Page 15 of Not Like Christmas At All
“So why do you hate Christmas so much then? It sounds like they’re great.”
“I’m just not a fan,” he answers without hesitation, with a sense of finality in his statement.
Every other question swirling in my mind dies on my tongue.
Behind me, metal scrapes across the linoleum flooring, but I can’t tear my gaze from Lincoln's. The lack of expression on his face has the question screaming in my mind: why does he hate Christmas so dang much?
But it’s past two in the morning, and I can’t bring myself to push the issue. Unable to suppress it any longer, I let out a yawn, and our conversation goes quiet.
Suddenly feeling a little awkward in Lincoln’s presence, my thoughts run rampant, and my incessant need to know everything practically drives me to the brink of insanity. Turning my full attention over to my snacks, I push them around, hyperaware of every movement he makes. The air’s thick withtension, and I realize I’m having a hard time deciphering what kind of tension it may be.
He surprises me when he asks, “Does your family exchange gifts?”
My eyes snap to his. With a smile, I nod. “We’re big gift givers! But there’re so many of us, we rotate how we give each year.”
“What do you mean?” He leans forward with his elbow on the table, resting his chin against the heel of his hand.
My cheeks heat under his gaze. “Some years we do Secret Santa, or white elephant, but we’ve also done a gag gift exchange, which was a lot of fun.”
“What’s this year?”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I suppress a laugh. “Have you ever seen the social media videos with those giant plastic-wrapped balls people have to break into with oven mitts on?”
“Uh, not that I’m aware of?” His eyebrows furrow with confusion.
“So, you take a giant package or two of plastic wrap and wrap gifts within it as you roll it into a ball—the tighter, the better, with as many gifts as you can get in there. Then, whoever’s participating stands around something like a table or the kitchen counter, and one person has the ball, while the person next to them has a pair of dice. When it’s your turn with the ball, you try to rip or unroll your way to the gifts inside while you’re wearing oven mitts, and the person next to you is trying as quickly as possible to roll doubles. As soon as they do, they steal the ball from you, put the oven mitts on, and try to break into it before the next person rolls doubles. It can be pretty intense, but it is so much fun. You get to keep whatever gifts you’re able to get out of it.”
His lips purse, and he crosses his arms over his chest, casually leaning back in his chair. “What kind of gifts do you even put in a ball of plastic?”
“Anything you want, that’s the beauty of it! This year we all had to go buy twenty dollars’ worth of things, plus two five dollar gift cards. I grabbed easy, small essentials like hair ties, lip balm, and mini bottles of hand sanitizer. I know one of my brothers said he picked up a couple small bottles of alcohol, and extra gift cards. I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone else came up with!”
“I’m intrigued,” Lincoln announces, but I’m skeptical if he actually is. Honestly, he looks a little bored after my word vomit of the game's overview.
“You should be,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “I’ll have to mention it to Zee, so maybe one year you guys can play that at Christmas, too.”
“Maybe.”
Another silence plagues our table, and I check my watch. Only fifteen minutes have passed.
Deciding it’s time for me to head back upstairs, I gather the rest of my snacks and stand. “Well, I’m going to try to lie down for a bit before rounds. Thanks for letting me sit.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Where this shift at work has drained my energy, Lincoln has drained the Christmas cheer right out of me with his overall frigid demeanor toward the holiday. Never mind he never seems to smile when he’s around me but always seems friendly and happy when other people are around.
I can’t figure him out, but as I walk away from the table we just shared, I can’t help but fantasize what it would be like to have the other side of him. Smiling.Laughing. The Lincoln Zee tells me about and is so fond of. I don’t get that side of him, just passing glimpses every so often.
But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that his obvious passiveness about the holiday I hold so dear to my heart has me feeling like the only logical next step is to avoid him until after Christmas.
Petty, maybe, but I want to enjoy the most wonderful time of year, and when Dr. Lincoln Stokes is in my presence lately, it feels akin to hanging out with Scrooge.
So as the doors to the cafeteria swing closed behind me, I promise myself to do exactly that. Christmas is in three days—Lincoln isn’t working the holiday, and I’m off tomorrow. This should be easy. Really, I only have to stay away from Lincoln for a few more hours.
Operation avoid the grump and recharge my Christmas battery is now in progress.
Chapter Six
Less than twenty-four hours later, I’m sitting cross-legged on my couch, crying into a bowl of peppermint ice cream while on a video call with my mom. How pathetic am I? I don’t know why I’m being hit with an onslaught of emotions over having to work on my favorite holiday, but even I can recognize I’m taking it to the extreme.
