One Good, Happy Holiday Memory

Trigger Warning: Contains sexual content.

You hate the holiday season and can’t wait to escape it.

“Record breaking snowfall expected. Airports and highways have already shut down, anticipating life-threatening conditions. Please, do not attempt to travel. Stay where you are and make the most of this unprecedented white Christmas…”

“That’s just great,” you mumble to yourself as you turn your attention from the TV monitor to the flight board to see all flights change to canceled.

“Augh, I was supposed to be with my folks for Christmas,” says the cute young brunette you didn’t notice standing next to you, dropping her phone back into her bag. “What plans did you have?”

“Are you talking to me,” you ask the young woman, confused by her forthrightness. 

“You’re the only one standing there, silly,” she says as she heads towards the airport bar. “C’mon, you can buy me a drink,” she says, looking over her shoulder, giving you a playful smile.

“What makes you think I want to buy you a drink,” you call out across the lobby.

She turns and walks backwards. “I’m twenty-seven and cute. You’re going to want my company. Hotel is booked.”

You look up at the speaker above you playing “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” as if you can see Ricardo Montalban in the ceiling and want to strangle him. You look around at all the festive decorations, shake your head disapprovingly, and meet the young lady at the bar. 

“What are you having, Miss…” you ask, holding for a name.

She gives it to you and enthusiastically says she’ll take a hot chocolate.

“Hot chocolate? Do you want a little something in that hot chocolate?”

“Marshmallows,” she says, with a giggle.

“I meant something like Peppermint Schnapps, but whatever. Bartender, give me a double of Johnny Walker on the rocks, and the lady would like a hot chocolate with marshmallows. So,” you ask, turning your attention back to her.

“So, do you have a name,” she asks, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear and giving you her full attention.

You reply with your name, wondering which shined brighter, her diamond studded earrings or her eyes against her skin.

She laughs and touches your forearm. “You’re way too young to have such an old-fashioned name. My grandpa could be one. He’s eighty-three.”

You just swirl the ice in your drink and take a sip. Her smile widens. “Well, where were you off to this most wonderful time of the year,” she asks.

“Ugh, I was trying to get away from that wonderful time of year garbage. I have a place in the Keys. I fly down there every Christmas to escape the holiday yuck,” you tell her.

With an impression of a blood sucking monster from an old Hollywood flick, she tells you, “You cannot escape the yuck.” More seriously she adds, “It’s everywhere, November 1st through January 1st. There is no escaping it. Why do you hate it so much?”

“I guess it goes back to when I was a kid. My little sister would beg to put the decorations up every year, but she would never help take them down. It was always put on me to take them down while she got to go play with her friends. So, it got to the point where I hated the decorating aspect of Christmas,” you tell her, wondering why you just opened up to her so quickly.

“My sisters and I loved decorating with mom. We would play the old Christmas records as we set up the tree and we would laugh and gossip. It was the same taking all the decorations down. It was a reason to get together and enjoy each other’s company. I wish you could have experienced something like that,” she tells you.

“Yeah, well, we weren’t a close-knit family. I was a major disappointment to everyone I was related to. The men in my family were men’s men. They drank, hunted, played sports, fought, and could build anything from the ground up. I wasn’t like that. I always had my nose in a book and my head in the clouds. Any time spent with family was a reminder of their disapproval.”

“What about presents? That was one of the best parts for me. I loved getting them. It showed me how well a person knew me. That’s the same reason I loved to give them. That was my way of showing someone how well I knew them and how much I cared. And Santa was fun as a kid. Waking up to see all those gifts under the tree and a stocking filled by the fireplace. Surely gifts get you into the spirit.”

“My family wasn’t necessarily financially healthy. In fact, we bled money. Christmas was the time of year when we got our new socks and our new underwear. We mainly got clothes and it wasn’t the designer stuff. It was the stuff you got made fun of for wearing.”

“You don’t have one good, happy Christmas memory to share?”

“Holidays were just times when my family was forced to spend time with extended family for the sake of tradition. That’s why as an adult I leave them all behind and fly down to where the only white I see is the sand on the beaches.”

“Well, you’re going to have at least one Christmas memory you're fond of, c’mon,” she says, dragging her hand across your chest as she moves past you to leave the bar.

You square up with the bartender and scurry after her. “Hey, wait up! What are you talking about,” you ask.

“Today is our Christmas. We’re going to start with presents. After hearing about your joyful childhood, I feel like shopping. Fifty-dollar max. Have fun with it and meet me back here,” she says, flirtatiously bouncing away, waving.

Damn, she is cute, you say to yourself, realizing you’re grinning like a fool and waving to a woman who is already gone. You look around to see if anyone notices and then walk off in the opposite direction from her like nothing ever happened. 

When you return to the bar an hour later, she is there waiting. She tips the bartender and meets you at the entrance. “Are you getting hungry,” she asks, her eyes pleading for you to say yes.

“Yeah, I can eat. I saw a little place where we could sit down. We’ll eat and then exchange these gifts,” you tell her.

“Ooh, what’d you get me,” she asks playfully as she tries to peek in the bag.

You pull the bag back. “None of that. You can wait until after we eat,” you say with a laugh.

“You’re right, you’re right. Did you at least have fun shopping for me,” she asks, taking your arm, hugging it tightly, only coming up to your shoulder.

