The 12 Dates of Christmas

The One With the Surprise (feat. Brody Dalle)

You sat alone on the couch, in the dark, staring at the text message.

I miss you. Merry Christmas.

Brody had flown to Australia for Christmas. She was visiting old haunts, old friends, and her mother. You knew she needed to go back once in awhile, and that it was important she spend a holiday with her mom here and there while she still could. But you missed her.

You hadn't been able to reach her since day before yesterday, and her mother only told you she'd gone to see a friend and not to worry. But still. She was a long way away, and you were anxious. You dropped your head to the cushions and stared at the ceiling, remembering the last time you'd spoken.

“You're not going to sit in the house alone, right?” She didn't want you lonely on Christmas.

“Of course not. I'm going to my parents’ house Christmas Eve like always, I promise.”

“Good. No moping around.”

You'd laughed. “I'm not that pathetic without you.”

“You are a little bit pathetic without me,” she'd teased.

“I'll give my parents your love then?” You were smiling, even if you were lonely.

She chuckled warmly. Her laugh was one of the things you loved most about her. “'Course. Your Uncle Ray too. I'll miss playing with him this year.”

She and your uncle had a tradition of bringing out their guitars and trying to out-play one another every year. It always started innocently, but as hours got later and the punch bowl emptied, the family friendly carols got raunchier. It was one of the highlights of the year, in your opinion.

“He'll never forgive you. He's been rewriting 'Baby It's Cold Outside’ all year,” you'd informed her.

“That song has some questionable themes to begin with, it hardly needs Uncle Ray’s help.” She had a point. You used to love that song until she pointed out the slightly creepy lyrics to you. (“Hey what's in this drink”, anyone?)

“Still. Uncle Ray's version is bound to be a fucking classic.”

Silence hung between you for a moment.

“Are you alright?” She always knew when you were sad.

“I'm okay. I am. You're where you should be. Your mother and your friends...They deserve to see you. I can share.”

“Then you're better than me. I don't want to share you with anyone. Ever.”

“I'm yours,” you'd assured her, though she already knew. “I love you.”

The extreme time difference meant it was time for her to go to bed. You'd said your goodbyes, and that had been it. Aside from her text, there had been no more contact.

Your family had missed her. They meant well, but every time they'd brought her up that night, it had been like a fist closing around your heart. Dinner wasn't the same without her hand on your knee as she debated politics and feminism and global affairs with various family members. Uncle Ray sang only one song. You'd brought home a few gifts for her to open when she finally came home.

They'd sit unopened under the tree for another three days. In the meantime, you figured you'd just do your best to get through the days and nights without her. Nights were hardest. The bed was cold.

You sighed and sent one more text to her.

Merry Christmas, sugar. I hope you're OK. Call as soon as you can.

You turned the Christmas tree lights off and made sure the door was locked. You arranged Brody's gifts more prettily and dragged yourself upstairs. You went through the motions. Teeth brushed, face washed, watch off and tucked into a drawer, clothes in the hamper. You settled under the blankets and hoped sleep would come quickly.

Thankfully it did. You slept hard and late. It was nearly noon when you finally woke. If Brody had been home, you would have been up by eight, your gifts would have been opened by nine, and you would have been in the kitchen making breakfast together a few minutes later. The smell of coffee and cinnamon rolls would have permeated the air.

Kind of like it did now…

Your heart leapt and you threw the covers off and ran down the stairs. Your stocking feet slid on the hardwood, and you sailed past the entrance to the kitchen, but you knew what you'd seen. A familiar warm laugh came out of the room and you halted your slide and ran back as fast as you could.

She was home. You hadn't been able to reach her because she was traveling. She'd left Australia. She. Was. Home. You'd deny the squealing sound you made had ever left your lips for as long as you lived, but in that moment, words wouldn't do.

She looked rumpled, and travel worn. Her little blond ponytail was more skewed than usual. Her eyeliner was out of place and more smudged than she typically wore it. She looked exhausted. And you'd never thought she was more beautiful.

She lifted a mug of coffee in your direction. “Merry Christmas, baby. Did Uncle Ray miss me?"

You took the mug out of her hand, set in firmly on the counter behind her, and kissed her soundly.