I've been kicking this story around for a couple of years, and I finally got it finished. This is my entry for the 2014 Literotica Winter Holidays Story Contest. It takes its title and inspiration from the classic 80s song by the Waitresses. Please leave a comment or send me an email, and don't forget to vote!
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Bah, humbug!
No, that's too strong, because Christmas is my favourite holiday.
It's just that in the romance department, I've had a really bad year. It started the last over New Year's break. My then-boyfriend and I went away for a long weekend to go skiing, but it seemed that Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. (and his stupid, frickin' law) had other ideas.
First of all, we rented a condo outside of Gatlinburg, but the weather was unseasonably warm. Although there was a good base of snow—both natural and machine-made—the fact that the high one day was in the low 50s made the trip seem more like a fall excursion than a ski trip.
Second, Britt didn't get his flu shot the previous October and spent most of the weekend with a fever and puking up whatever food he managed to get down. Real romantic, huh?
Last, on the Sunday before we were supposed to fly home, I twisted my knee when one of those twerpy little eight year-old kids that plague the ski slopes zigged in front of me, causing me to zag to the right. Only my left leg didn't get the memo and I ate a face full of icy and wet snow. I like (and want) kids, but I swear to God, if I'd had my .38 special with me, I'd have whacked that little punk right then and there.
So that weekend was a bust. The only saving grace was a literal run-in I had on Saturday while perusing the ski shop for a chincy souvenir or two.
"I know you," he said. Pretty lame opening line. Kind of plain. Not very memorable. The East German judge docked him two points for being lazy. It turns out I really did know him, though. "Veronica Turner, right?"
He seemed familiar, but it took me a second to place his face. Tall, dark and handsome. Perfect skin, good teeth. Rugged good looks and boyish charm.
"Jonathan Reilly," he said, seeing my blank look. "From Perry & Associates."
"Of course," I replied sheepishly. There really is no graceful way to forget someone's name, is there? I knew him from some auditing work I did; he was a regular at one of the firms I visited once a month or so. "How have you been?"
"Good . . . Trying to get some time on the slopes." An awkward silence fell over us. "What about you?"
I waved the shot glass in my hand. "Just picking up something for the girl who sits next to me. She collects these things and doesn't have one from Tennessee."
He flashed his big baby blues at me and my heart fluttered. I had run into him in the elevator a couple of times and usually when I saw him, he was in a stuffy, corporate double-breasted suit. But this time, his hair was ruffled, his ski jacket hung open because it wasn't that cold and I noticed that he was rather attractive.
Hawt
, actually.
"Listen, I'm here with some friends and we're having some folks over tonight for drinks," he flashed me that oh-so-charming smile. "Do you want to come hang out with us?"
"I'd love to," I winced with regret. "But my boyfriend's not feeling well and I've got to get back to him so he doesn't feel like I left him for a lift ticket and a pair of skis."
I couldn't tell if the disappointment on his face was from me turning him down or finding out that I was seeing someone. Either way, a part of me felt flattered that he'd wanted to see me that night. It was better than being taken for granted by the guy I was dating.
"Sorry to hear that," he reached for his wallet and passed me his business card. "We're staying near downtown. If he's feeling better later, give me a call and come on over."
"Okay," my eyes skimmed the card, which had his work phone, email and his cell phone number on it.
"See you around."
He turned and headed back towards where some of his friends were standing. They were a mixed group and quickly matching up couples, it seemed he was there by himself, and not as half of a pair. Much to my delight.
I stuck his card into the folds of my purse then headed back to the condo, fully intent on jumping my boyfriend. Unfortunately for me, he was in the middle of one of his dry-heaving spells and that kind of put a damper on my plans.
So I loaded him up with Nyquil then drew a nice hot bath and had some quality time to myself and the jacuzzi jets. And the mental image of Jonathan Reilly between my legs.
*************
That was almost twelve months ago. Egads, I didn't realise how much time has passed. Twelve freakin' months. This year has just flown by. Mom told me this would happen: graduate from college, get a job and the next thing you know; you're about to turn thirty. It hasn't quite been that long, but you know what I mean. The days do seem to run together.
Mom was wrong about one thing, though: I'm twenty-five and single. There were no apparent prospects as far as my love life goes. After the ski trip, Britt and I broke up. We were never that serious. I think we stayed together because we were bored. Still, neither of us fought very hard for each other, and when we broke up I was more relieved than sad. Of course, that meant that I had to get back "out there" if I wanted anything other than the single life.
Not that I'm complaining. I go out with my girlfriends. I've got a good job. I don't understand all those girls who think that within two years of getting their MBA, they have to be someone's wife and start making babies.
Me? I kind of like being single. Of course, in five more years when all my friends are married and have young families, I'll probably change my tune, but for now, I like my life the way it is.
