Christmas Catch: A Holiday Novella (4 page)

“Is that how it’s gonna be, Poison?” He raises his eyebrow and that’s all it takes. I’m whipping him with the Red Vines and he’s covering his head and trying to tickle me. He lets me get a few hits in, but then he goes for my middle and ends up pinning me on the couch on my back.

“I win.”

We used to wrestle as kids, and whenever he would win, he’d say that. And sometimes I would throw a fit and we’d go again and he would let me win and rub it in his face. We both knew he let me, but it was sweet just the same.

Sawyer stares down at me and something shifts and then his lips are on my lips, like two magnets being drawn together. Can’t stop it, can’t fight it. Let it happen.

We’ve kissed before, hundreds of times, but his kiss never ceased to touch me deep down. I’ve never kissed anyone but Sawyer. I never wanted to kiss anyone but Sawyer. He doesn’t know that.

I open my mouth and his tongue slips over my lips and into my mouth and our tongues reintroduce themselves to each other. There’s no awkwardness. We both know what the other likes, what turns us inside out. He wraps his fingers in my curly hair and pulls, just a little. I moan into his mouth and dig my hands into his back. He’s pressing himself against me, and I know that he wants me. I want him too.

But this can’t happen. I can’t go there again, because I got out. This was the reason I said good-bye in the first place. I take my hand and push on his chest enough that our mouths part. We’re both breathing heavily, and I’m so turned on that I can barely stand it.

“I can’t,” I say as he looks down at me, his lips red from our activity. I move his hair out of his eyes. I’m not used to the long hair, but I like it. Gives you something else to hold onto.

“I’m sorry.” This time he says it.

“What are you sorry for, Sawyer?” I turn the tables on him.

“Don’t play that game, Ivy.” He climbs off me and I push myself up on my elbows.

“Then how do you want to play it? I ended this. We both left. Now we’re back here again. I just . . . I can’t do this.” I put one of my hands through my hair. I know he’s messed it up. He always does.

“Then you should probably stop kissing me, Ivy. It takes two people to kiss. If that’s how you feel, then don’t kiss me.” He’s mad. He gets up from the couch and takes both our empty wine glasses and starts washing them in the sink. The movie is still playing, but I ignore it.

“You left. No reason. Everything was fine and I thought that we were going to make it, even though we were going to different colleges. I thought what we had was strong enough to make it. But then you ended it, and I was left with nothing. Now you’re back and you’re screwing with my head again. I can’t fucking DO this, Ivy!” He grips one of the glasses too hard and it shatters. I get up from the couch and rush to help him.

“Shit,” he says, running his hand under the water as it mixes with blood.

“Let me see,” I say, taking his hand and looking at it to make sure there isn’t any broken glass in the cut. He lets me and it looks okay. I grab a paper towel and blot it try. The cut isn’t too bad, just on his palm. Then I get a clean paper towel and wrap it around his hand and tell him to squeeze. Without asking, I go to his bathroom and come back with a box of band aids, antiseptic and some antibiotic cream.

“Sit,” I say and he drops down into a chair. His jaw is tight and he’s glaring at me, but he lets me patch him up.

“This is new. I’m not used to you breaking things. When did that start happening?” He doesn’t answer, so I put the first aid things away and come back out. He’s still sitting in the chair and glaring off into space.

“If you want to be pissed at me, fine. But don’t give me the silent treatment. It’s childish. I’ve told you I’m sorry for everything. When I left here, I wanted a clean break. I didn’t think I could do the long distance thing. It seemed better to cut our losses and not try to keep something going that was doomed anyway.”

“We were doomed? Who are you to decide that? I would have fought for you. For us. But you just gave up before we even started. Didn’t even try. Just gave up.”

“That’s not fair.” I pull out the other chair and sit down. Now I’m the one glaring. He’s putting this on me, but he’s the one who didn’t fight the breakup.

“If I recall, I was the one who ended it, but you said it was fine. You agreed to it. So what the hell, Sawyer? Were you lying to me? You, Mr. Honesty Is The Best Policy? How about we talk about that?” I cross my arms and we glare at each other, both boiling mad.

He doesn’t say anything and something inside me snaps. I didn’t come here for this. I don’t know what I came for, but I don’t want to do this anymore. I am officially done. Being at home is better than this.

“Well, if you don’t want me here, then I’m going to go. Bye, Sawyer.” He doesn’t stop me from leaving, and I slam the door. It doesn’t make me feel better. I knew coming home was a mistake.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I cried on the way back home. There was a reason I ended things with Sawyer. I can’t trust myself around him. Well, no more. If I see him again, I’m running the other way. Stupid small town. THIS IS WHY I FUCKING LEFT.

I blast The Police and drive in circles through Saltwater before heading back home. I’ve got nowhere else to go, and it’s time to decorate the damn tree. The weather has snapped back to cold and I can smell snow in the air. Yes, you can smell snow. Or at least I can.

