Page 35 of Scrooged for the Holidays
Ididn’tthinkthisnightmare could get worse, but here we are. It took me approximately a second to figure out where Kai had brought me and less than that to ask to leave. I know because I’ve relived this memory in my mind more than I care to admit.
I glare at Kai, the sincerity in his features telling me everything I need to know. No matter how much I beg, I’m not going to wake up.
Fuck. What if he is some kind of angelic being sent to show me the past so I can change my ways?
If I believed in God and heaven and hell, maybe this would be easier to come to terms with. But right now, I feel as if I’m stuck in some bad made-for-TV Christmas movie.
I move to smack myself again like I did earlier, just to check if I’ll wake up this time, but Kai stops me, squeezing my hand as the past version of me enters the living room with my ex-boyfriend, James.
“You can do this, Greer,” Kai insists.
While this version of me here with him in the past isn’t completely affected by the elements, every time he touches me, it’s as if my body lights up. His warmth shoots from my hand to the rest of me, and the desire to lean into his side and findcomfort in him builds in my chest. The butterflies I felt earlier when I was watching him with his lovers batter against my stomach, like they’re attempting an escape.
It’s annoying that, even in this nightmare or whatever the fuck it is, I’m attracted to him. That I’m seeking him for comfort in a way I’ve never sought comfort before—at least, not that I can remember. I’ve been alone for so long that I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to lean on someone.
Kai squeezes my hand again and gestures with his chin for me to look at the past version of me now standing in front of Avery’s parents’ Christmas tree. The action is a reminder that even if my body feels all sorts of things around him, he’s the reason I’m here and I can’t wake up.
I pull my hand away and put a bit of distance between us, ignoring how his beautiful face falls as if he’s disappointed. I push away the tug in my stomach to grab his hand again. I shouldn’t care about his feelings. I wouldn’t in reality, and I shouldn’t here, either.
I cross my hands over my chest so I’m not tempted to reach out again.
“Those decorations are cute,” the vision of my ex-boyfriend says to Past Me.
My muscles tense as my gaze lands on my profile. It’s weird watching these memories. The ones prior felt slightly different since I was a child and then in college. It was easier to separate them from the present, even if it was painful to watch. But this version of me is from only three years ago, so it’s as if I’m looking into a mirror.
Past Me steps toward the massive real pine tree that’s decorated to the nines. We’re in Avery’s family’s home for their Christmas Eve party, one of the many parties they host close to the holiday.
I know what Past Me is thinking as she stares at the tree: not only that Avery’s parents still have the best tree but that they always look straight out of a catalog, too. I was jealous of themwhen I was a kid, especially since the one my parents had was a fake tree and was very old.
“Which ones?” Past Me asks James about the decorations.
He lifts a round, clear plastic ornament, and Current Me’s heart rate spikes.
“This one.” He turns it so Past Me and Current Me can see that there’s a picture inside it. The image is of me and Avery after we built a snowman.
“It’s ugly,” Past Me says, though I know that’s not how I really felt.
“Oh, Greer!” I turn to see my mom approaching. She’s got on a red sweater dress, and she’s smiling wide. “It is not ugly. It’s a keepsake.” She turns to James. “Greer and Avery used to love making ornaments when they were younger.”
Anger boils inside me even now at my mom’s comment. I know what Past Me is thinking before she even voices it. It’s not like I could forget.
“So it’s a keepsake when it belongs to Avery, but when it’s mine, it’s just cheap, right?”
My mom bristles, her fair complexion turning red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey.”
I balk alongside Past Me. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t remember the day I brought home these exact ornaments, and your response was to go out and buy expensive glass ones instead?”
Mom glances at the tree, squinting at the ornaments to see better. “They aren’t the same.”
“They are, Mom. Like you said, I used to make ornaments when I was younger. These are those. But mine were thrown away. They must not have been good enough.”
Mom flushes red with embarrassment. She knows I’m right, but like everything in my life, Avery and her family always outshone me. If Avery made it, it was nicer. If the Jones familyhosted a party, it was more fun. The only thing I can remember being better at than Avery was school. I worked hard for my grades and to graduate from both high school and college with a 4.0 grade point average, but it didn’t matter.
“Greer, I did—”
