Page 40 of War on Christmas

As I set down my phone, I turn my attention back to my mom, who’s busy breaking a bamboo fishing pole that belonged to Gary’s dad over her knee. And I realize I have a whole new problem to deal with.

“So,” I sigh. “Any ideas on where I can take a girl on a date these days?”

***

FREYA

Sam: OMG!!! Thad said you and Jeremy are going ON A DATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sam: Where are you going? What are you doing? What are you wearing?

Sam: DETAILS, FREYA!

“Why is your phone blowing up?” Bethany asks, her eyes tearing away from the arrangement she’s working on to peek at the phone cradled in my hands.

She spent the morning tutoring me on her new, edgier floral style, which is largely based on contrasting textures and bursts of complementary colors. I was just helping her put together some table arrangements for a local company’s holiday party tonight when my phone started chiming wildly on the over-sized butcher-block island where we’re working.

“Hmm.” I stare at my phone.Ididn’t tell Thad about the date, which means Jeremy must have. I contemplate lying to Bethany. She did, after all, go on that “Jeremy McHottie is the total package” diatribe yesterday. However, she also hired Hot Santa. My perception of her has shifted, and I decide to give her another chance. “It’s Sam. Jeremy and I are going on a date tonight—withoutyour children—and she’s hitting me up for details.”

“Iwant details,” Bethany says, stabbing a small pine branch into her arrangement.

“I bet you do,” I smirk. “Married for a million years…a gaggle of children always pulling you in ten different directions…I’dwant to live vicariously through me too.”

It’s a gamble. A few years ago, this comment would have sent Bethany careening into a hissy fit. But things have been…well, they’ve been better during this visit home. Different. Don’t get me wrong, Bethany is still having hissy fits, but so far, they haven’t been directed at me. Late night wine and tarot readings…debating the merits of Jeremy McHottie…gossiping while I help at the store. For the first time, I almost feel on even footing with her. And it’s only taken thirty-five years.

My comment is rewarded with a snort and an eye roll, and Bethany shoves some holly berries at me.

“I actually haveyouto thank for the date,” I tell her, following her unspoken direction to add some red to my bouquet. “Jeremy refused to ask me on an official date until I got all flirty with Hot Santa last night. So…thanks.”

Bethany grins, her cheeks pink.

“It was a little brilliant, right?” she asks. “Just a little?”

“A little?” I scoff. “Umm, that was straight-up inspired.”

Her grin stretches into a wide, beaming smile of pride.

“Best turnout yet,” she tells me. “The Christmas festival committee already asked me to lead operations for next year. And nowyou…” she draws out the word, “get to work your wiles on Jeremy tonight. A real date without my children around. Sounds promising.”

I try to keep my expression neutral, eyes on my flowers. But even surrounded by evergreen boughs and bombarded by the classic Christmas music drifting in from the shop, I can’t totally swallow my smile. There are still nine days left until Christmas, and I’m pretty sure this date is going to push Team Seduction over the finish line.

Twenty-Seven

JEREMY

Notafuckboy.Nota fuckboy. Not a fuckboy.

I keep up a steady stream of small talk as I drive us to dinner, but in my head, I’m clinging to the mantra like a drowning man to a hunk of wood. If I know one thing going into tonight’s date, it’s that I cannot let Freya take the reins like she did last night. She’s going to come out swinging, and her single goal will be pushing me onto the fast track to fuckboy territory.

And it’s the one place I refuse to go with her.

Since our first—well, technicallysecondkiss—I’ve been trying to show Freya that we can be more than just the sexual chemistry between us. We can talk about our lives—our families and jobs and friends. We can hang out with her niece and nephews and exchange bewildered looks at the slang we’re now too ancient to understand. (Side note: What the actual fuck is a “yeet”?)

I already know what Freya would say to all of this.It’ll be different when we get back to Chicago. Weare too different. Straight-laced architect, artsy theater manager, blah blah blah.She doesn’t get it. I don’t want someone who slides seamlessly into my old life in Chicago. If that’s what I was looking for, a dozen women I’ve dated could have done just that. What I want—what Ineed—is someone who will shake me out of the safety zone of mediocrity I’ve created for myself.

I’d been feeling lost.

But since reconnecting with Freya almost a week ago, I feel…well,notlost. Sure, this week has been hard. It’s not fun spending day after day sorting through Gary’s stuff, every greasy-collared shirt and scuffed up pair of boots a reminder of the man who looms over my childhood like some mythological monster. It’s awkward trying to find a way forward with a mother I no longer know. But despite all of that, I’m hopeful. Being home again, having Freya back in my life…it’s been like a quest, an epic C&C campaign, where I’m required to face the past I’ve been running from since I was eighteen. And if I can find the pieces of me that I lost and put myself back together, maybe I can finally move forward. Maybe I can find a way to love my job again. Have a real relationship. Take some risks.

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