“Yeah, I actually had a little fun,” you say, feeling lightheaded, short of breath, and a little taken aback by her actions, but completely washed over with happiness.

The restaurant isn’t anything fancy, but there is a booth in the back that is private and low lit. You two talk and laugh, mostly about her holiday memories with her family which makes you long for a family to make those kinds of memories with yourself. But you can’t help but to smile and be enchanted by her. She isn’t just young and pretty. She has explosive facial expressions and verbal hands that mystify you when she talks. She doesn’t care that she just met you at the airport. She talks to you as if she has known you her whole life. You, being a bit of an introvert, eat this attention up, feed off her energy, and find everything about her exciting.

“So, what do you do? How do you pay the bills,” she asks.

“Let’s open presents and then we’ll talk work,” you say, reaching into your shopping bag and pulling out two nicely wrapped packages, sliding them across the table. 

“You first,” she says, squirming in her seat. “I think you’re going to like this.”

You unwrap the box and look inside. “This sweater easily cost more than fifty dollars.”

“I know, but the only time I’ve seen that shade of blue was in your eyes. I think you’ll look so handsome in it.” You watch on with fondness as she reaches across the table and holds it up to you. “Oh yeah, that really brings out the blue in your eyes.”

You cannot stop smiling. “Thank you. I think this has to be the nicest gift I’ve ever received.” 

She smiles and slides back in her seat.

“Go on, open yours,” you insist.

She opens the first present. It’s a book and her face turns serious. On the cover it reads “Harbor Mists” and it’s by you. “I’ve read this. It’s one of my favorite books. I knew you looked familiar, but your age threw me off. With that name, I expect someone older.”

“I autographed it for you. Now you know how I pay the bills. I write romance novels.”

“Oh my god, my mom is a huge fan! I have to send her a picture. Is that okay?”

“Sure! Grab your phone, we can do it now.”

You two take a picture for her mom of the two of you sitting together, her holding the book. Then you two take some for yourselves, little mementos of your time together; some serious, some a little ridiculous. You could feel the child come out in you with her around and you love the feeling.

“Here’s your real present,” you say, handing her the other box.

“I don’t know how you’re going to outdo your last surprise but here we go,” she says as she unwraps the gift.

She pulls out a snow globe with a little blue house trimmed in white with a fireplace you can see through the window in it. “It’s a music box,” you tell her. She gives the globe a shake and then winds it up. The music chimes “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” 

“That’s the song that was playing when we met,” she exclaims. “What a sweet gesture,” she says with a smile and watery eyes. "Very sentimental. Thank you."

“Something about you says you appreciate sentimental gestures.”

“If my ex-boyfriends would have done something like this, they wouldn’t be ex-boyfriends.” 

After dinner you two take a little stroll around the airport to work off those calories. She has taken your hand and skips with a little bounce every once in a while, lighting your heart aflame. Everything about her is joyful and positive, you think as you sneak a peek at her looking at all the decorations with the fascination of a child. Everything is beautiful to her. I don’t want her to leave.

“Bathrooms,” she says, pointing in their direction.

She gets you alone, next to the women’s restroom, grabs you by the shirt and pulls you into her, slamming into the wall. It has its desired effect. You go in for the kiss like a reflex. Your arms devour her, lift her up, and press her hard against your body. She wraps her legs around you and her hips begin to grind. You start pressing your bulge into her.

She slips her way free and once again grabs your shirt like a leash and leads you into the women’s restroom. You hear an “Oh my,” as you two wrestle your way to the back stall, tearing at each other’s clothes.

She gets your pants off and sees how aroused you are. She shoves you down on the toilet and mounts you, letting you penetrate slowly and deep. “Merry Christmas” she tells you, giving you a wink and speeding up.

A few minutes later, as the janitor starts his way into the restroom to clean it, he hears you scream out, “Best Christmas Ever,” and decides to clean the men’s room instead.

Afterwards, you find yourselves on a bench, her stretched out with her head in your lap playing with her snow globe as you watch “A Miracle on 34th Street.” You look down at her endearingly and run your fingers through her hair. She meets your gaze and motions for a kiss. It’s long, warm, and passionate.

“You did it,” you tell her. “You gave me one good, happy holiday memory.”

She gives you a soft laugh and then becomes solemn in thought. “They will have the runways open by tomorrow morning,” she says.

“I know. You have me so turned around about Christmas, I think I want a family one day to make all those memories you made with your family. So, I was thinking, maybe, I could go home with you for Christmas and then you could join me in the Keys for New Year’s.”

She doesn’t respond. You look down at her and she is fast asleep. You adjust your weight and tilt your head back, asleep in seconds. 

When you wake the next morning, she is gone. All that is left behind is a small note written on a coffee stand napkin:

I’m not a settle down and start a family type of person. I live for chance encounters with random strangers. Having the freedom to have such encounters as sex with your favorite author in a restroom stall is what life is all about to me. I’ll admit, you almost had me. The snow globe was perfect. Merry Christmas.

You wad up the note and stare off into the distance, contemplating the past day. You have never had anybody treat you with so much care before, and you haven't realized how much you have been yearning for that until now. For the first time you had felt that you had someone to be with on the holidays that cared, and you have been yearning for that too.

"Flight 102 to Miami now boarding."

You break your train of thought for the moment and hurry for the gate. It may not be her, but it will be somebody, someday.