An Ex for Christmas(9)

Her hands flutter anxiously, and I reach across the back of the truck cab to still them with my own.

Normally I’d be relishing my first morning of Christmas vacation by sleeping in, followed by waffles and a Christmas movie on the Hallmark Channel. Instead, I’m airport bound with my parents in tow.

Now, a little bit about my parents . . .

You know how the minimalist lifestyle is sort of trendy right now? That idea that less is more? Sally and Rodger Byrne totally didn’t get the memo. Not only is their house straight out of a reality TV show about hoarders, but their penchant for stuff extends to traveling as well. So I’m sure you can imagine just how many suitcases they filled for a two-week trip (a ten-day Alaskan cruise, plus a few days to explore Seattle).

Let’s just say their luggage didn’t fit into their Honda. Or my Kia.

Lucky for all of us, I have a best friend who has a pickup truck and adores my parents almost as much as I do.

“I’m with your mother on this one, Kell,” Dad says. “I don’t like you spending Christmas alone. Doesn’t sit well.”

“I’m not alone,” I say for the 999th time since I surprised them with this trip back in October. “Mark’s parents invited me over for Christmas Eve. Christmas Day I’m going to eat cookies all day in my pajamas. Mark can come, too. If he’s lucky.”

My dad’s in the passenger seat, and reaches over to clamp Mark on the shoulder. “Thanks, son. You know how she gets around the holidays.”

I roll my eyes. “She gets appropriately merry, and will be even more jolly if she knows her parents are having the time of their lives sipping champagne on an enormous boat while whale-watching.”

Mom sighs. “It really is a dream come true. Thank you, sweetie. It must have been so expensive.”

“You two are worth it.”

It was crazy expensive. But they really are worth it. And truth be told, up until yesterday I had been experiencing tiny twinges of melancholy at the thought of waking up on Christmas morning without them.

But courtesy of my new plan, I have high hopes that my Christmas morning will involve naked time with me and the love of my life by the light of the Christmas tree.

I don’t tell my parents that bit. Obviously.

Mark catches my eyes in the rearview mirror as though reading my thoughts, and I give him a finger-wiggle wave.

He looks away, and a few minutes later, we’re at the airport and unloading my parents’ six suitcases at the curb. Yes. Six.

Mom is hugging me over and over, telling me yet again that I can go spend time with Great-Aunt Velda in Charlotte if I get a case of “the lonelies.”

“I’ll be fine,” I soothe, fluffing her gray hair affectionately. “I have Rigby and Mark and half the town to watch over me.”

Mark hauls the last of my parents’ suitcases out of his truck bed.

“All right, Byrnes. You’re all set,” he says.

Mark knows my parents—especially my mom—would fuss over me all day, so after flagging down someone to help with their luggage, which allows time for one more hug, Mark opens the front door of his truck and all but shoves me inside.

He closes the doors, then hugs my mom and does a man-hug thing with my dad, all while I look on and wave enthusiastically.

I continue to wave as he gets behind the wheel and pulls away from the curb. I wave and wave until they’re out of sight, then slump back against the seat with the tiniest of sighs. “I hope they have fun.”

“Can’t you just check your crystal ball and find out?”

I give him a ha ha look, then punish him for his comment by fiddling with the radio until I find the station that plays nothing but Christmas songs in December. Then I add it to his preset radio stations, replacing his favorite rock station. That’ll teach him to mock me.

“So, my ex list,” I begin, rummaging around in his console for the mini candy canes I stashed there last week. He does a double take, obviously not knowing they were there until just now.

I hold one up, offering it to him.

“No.”

“To the candy, or to listening to me talk about my plan?” I say, peeling the cellophane off a candy cane and sticking the non-hook end in my mouth.

“Both,” he says, turning his attention back to the road.

I honor his wishes. For about thirty seconds.

“The list is kind of depressingly short,” I say.

He grunts.

“I never realized just how pathetic my love life was. Did you?”

Mark checks his mirror and changes lanes. “Can we not?”

“I didn’t include any of my boyfriends before tenth grade. Do you think I should have?”

He snorts. “What, your prepubescent affair with Kyle Cameron wasn’t one for the ages?”

I ignore this. “I also crossed off anyone that was married—”

“Smart.”

“—or anyone that was mean.”

Mark looks over sharply. “Who was mean to you?”

I smile at his protectiveness. “Jeff Downing from eleventh grade was kind of a jerk. Called me fat.”

Mark makes a growling noise. “Who else?”

“Elton Drake. Stockbroker I dated a couple years ago. Yelled a lot.”

“Just bark, right? No bite?”