All I Want for Christmas is...Not You.

I change the dial on the radio for the fifth time because for some reason every station has decided that since it’s December the only thing people want to hear is Mariah Carey Christmas music; I’m the exception to those people as I huff angrily passed yet another “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” I’m beginning to think she’s less like a pop queen and more like Krampus, coming to life once a year to haunt me until January finally rolls around. 

Cameron shifts next to me as I finally give up and push the dial, turning off the stereo altogether. He’s scrolling through stocks and checking his email, paying me no mind as I have my little temper tantrum.

“I did my best but I guess Frank and Bing get a back seat to Mariah until the holidays are over,” I say, chuckling at my own joke and Cameron continues to look at his phone. 

“That time of year,” he says, his tone level and detached.

Cameron and I have been casually dating for about six months which is longer than most of my relationships (or lack thereof), so when my Mom calls to see if I’m coming home for Christmas, I invite him along to see if maybe this trip will cause a shift between us. Maybe there’ll be a moment when he lifts his head from his phone and sees me, really sees me, puts down his phone, and holds me like they do in all the Lifetime Christmas movies that roll out this time of year. Saying something like, “Genevieve Sandoval, you are the one…be with me for every Christmas…forever,” with a smoldering look and a swell of romantic music as he kisses me…and we live happily ever after.

Yes I watch them…all of them. Don’t ask me why, it’s an absolutely ridiculous guilty pleasure. I get unnecessarily giddy after Halloween is over and Lifetime starts churning out what Mom, Jane and I have dubbed, “Christmas Cheese,” because it is so delightfully cheesy and romantic. For years, we would watch all the “cheese,” and eat exorbitant amounts of holiday popcorn that comes in a giant tin with mugs full of spiked eggnog. 

I haven’t been home since I moved to New York to work as an editor for a publishing company where I met Cameron. His discipline and drive is astounding. He can get major projects done in a few short weeks and his work is immaculate…pristine…some of the best pieces of work I’ve ever read were copy-edited by his hand.

However, I’m realizing he’s not the easiest person to “date,” which I thought would be more exciting since I like a challenge. I’m now beginning to think that maybe I’m trying to jam a square peg in a round hole. I figure bringing him to mom’s house for the holiday will give me some clarity.

I peek over to him as I drive and he’s still looking at his phone and I’m trying…I’m doing my level best and I sigh as I pull up to my moms house, a blanket of fresh white snow covers the house and front yard, the bright rainbow Christmas lights partially obscured underneath blink brightly as I exit the car and Cameron follows. His hand touches the small of my back and it’s what he usually does, but I wish he’d look at me.

“Gen!” My mom opens the door and scoops me into a warm exuberant hug. She smells like sugar cookies and cinnamon as the graying curls of her auburn hair tickle my nose. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Hi Mom,” I say, as she pulls away, her bright blue eyes glinting in the amber light of the front entryway. I grab Cameron’s arm saying, “Mom, you remember Cameron?”

And he finally looks up. 

“Yes, hi Cameron. Nice to have you for the holiday this year,” she says a little more formally which is really weird coming out of her mouth. She shakes his hand and he smiles. He has a nice smile; his teeth are beautifully straight with a mischievous full set of full lips. He smiles and I imagine biting his mouth but I think he might recoil if I did something like that. Everything was formal with him…even affection.

“Hello Mrs Sandoval,” he says back.

We walk inside and shuck our jackets. The house is like stepping through a time machine back into several moments of my childhood; and with all the garlands, poinsettia, holly, and the several Christmas trees that decorate the house, I see almost three decades worth of Christmases being celebrated here. 

“Gen-Ben! You’re here!” Jane hollers as she hops down the stairs two by two and dives into my arms. 

“Hey Jables!” I say laughing as she squeezes my neck.

“God I hate that nickname,” she grumbles as she pulls away from me and eyes Cameron, “you must be Camy Cam Cams. How’s it going?”

“It’s Cameron and you must be, Jane,” he says his eyes flick over her quickly like he surmised everything about her in a glance.

“Okay dude,” Jane laughs as her eyes flit over to me giving me a look like, “really Gen?”

I’m starting to feel like she’s not wrong. If he was wanting things to fall apart, he was making this all too easy.

“I apologize, Jane. It was a long drive. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Okay that was…a little better.

Jane’s face only softens slightly. Then her eyebrows arch and she makes a raspberry sound as she exhales.

“At least your cute Camy Cams,” then she looks at me with an all too familiar look that she gives me when she says, “you could do better,” and skips off to the kitchen.