My house does look cozy, with the half-burned out lights sadly blinking on the porch and the lights glowing over the yard. Christmas music is blasting again; I can hear it as soon as I get out of the car. Instead of yelling, I hear laughter. That’s a nice change.

I wipe my eyes and take a few breaths of the chilly air. It burns in my lungs and dries the remnants of my tears.

It’s chaos when I walk inside, but joyful chaos.

“You’re back!” Mom says, as several of my nieces and nephews cover her with tinsel. Drew and Dad are busy trying to turn the tree so the best side is facing out, with contradictory instructions from Dulcey and Stacy.

“We wanted to wait for you to be here until we started the ornaments.” There is a very specific way that they must be put on, and we’ve been doing it this way since I was a kid. I’d nearly forgotten about the routine, but I smile as I look at the dozens of boxes of ornaments. First, before we do anything, we must pick a color scheme and vote on it.

Mom holds up a notebook and a pencil and hands it to me. I write down all the possible color combinations. These were agreed upon by my parents (or really, my mother) before we were born. Silver and blue, red and green, purple and white, orange and yellow, red, black and white, orange, blue and silver, green, purple and silver. It’s a very complicated system.

I call out the colors and everyone votes for their favorite. There is also a lot of “convincing” that goes on. Or I should say, pressuring. It’s like a presidential campaign, with everyone trying to win votes to their side. Once everything is tallied, the winner is red, black and white. This is my personal favorite, so I’m happy.

Then, we have to get the right boxes, which are all labeled (once again, by my mother) and everyone fights to see who gets to put on the first one. In addition to the colored ornaments, we have strings of lights to match, and all of the ornaments that have sentimental value that always go on the tree, regardless of color theme.

Drew’s stepson wins the Rock, Paper, Scissors battle to put on the first ornament, which also wins him the crown of Ornament King.

God, I’d forgotten how much fun this could be. Dad breaks out the eggnog (alcoholic for the adults and non for the kids) and the music blasts and we all share stories about other times.

It’s like a fucking Christmas card. After the stress and turmoil of dealing with Sawyer, it’s actually nice to be home.

“I’m glad you’re here, kid,” Mom says, putting her arm around me and giving me a hug.

“Me too,” I say, and it’s not a lie.

My plan to avoid Sawyer goes to shit the next day when Mom sends me out for pizza. She’s taking care of all the grandkids while their parents are at work, and the only food that will appease the minions is pizza.

And, surprise, surprise, who else is getting pizza?

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter under my breath when I see his truck parked next to the pizza place. I sit in my car and try to peer into the building to see if I can see him.

I crouch down in my seat, so if he comes out, he won’t see me. The door opens and I peer over the dashboard. It’s Sawyer, carrying a stack of pizza boxes. He sets them in his truck, gets in and drives off. Phew.

I wait until his truck is definitely gone before I go in.

“Pickup for Mary,” I say to Ray, the guy who makes the pizzas. He graduated a few years ahead of me and the day after graduation he started working here full time. Doesn’t hurt that his dad owns the place and he’s an only child. That seems to be the case in small towns. Boys grow up and are just shoved into the family business.

“It’s already been picked up,” he says, spreading sauce on a new pie. This is a damn small town but a town that consumes a hell of a lot of pizza. This guy never has a dull moment.

“What do you mean? Who picked it up?”

“Sawyer McCallister. He picked it up and paid for it.” He gives me a look because, of course, he knows all about my history with Sawyer. He waggles his eyebrows and I know that everyone must think that the two of us are back together, just because I’m back. I want to smack that look right off his face.

“Huh,” I say. “Well, thanks anyway.” He gives me a smile and I leave, puzzled. I drive back to the house and Sawyer’s truck is parked outside and he’s sitting in it. I get out and walk up to the window and he rolls it down.

“You stole my pizzas,” I say, motioning to the stack of boxes.

“I paid for them, so technically that isn’t stealing. And I’m also delivering them, so you should be thanking me.” He’s not smiling, but I feel like he wants to.

I cross my arms and wait.

“Look, I was getting pizza for some of the guys and Ray told me that you had ordered some, so I figured I would make up for being an asshole last night by doing you a favor.”

“How’s your hand?” He holds it up, still covered in the band aid I’d put on it last night.

“It’s fine. Look, I’m really sorry for what I said, and I didn’t mean to attack you and freak out. It was mutual, and if I wanted you, I should have fought for you, but I didn’t. We’re going to be stuck here together in this place for a few days, so how about we call a truce?”

I lean on the open window. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the curtains flutter as Mom looks out and I know I’m going to get interrogated about this as soon as I walk in.

“A truce?”

He nods and sticks out his hand. “A truce.”

I shake his hand, but let go quickly.

“Well, delivery boy, how about you help me bring those pizzas in?” I get a tiny smile as he gets out and carries the pizza boxes into the house.

“I don’t understand why you ever broke up with him, Ivy,” Mom says after Sawyer brings in the boxes and Mom oohhhs and ahhhs over seeing him again. She adored him when we were together, and I know he really liked her too. She was devastated when I told her we weren’t together anymore.