Christmas Catch: A Holiday Novella (2 page)

Mom sighs loudly and we all look at her. I swear, she’s got tears in her eyes.

“It’s just so good to have all of you here,” she says, blotting her eyes with the paper towels we use as napkins. We’re also eating off Styrofoam because Mom got a “deal” on them at the big box discount store. Screw the environment. She got a DEAL.

I look at my brother and sister and we’re all sort of embarrassed by Mom’s display.

“Get a grip, Mary,” Dad says, patting her on the shoulder. “No one’s going anywhere right now.” He shoots a look at me. Yeah, yeah. They were pissed when I left for college. It was NOT pretty when I told them there was no way in hell I was staying in this effing town. They couldn’t imagine what was out in the world that you couldn’t get here.

And that’s just it. That’s the reason I had to leave. I want more. I want more than having babies with a guy who never has a steady paycheck, who spends every Friday night at the bar. That’s fine for some people, but it wasn’t for me. And they can’t understand why.

“Well, I have some news,” Stacy says, changing the subject. “Bucky and I are expecting!” Bucky is her third husband, and she doesn’t have any kids with him. Well, yet. Mom shrieks with joy and rushes over to hug Stacy and Drew keeps looking at the game and Dad gets out more beer to toast to his next grandchild.

“Congratulations,” I say. I do mean it. Babies are pretty awesome news, but I think she’s got her hands full with three already. She can barely manage them. I get up from the table and go to toss my plate.

The Christmas tree is set up in the living room already, but it’s naked. Mom wants us all to decorate it together, even though Christmas is less than a week away. It’s a little scraggly, since it’s one that Dad cut from our backyard. They think it’s sacrilege to buy a tree when there are a bazillion in our backyard.

I go outside without my coat, even though it’s cold enough now to need one. That’s Maine weather for you. Completely bipolar. The Christmas lights on our porch are half burned out because my parents leave them strung all year long. We are THOSE people. I lean against the porch and inhale.

There is only one thing I miss about Saltwater and it’s the smell. Ocean and trees and fresh earth. It’s rich and alive and it makes me feel better no matter what. I inhale as much as I can, letting the coldness burn a little in my lungs. Hurts so good.

Mom and Drew are back to fighting, judging by the noise coming from the house. I pull out my phone and text my best friend, Allison.

I am in hell. PLEASE COME GET ME.

My phone rings seconds later.

“Not going well?” she says without a greeting.

“There are reasons I got out when I did, and I’m being reintroduced to all of those reasons right now. BTW, my sister is knocked up with number four. I don’t think she understands how birth control is supposed to work.”

“Well that’s what you get in a hicktown.” I can’t even be offended, because she’s right. Allison was born and raised in NYC and can’t understand why anyone would live anywhere else. I kind of agree with her.

“So, something else happened, too,” I say, because she’s the only one I can talk to about this.

“Ooohhh, do tell.”

“I ran into Sawyer.”

“Shut up. I thought he moved away.”

“So did I.” I launch into the deer story and she listens with rapt attention. Allison knows all about Sawyer and my history. She’s really the only one who knows, because she’s just about the only person in this world that I completely trust, and it’s been that way since I met her in our freshman English comp class.

“You have to come get me,” I beg after I finish the Sawyer story.

“I can’t, babe. I’m in Manhattan and there is no way I’m leaving to come to Hicksville. I’d probably hit a deer. Oh, too soon?”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t. Listen, I have to go shopping with my bubbe. I’ll call you later, okay? Just . . . stay away from the deer.” Aw, I miss her grandmother. It took me a week to figure out that was who Allison was talking about. For a minute when she’d say “bubbe” I thought she was talking about Michael Buble and mispronouncing his name.

“I will.” I sigh and we hang up. I hear my name being yelled inside the house and I take one last breath of fresh air before diving back into the chaos.

The next morning my mother sends me to the store for more flour. She’s making cookies with Stacy’s brood and they’ve already ruined one bag. She watches them now when Stacy is at work, and also Drew’s daughter and stepson when they get out of school. If there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s that she can do just about anything that normal people would shy away from.

I try to hurry through the grocery store as quick as I can, because I know every single person who works here, and I really don’t want to do the small talk thing right now. Get in and get the hell out is my motto for this trip. I grab the only bag of flour left and turn to dash to the register, but I’m blocked by a cart being pushed by Sawyer.

Not again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to maneuver the cart in the narrow aisle. There’s no way I can get past it.

“No, it’s fine.” I back up and go around and come out the next aisle. But he’s there as well.

“Sorry,” he says again as I dodge the cart. All I wanted was to get some flour. But the universe just couldn’t let me have that.

“Ivy, wait,” he says as I start to walk toward the register. His voice makes me stop, as if he’d pushed a button in my brain.

“What? What do you want?” It comes out meaner than I intend it.

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. Why would I want something from you? You were the one who broke up with me, if I remember.” He’s angry. I’d even go so far as to say he’s pissed. He’s right. I was the one who ended it, but he didn’t fight me on it.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say.

