“Fine, this once I don’t mind you skiving, but I still expect you and Nadia at the cottage tomorrow evening.”
Ah, yes. The infamous Christmas Eve get-together hosted by Amelia every year. It was a tradition, apparently.
I wouldn’t know, having only attended one. The party was great, just the closest friends exchanging silly gifts and spending time together like family. The not so great part? Dress code: Christmas themed fancy dress. But there was nothing that couldn’t be made fun, right?
You bet.
Last year, instead of the expected—an elf or a reindeer—I wore a Christmas jumper that read “I’m not Santa, but you can be my Ho”. Amelia wasn’t amused, but Nick sure couldn’t stop chuckling every time he looked at me.
“We’ll be there. I’ve got the perfect outfit ready.”
“I can imagine, but you won’t top mine.”
I pressed the horn when some moron didn’t clear the junction, too busy playing with his phone.
“Does Mel know about it?”
“No, she’s thinks I’m wearing a snowman costume she bought me.”
I want to be there when Mel realises, I’m not the only adult child.
Thirty minutes later, I entered my house. Nadia was already home, and God, it felt good not to come back to an empty, silent house. I was almost giddy, seeing her coat and bag on the hanger. The coffee machine was working in the kitchen.
Nadia sat with her back to me by the breakfast bar, pencils scattered on the worktop. Her hand moved slowly, and for a moment, I watched as she filled the blank page. She outlined two silhouettes in a tight embrace—a man and the girl in a white dress.
It was nothing like all the other sketches she drew lately. This one was calm, the lines soft, delicate.
My phone chimed in my pocket, frightening Nadia. She glanced over her shoulder, scrambling to close the sketchpad, her cheeks pink.
“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. Do you want a coffee?”
I crossed the room, cupped her face and devoured her nude lips. We spent the whole day together yesterday; she slept in my bed; but it wasn’t enough. She was gone for too long, and now, the four hours without her this morning were too much.
I lifted her bum and pressed her against the wall, desire blooming in the pit of my stomach. I smiled against her lips when she sighed, glee in her eyes.
“What’s so amusing?” she asked, breaking away.
“How is it that out of all the things I do, you like something so simple as kissing against the wall the best?”
She pressed her palms to my chest, pushing until I let her stand.
“Does that bother you?” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
“No, of course not. I’m just curious about why that’s what you like best.”
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but it was clear that there was a solid reason behind the preference. She was either ashamed or anxious to share it, and there was no way I could drop the subject now.
“Don’t brush me off, baby doll. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
She ducked under my arm, caught my hand and led me out to the garden, grabbing our cigarettes on the way.
She sat cross-legged on the double swing, and I rested against the wall, Marlboro between my lips.
“I’d rather not tell you, but I know you won’t drop this. I also think it’s best that you know the truth rather than imagine God knows what.”
Check and check.
“You know me well.”