiting for his parents to open the door. Mom’s horrified face when they finally did. Nick’s pacing in front of the decorated mantel as Dad created a verbal symphony of curse words and threats. The snow globe Nick spun around in his hands, desperate to look anywhere but at the disappointment and anger on his father’s face.
Even now, fifteen years later, when Nick closed his eyes, he could still see the floating orbs of snow drifting around the globe. Tiny scraps of his epic failure.
He shook off the dark memories. “Long story short, I don’t have any cozy, come-home-for-Christmas memories like you do.”
He hadn’t mentioned the deeper reason for his hating the holidays, but that wasn’t anyone’s business. The point was, Nick had learned his lesson and intended to give back, so long as he could find investors for his dream. Ryan’s parents, Thomas and Grace Sinclair, had expressed interest—so much so, they’d called him privately last week after the conference call with Ryan and told him they were praying about a big opportunity that might be just what Nick needed. Then they asked him to do two things.
Pray about it too.
And not tell Ryan.
“So, anyway, Christmas Eve ramen noodles it is.” Nick turned to his keyboard, busying himself with uploading the revised campaign files, hoping Ryan would take the hint and head to his own desk. Nick hated keeping secrets, especially from a friend, but he wasn’t in a position to argue with potential investors. Besides, the Sinclairs seemed like wholesome people. Surely they had a good reason for their request. Maybe they just preferred keeping financial matters private. Nick could respect that.
“Dude!” Ryan shouted suddenly, startling Nick. “You should totally come home with me for Christmas.”
“Aha!” Nick spun to face him, pointing. “That’s why you were acting weird earlier!”
Ryan scoffed. “I wasn’t weird.”
“Fine. What are the kids saying these days?Cray-cray?”
“First of all, never say that again.” Ryan slid off the desk, his pants finally covering his stupid socks. “And secondly, that phrase is already outdated.”
Nick spun back to his computer. “Thanks for the update.”
“I’m serious, man.” Ryan’s face, lit up like the overly decorated tree in the corner of the office, popped into view in his peripheral. “You should come.”