"Got any plans for Christmas?" Annette asked me after the Thanksgiving holidays. She sits two cubicles over from me. She's in her early thirties and divorced with two kids. Her folks live in Louisiana and she goes home to visit them every year around the holidays.
"Nope," I replied. "This year's been a busy blur and I just don't think I've got the energy for a big Christmas."
"Aren't you going home?"
"Naw, now that my brother is off to the Air Force Academy, my parents are taking a Christmas cruise. No one will be home."
"Did they invite you?"
"Nope." I let out an envious snort. "They've got empty nest fever and are taking full advantage of us being gone to make up for all the years of family drama hell that follows us around this time of year."
"Why don't you come to Natchitoches with us," she offered. "The house is big enough."
"No, thanks," I smiled appreciatively. "I don't have any vacation time left."
That much is true. Our company sucks as far as benefits go. I get ten days of paid time off each year. If I work here another five years, I get five more days. At least I have a job I like.
I went home that afternoon and went through my usual evening activities. A stack of Christmas cards were waiting in my mailbox, reminding me that I needed to send mine out. I hate writing Christmas letters; all they do is remind me of what I procrastinated and didn't do, completions and connections from last year that are un-done, like my ski-shop encounter.
My apartment is a quiet place; I live alone but in a nice complex with lots of singles and a few families. I had a wreath on the door, and some lights on the balcony, but not too much. I was just feeling kind of, well . . . blah.
I sent out regret RSVPs to all of the Christmas parties. I only went to the one through work, and that wasn't much of a party, at least for me. The last thing I want is to get blitzed along with my co-workers or do anything stupid in front of my boss. So, no thanks, to all of my invites.
Leave it to everyone else to deck those halls, trim those trees and raise a cup of Christmas cheer. I just needed to catch my breath with a nice quiet Christmas by myself this year.
The view from my kitchen almost makes up for how small the place is. Especially when the first snow of the year has fallen. Where the year before was unseasonably warm, this winter was starting out with a brutal arctic blast.
Beginning after Thanksgiving, about six inches of snow had fallen, leaving a nice calendar-quality view of the pond and woods outside my window, the frozen landscape eerily quiet, yet beautiful.
It warmed up, a little melted and then more snow came, and that pattern refreshed itself for the next month. So just outside my apartment, the ground was still pristine and white, unsullied by the footprints, sled trails and dirt that would appear over the next couple of days, and from the second floor of my building, I get nice panoramic views of the snow. Even though I wasn't doing anything big, I was still going to enjoy the romanticism of having a nice white Christmas.
I heated up a cup of hot cocoa in the Keurig, then went through my mail.
Bills. Bills. LL Bean catalog. Bills. Credit card application. Bills. DMV notice to renew my licence plates.
The only non-bill/non-junk mail I got was from my friend Christina. I ripped it open and found a nice Christmas card along with a picture from our beach trip over the summer.
I smiled at the memory of most of the trip, then winced when I recalled how sunburned I got on an afternoon which was just overcast enough to make me forget to wear any sunscreen. I didn't think too much about it until I remembered the aborted date Jonathan and I were supposed to have that weekend.
We ran into each other a couple of times through work, but our timing was always off. We couldn't even find time for a lunch date when we were both free.
Either he was traveling, or I had a meeting, and then there was a couple week span when it seemed like he started seeing someone, even though that didn't last.
We tried to keep in touch; we were Facebook friends, whatever that entails. It seemed like we were always promising to get together or call, but nothing worked out.
When we finally could get together, we both happened to be at the beach over Memorial Day weekend and he invited us to hang out on a boat one of his friends was renting, but then my third-degree sunburn put a stop to that real quick.
By the time I stopped peeling and thought about trying to arrange that date, I got offered a nice three month detail to the corporate office in San Diego. Of course I took it.
It was the best move for me professionally. I got to network within my own company as well as around several others, and I found out they were grooming me to be the project lead for some big initiative they were going to roll out the next year. That meant a raise (and maybe more vacation time!) and three months in southern California on an expense account. But it put a serious crimp in my social life.
When I got back in town, it was just before Halloween. I scrounged together a costume and tried to get Jonathan to come along, and then Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. struck again and blew up the transmission in my would-be date's car.
So that sucked.
He was apologetic, but once again, we couldn't find a time when we both were free.
Thanksgiving rolled up on me out of nowhere and work seemed to envelop my life. I don't know why it is that people think just because I'm single that they can drop all their crap on me, but that's what happened.
I ended up working a ton of extra hours as my co-workers took off around the holidays. I didn't complain too much; instead of working for overtime, I took the extra hours as comp time in case I wanted to save them up for a nice big vacation in the future.
And it let me stockpile favors I could call in down the road.
