now that we don't talk [tom blyth]

24.

The table was spread with a red tablecloth, two white placemats perpendicular to each other at one end. A wine glass placed above both, a bottle of red wine between them. A few candles were lit and spread down the length of the table, the aroma of cinnamon and spices filling the ambient space of the dining room. Soft, jazz music played from the speaker on the kitchen bench and Tom stood in the kitchen, stirring what smelt like a pot of carbonara in long, plaid pants and a slightly-too-tight white t-shirt that I wasn't complaining about.

I felt slightly over-dressed as I shut the front door of Tom's place behind me, a deep maroon velvet dress slung over my body, the long sleeves keeping my arms warm in the cool, winter chill. The heating wasn't too warm in the room, just enough to engulf me and calm my nerves.

Even over a year into knowing Tom, I still got nervous around him. I still felt my heart rate get higher and my breath get a little more shallow and freaked out. The butterflies don't seem to subside around him and although we were celebrating Christmas and the comfort of family, the uneasiness of knowing he was leaving for the UK soon made it bittersweet.

Tom snapped his gaze to the door and a grin spread on his face as I shuffled through the front door and hung my bag on the hook behind the door. He dropped the wooden spoon and strutted over to me, placing soft hands on my waist and pulling me close and placing a warm, passionate kiss to my lips. The grin on his face pushed mine into one that matched, the wings of the butterflies no longer tickling the sides of my stomach.

"Merry Christmas, pretty girl," Tom had pulled back from my lips, his hands still holding me close and his eyes gazing into mine. I smiled up at him, placing a soft kiss to his jaw and feeling his smile grow.

"Merry Christmas," I smiled, "it smells beautiful in here."

He nodded, giving me another kiss and it felt like he was never going to stop kissing me. I felt his hand slip to my ass, giving it a gentle squeeze and a quiet squeal escaped my lips. He smirked, pulling away and going back to the kitchen to keep stirring the meal. Everything smelt beautiful, felt warm and comforting and it reminded me of the Christmas' I would spend with my family, one thing I would miss this year. 

I had called my mom late last night to see if I could come home for Christmas and my heart broke a little when she said there wasn't room for me to come. Her new partner's family was coming and, unfortunately, didn't leave a bed for me to sleep in. I calmly told her it was fine, ignoring the noise of my heart breaking at the thought of spending the holidays alone. In the span of a week, I had my own mother tell me I couldn't see her for Christmas, I would see my boyfriend leave on a flight back home, and spend all of Christmas and the New Year alone. 

Abandonment wasn't something I was unfamiliar with. Starting with my dad leaving in my early years, to all of my friends through school deciding the other girls in the grade were more attractive and interesting to them, being alone all through college and only getting a job out of luck from an internship to my first long term boyfriend leaving me when he went to work overseas. He may have come back around but the lingering feeling of loss and neglect never made it feel any better, even when I had people around. 

I hadn't told Tom I was going to be alone. Knowing him, he would be paying for me to get on a flight to Birmingham with him so I wouldn't be alone. I didn't want that though. I didn't want to be a burden on anyone and I couldn't bring myself to be honest about my fear of being alone in my thoughts over Christmas.

I slipped myself into one of the dining room chairs, watching Tom move around the kitchen with ease and perfection. He was stirring one pot, grating cheese on another plate and humming along to the music. He began to serve up food on the plates, hips moving with the music and I blushed watching how sweet he looked. He waltzed over, placing a plate in front of me and turning to the wine, pouring a generous glass and handing it to my open hand. He slipped onto the chair and faced me, offering the glass to mine to clink with each other. I audibly moaned as I had a mouthful of the pasta and I heard Tom chuckle at my delight.