Then out of nowhere, everything goes dark and I hear a collective groan from both Mom and Jane “not again.”

“Again? How many times has the power gone out?” I say as Cameron’s nonplussed face is lit up with the blue light of his phone.

“This is the second time today,” Mom says as she storms out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You want me to call Doc?” Jane says from the couch, as she pulls out her cell phone.

“Yes,” Mom huffs. Jane starts clicking away on her phone, putting it to her ear.

Now would be a good time for alcohol. I walk through the kitchen to the door that leads to the basement where Mom keeps all her wine and turn the knob.

“Gen, if you're going to the basement, leave the door open. The locks have been acting up again.” Mom hollers from the closet under the stairs as she searches for flashlights.

I prop the door open, turn on my flashlight on my phone and walk down to the small wine rack at the bottom and select a bottle of Pinot Noir.

As I make my way up the stairs Jane yells, “he’ll be here in 5. Doc’s got a migraine so he’s sending Owen.”

My stomach drops and I hesitate on the stairs. Owen Jensen was someone I had been infatuated with all through high school and a few years after. His Dad owned Jensen and Sons, the largest hardware store in our town and was the only electrician for miles. Apparently Owen was taking over some of the jobs from his Dad and my hands started to sweat at the thought of him being in the house.

Get a grip. It’s been years. He probably won’t even know who you are.

I get to the top of the stairs, into the kitchen and begin rummaging around the drawers for a wine key.

“It’s in the basement, Gen,” Mom yells from the hall closet, still looking for flashlights.

I groan and go back to the basement noticing that Cameron is sitting languidly on the couch with his face still in his phone and I kind of want to slap him.

I trudge back down the steps and find the wine key in the back corner of the wine shelf. I peel back the top label and plunge the screw into the cork, prising it out with grunting effort; and take a swig from the bottle.

So classy, Gen.

The front door opens and I hear a familiar deep voice that makes my skin prickle for some reason and the floorboards creak as heavy footfalls track from the front door to the kitchen and now to the door of the basement…and now those footfalls are coming down the steps and why haven’t I moved yet?!

I blink over at the stairs as Owen appears with his own flashlight. He’s as tall and muscular as I remember with short dark brown hair that wisps out from under a gray beanie, a strong square jaw, full lips, and the best part of all…the part that killed me from the moment I saw him in high school, his bright curious green eyes. He stalls on the steps as he realizes I’m there and I imagine I probably resemble Gollum from Lord of the Rings, hoarding my wine in the darkness like it was “my precious.” 

Owen blinks several times as his flashlight lands on me and I squint. He inhales sharply and says, “Gen?”

Oh. He knows my name.

“Hi,” I say as I wave weakly and I feel like an idiot.

“Why are you down here in the dark like Schmegle?” 

Ha! I knew it.

“The wine key was down here,” I say as I hoisted it in the air like it was a trophy. Why…why am I doing this?

“Was it necessary to open it and start drinking right away?” he asks, chuckling.

“I…maybe,” I start to say. Why can’t I say cool things? Why am I so lame.

He laughs as he walks over to the breaker box. He’s in jeans, a thick black bomber jacket and dark brown logger boots that clomp loudly on the basement floor. He has a small tool kit in his left hand that he sets down next to him as he opens the breaker box.

And then the door slams shut to the basement and both our heads snap up to it.

“Was that the door?” Mom yells in a muffled voice from upstairs. Her footsteps rush over to the door, jostling the handle several times and groaning loudly as the door remains stuck. “Owen?”

“Yeah Mrs S?” Owens' voice makes the room and my bones vibrate as he yells up the stairs. 

“The door is jammed shut, I’m going to have to call a locksmith,” she says through the door.

He sighs heavily and his head drops, “you…you’re gonna have to call Marty, Dale is in Vancouver for the holiday,” he says in a ladened tone.

“But Marty’s out in Lynnfield!” Mom shouts through the door.

“Yeah and the roads might be closed, too,” he says as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Dammit,” Mom curses loudly from behind the door, “where’s Genny?”

I clear my throat, “I’m…I’m down here Mom,” I say.

“Oh god,” she grumbles.

“Genevieve?” Cameron says at the door.

“Who’s that?” Owen says his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes snap to me, “weird hearing your full name.”

“That’s Cameron, my…friend,” as I clumsily make my way up the steps.

Boyfriend…he’s your boyfriend you twit…oh my god.

“Ah,” Owen says, turning back to the breaker box.

“Genevieve, I got a call from Lucas. He needs me back in the city for an emergency project.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh, how are you going to get back?” I say as I reach the top of the stairs.