He just shakes his head and whips the cart around, crashing right into a display of stuffing, scattering boxes everywhere.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters under his breath as he leans down to pick the boxes up. I have two choices: help, or run.

I pick the former.

Setting down the flour, I start picking up the boxes and stacking them the way they were. Sawyer is doing the same and then our hands bump as we both reach for the same box.

“Sorry,” we both say at the same time. He pulls back as if I’ve slapped him. Awesome, he’s even afraid to touch me.

We finish clearing up the stuffing boxes and then there’s a moment.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean for breaking up with him and for a lot of things. About his dad. He and Sawyer were never close, which was one of the reasons we got along so well. He was really close with his mom, though.

“What are you sorry for, Ivy?” Ah, the old Sawyer is back. He never let me get away with vague statements. He always made me explain them. Big fan of honesty, that boy.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things.” I look down at my shoes. Our toes are almost touching.

“Maybe . . . maybe we can sit down and talk about some of them. It’s . . . it’s really good to see you.” I look up from his feet and see that he’s serious. God, it’s good to see him. I didn’t know how much I missed him until he popped up in my life again.

“It’s good to see you, too. I have to get home, but maybe later? Where are you living now?”

“I’m back at home, but they built me a place over the garage. Come around five and we’ll talk. I’ll make sure I have plenty of vanilla Coke and Red Vines.” The mention of the Coke and Red Vines makes my heart stutter for a moment.

“You still remember that?”

“I couldn’t forget if I wanted to. See you at five.” With that he backs the cart up and vanishes down another aisle.

I take the “scenic” route back home because I need some time to think. My car is still messed up from its fling with the ditch, but there’s no car wash around here, so I’ll have to deal with it for now.

I park by a little cove, get out, wrap myself in the blanket I keep in my trunk, and sit on the hood of my car and stare at the ocean for a bit.

I used to do this all the time, and sometimes I wasn’t alone. The roar of an engine sounds behind me and I turn around to see a familiar truck pulling in. He gets out and shakes his head.

“How did I know you would be here?”

“Because this was where I always came when I needed to think about something,” I say as he walks over to my car and stands next to the hood, looking at the ocean and not me.

“It’s been a while,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He leans against the hood and I pat the spot next to me. It’s weird that he’s standing. Sawyer gives me a look to ask if it’s really okay, and then hops up. I unfold the blanket from my shoulder and he ducks under it.

Places are like time capsules, I think. Right now I’m transported to two years ago when Sawyer and I used to sit here under this blanket and watch the ocean and talk. Or sometimes we wouldn’t. He’s the only person I’ve ever met that I can be completely silent with and it’s not awkward. Well, except for Allison, but that’s different.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I say as he moves closer to me under the blanket until our shoulders are touching. I’m used to having his arms around me, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. There’s too much history and heartbreak for that to happen. “What happened?”

“Heart attack. Just this past summer. I was away at school, and I didn’t make it home in time. Mom took it hard and she was going to lose the business. So I dropped out of school. That’s why I’m here.” I figured as much. Sawyer’s father (and his father before him and his father before him) owned the McCallister Lobster Pound, the only such establishment in Saltwater. Basically, they were the biggest business in this tiny town. There’s a lot of money in selling lobsters, let me tell you.

All Sawyer ever wanted was to NOT be stuck here and run the family business. He’s an only child, but he didn’t care. He wanted more. Like me.

“I wish you would have told me.”

“I didn’t know how. I thought about going to Columbia to tell you about it in person, but I guess I pussied out.” I lean on him a little, like old times. The past is slowly sucking us back in time.

“I missed you,” I whisper, but I know he hears it.

“I missed you. I thought about you. A lot.” As in past tense?

I turn my head and meet his eyes. Those feelings that I thought I’d buried and done away with simmer under my skin. I’m captivated by his blue eyes, just like I was when we were kids.

“Ivy.” It’s just my name, but the way he says it . . . I turn my head a fraction and our lips meet. It’s almost by accident, like all our other meetings so far. Just a brush, and then it’s over as quick as it started.

“I can’t,” he says, holding my face, as if to stop it from moving close to his again. “I can’t do this again. You’re going to leave and I’m going to be here. You’re going to get out.”

I know we talk about this place like a prison, but that’s what it’s like for us. Or at least it felt that way when we were younger.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I don’t know what else to say. He moves his hand from my face, and I go back to staring at the ocean.

“You have to stop saying sorry, Poison.” I almost flinch at the nickname. He used to tease me with it when we were in first grade and it used to make me cry. Then I got a little older and realized that I kinda liked it. Now it makes me hurt and burn at the same time.

“I have a lot to be sorry for.”

“So do I.” I don’t know what else to say, so I look out at the ocean again.

“I miss you,” he says, moving his arm around me. I wait a second before I lean into him.

“I miss you, too.” Present tense.