If only . . .
“Yeah.” I’m quiet after that, my lips sealing shut.
“What do you do for Christmas?” Curiosity fills Zebb’s voice.
“Oh, I don’t really celebrate.” I smooth my hands down the skirt of my costume, not wanting to discuss the holiday.
“Come on. You must do something?”
I think back on the years where I’ve cooked myself a small chicken breast and fancied it up with boxed stuffing. Or the year I ordered Chinese to honor Ralphie and his family fromA Christmas Story.
“My dad always took us on a vacation over Christmas. As I grew older and had to work, I stopped going with him. I’d just stay at home.”
“Alone?” The censure in his voice says he can’t believe such an idea.
“Some years I might have hung out with friends or a boyfriend.” Although I didn’t have many boyfriends over the years. I can only think of one or two times I’d gone with a man to his family’s home. In both cases, I thought the invitation meant something more. From one, I later learned I’d been invited to get his family off his back about marriage. From the other, I’d been included to make a former girlfriend jealous.
As for friends, the collection has grown smaller and smaller as I aged. I didn’t have a spouse, so it took me out of double dating. I didn’t have children, so the circle contracted even more. I had nothing in common with newbie moms or their eventually-growing kids and the trials of adolescents.
“What did you do for Thanksgiving?” Zebb’s voice is quiet, hesitant even.
My mouth falls open and then shuts. Internal conflict rages. Should I tell him what I did? “I usually go to a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving to serve meals to others.”
Zebb slows at a stop light and glances at me from across the truck. “That’s really . . . nice.” But the tenderness in his voice is masked with pity.
“This year I visited my mother.”
His brows pinch and the light turns to green. He accelerates but says, “I thought your mom wasn’t in the picture.”
“She returned. It’s a new development.”
He peers over at me again but doesn’t ask more as I gaze out the side window. Thinking about my mother is such a downer. I went to see her this past Sunday. While there, I told her about my date with Zebb, leaving out what we’d done in his truck. She smiled at me as I spoke but didn’t share any words of encouragement or advice. What did she know about second chances anyway?
“I’ll probably visit my mother this Christmas.” I try to sound cheery about the possibility but inside there is no joy in the probability.
Zebb doesn’t respond and soon he is looking for street parking. Once we find a spot, he helps me out of his truck and then assists me placing my wings back on.
A large banner greets us as we enter the party.
“A Snowball’s Chance? I don’t get it.” Zebb holds my hand again and I’ve wrapped my other hand around his bicep.
“We’re firemen. A snowball doesn’t have a chance in hell where fire reigns. Tonight is an innocent snowball’s chance.” He wiggles his brows as his gaze rakes over me.
“Ah. Is that a euphemism for getting lucky tonight?”
“Who knows?” He squeezes my hand.
The pub is loud and filled with sexy Santas and even sexier elves. I’m completely overdressed in my angel costume and opposite most other women here with their short skirts and buxom bosoms. Zebb stands out as well in his green velvet robe compared to all the open Santa jackets with a few bare chests exposed.
“What the fuck are you?” A deep male voice comes from behind us and Zebb turns as he’s clapped on the back.Another man dressed as Santa.
It’s starting to look a little like a Santa convention in here.
“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present.”
The man makes a horrified face and laughs. “Eek. You’re scaring me alright.” He lifts his glass and takes a quick drink. “Seriously, you look like Joseph who lost his Mary.”
Zebb gives the man a scathing look, then introduces us. “Eva, this is Mick Schitt.”