“My cab is already here,” he says.

This is it. If he leaves right now…

“Okay,” I say and I feel my heart deflate in my chest; honestly I wasn’t surprised. I was looking at the writing on the wall with rose colored glasses for too long and now I was finally taking them off. Before his footsteps recede back to the front door I decide to pull the hammer back and fire…because Merry Christmas, the square peg is officially leaving back to New York. “Cameron, if you leave it’s over.”

“I understand, Genevieve,” and there’s quiet for a moment before I hear the sound of his heels turning as he heads to the front door.

I rest my back up against the wall as I hear him exit through the door and I stand there for a minute as I discover I’m a kaleidoscope of emotions right now…frustration, sadness, pain, and longing…I’m still clutching the wine bottle in my hand so I take a swig, swallowing and then sighing as I realize six months of my life was never coming back.

I hear the clank of tools then a loud snap and the overhead amber light flashes back on, filling the room in yellow light. 

“Okay, electricity problem solved,” Owen mutters as he shuts the door to the breaker. He looks up at me as he drops whatever tool he was using into his tool kit. “You okay?”

No. “I’m fine,” as I bring the bottle to my lips.

He chuckles as he says, “you were never great at that,” and walks up the steps, leaning against the wall as he reaches the upper steps. He’s at my eye level a few steps down and I wonder if I’m just that short or if he is just that tall.

“Not great at what?” I say and I’m trying to be more curious but my heart is in my stomach swimming in Pinot Noir.

“Acting,” he says, grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a sip.

“Okay first off all, how would you know that? Second of all, aren’t you working?” I say gesturing to the bottle of wine he takes another sip from.

“First of all, I know because I’ve seen your rendition of Amy in Little Women and it was subpar at best and second of all, it’s my night off,” he says and then takes another sip.

“Gimme that,” and I snatch the bottle back, taking a sip. “I was not that bad as Amy.”

“You forgot half your lines and you didn’t even cry when Beth died,” he says chuckling.

He had a point. 

I smile as I say, “it was kinda bad wasn’t it?”

“The worst,” he laughs and his smile…his smile…I feel my insides turn to mush and I’m not sure what’s happening with my heart because it’s swimming in Pinot, is sad about Cameron but also doing somersaults…so I’m bewildered with emotional whiplash. “Hey I’m sorry about your…friend,” he says as the corners of his mouth soften from his brilliantly warm smile.

“I knew it was coming,” I say, taking a larger sip of the wine, “I wasn’t sure bringing him here was the best idea.”

His lips form a tight smile and I offer him the bottle. He takes it and sips, “you know what you were good at?”

Oh god.

“Remember when you sang the National Anthem for the homecoming game?” he says, his eyes sliding to mine.

“God that was so long ago,” I say and I can’t believe he remembers anything I did…or that I existed, “you played that game well; threw three touchdown passes if I recall.”

He shrugs, “yeah the game was okay I guess,” and he pauses as he looks up at me and what is that face? His eyes are soft as he says, “I just remember your voice, it was perfect.”

I think that might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me and my body responds before my brain has a chance to rationalize my actions…I step into him and brush my lips against his, testing the waters so to speak; because for six months I felt like my desire had been cooped up behind a wall of Cameron colored formalities and I was beginning to lose it.

My mouth hovers over his, a hair's breadth away as I gently open my eyes to see that he is staring back at me. Then he steps up and crowds me up against the wall, his nose against mine as those curious pools of green flick over my face with heat I’ve never seen before. His chest touches mine as he breathes and I think I’m going to explode or faint.

“Do that again,” he whispers, my breath hitches as my eyes fix on his mouth, feeling warmth bloom low in my belly.

My eyes flick back up to his as my lips apply the lightest amount of pressure to his mouth and I close my eyes as he leans into me. He opens to me and my breath is caught in my chest. He tastes like wine and warm cinnamon; I realize that combination might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted, like mulled wine only in his mouth. I sigh as he cups the back of my neck, pulls me into him so that everything feels deeper, closer, more intimate and I think I’m losing myself. I wrap my arms around his neck and rise to my toes as he pushes me back up against the wall, his hands now grip my hips tightly and those strong calloused hands may be the only thing keeping me from floating away in this moment; anchoring me to the Earth as he presses his body into mine.

Then the door handle rattles sharply and then swings open as Jane shouts, “I got it!”

And we both jump apart as Jane’s eyes flit back and forth between the two of us, “uhhh,” she starts and looks at me smiling, “should I shut the door…again?”

And I smile as I say, “could you, actually?”