All You Want for the Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

10. Inari

Sunlight filters into the room in slivers, peeking through the edges of the curtains. I wake up next to Perrin who has taken half my pillow and trapped me with an arm splayed across my body. Her hair sticks up all over the place and somehow she has taken most of the blanket as well. I roll towards her, closing my eyes and inhaling her warmth.

What a perfect, quiet way to celebrate Christmas morning.

As Perrin snores soundly, I reach behind me for my phone on the bedside table. My lock screen is filled with messages from friends and family wishing Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays in group chats and private messages. At the very top is a message from Leila, sent hours ago, only a few minutes after midnight.

Oh, she was certainly going to be entertained by the situation I’ve gotten myself into. I unlock my phone and glance at Perrin. She told me years ago that she was a heavy sleeper and now it’s time to test that.

I slowly pick up her hand, sit up, and then place her palm back down on the bed. She grumbles into the pillow but doesn’t wake. I stare at her with a smile, tracing her cheek with my finger. She looks adorable wrapped up in my bed, so I hope she’ll forgive me for letting her sleep-in.

I step out onto the balcony as I call Leila. The morning sun greets me along with a clear, blue sky. I stretch and shake out my limbs as the phone rings. After longer than usual, the phone clicks.

“Merry Christmas, Inari!” Leila screams into the phone.

I pull it away from my ear and then bring it back once I’m sure she won’t scream again. “Merry Christmas to you too, my friend.”

On the other side of the phone, I can hear Leila’s family. Indistinct, overlapping conversations make up the majority of the noise with an underlayer of children yelling about presents and having cake early because “Christmas, mum” .

I am the luckiest enby in the world to be spending my Christmas quietly with my favourite person of many, many years.

“It sounds… busy over there,” I say, leaning against the balcony railing and looking over the hedge garden.

“It’s okay, you can say horrible,” Leila responds with a laugh. “I know it’s not your favourite holiday.”

“Perhaps it’s not so much the holiday, but the way I spend it.” I peek over my shoulder and look through the glass sliding door. I can’t get over how peaceful Perrin looks and part of me wants to go back to cuddle her.

“Now, now, what’s that meant to mean Mx. Inari Kan?”

I whip my head back around, as if Leila can see me watching Perrin sleep. “Nothing.”

“That’s quite possibly the worst way you could’ve answered that question.”

Leila gets distracted by her cousins wanting her attention, and excuses herself as she finds a new place to talk. In that time, I mull over how I’m supposed to explain this to her. One moment we’re friends, the next we’re spending the night together.

My best friend is a master at helping me see another perspective, even when she isn’t directly contributing, because I realise that the explanation wouldn’t be difficult, but dealing with her smug response about ‘foreshadowing’ my love life would be.

“Okay, sorry, I’m back.” Leila sounds out of breath. The noise is fainter on her end now. “I just went outside. I’ll have to deal with the heat or whatever. Is it hot over there too?”

“Leila, we’re still in the same state. It’s not like I’m catching any snow anytime soon.”

She laughs. “You are so right. Anyway, how’s Perrin? Are you getting along for your last full day?”

The reminder of this being our last day at the villa puts a frown on my face. One more sleep, and we’d be on our way back home. My heart weighs a little heavier in my chest though I try not to let it show in my voice.

“Better than I expected,” I say, genuinely.

My thoughts go to our projects. We should finish them today. I was on track to get the end of this draft down as long as I didn’t get distracted by the temptation to intimately entertain Perrin.

“How much better?”

“Err…” I hesitate and Leila, thankfully, waits for me to get my words together. “The best this situation could be. Perrin figured out she’s demiromantic.”

“ Wait— ”

I hear soft static on the other side for some time. I hold my breath. Should I add more details? Should I let her work it out? Was this more painful than fun to tease Leila with the truth?

I make the mistake of having my phone too close to my ear as Leila screams again.

“She confessed to you and I wasn’t there to see?!”

“Why on earth would you even be there!”

“Emotional support or something, I don’t know! But oh my god. So she likes you? Loves you? Wait, you said you moved on. Did you say no? Is she crying?”

“What— crying? No.” I shake my head even as I smile. No wonder Leila and Perrin got along in high school—their hyperactivity tends to match each other and the way they hold conversations have too many similarities. “Listen, I can tell you the proper details when I’m back in Melbourne, but for now… I want you to know I’m planning to bring Perrin to the party next week.”

“You better. Or else I will get Perrin to divorce you.”

“How are you already thinking about us being married? Also, you can’t make her do that, ever.”

Leila makes some sort of non-committal sound and I imagine her waving me off. “You’ll see. Now, you get back to your princess and I’m going to enjoy some morning cake over here.”

We say goodbye and I sneak back inside. Perrin is awake, still in bed, and staring at the ceiling.

“Yours is the sun.” She points at the ceiling light and I look up. Indeed, a golden ring surrounds the light with sparkles and swirls like sunlight. She lowers her arm and then looks at me with a sleepy smile. “Mine has the moon.”

I slip into bed next to her, bringing her closer to me. She sighs with content and buries her face in my shirt.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep again. We have things to do today,” I say into her hair.

“Like what?” she questions with a muffled, defiant tone.

“Finishing our projects, having some food to eat.”

“We have all day and tomorrow.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. We laze around too much today, then we’re spending most of tomorrow packing up and in the car home. We should make the most of these precious hours.”

“Just last night you were telling me how happy you were about letting loose and enjoying yourself.” She snickers and I roll my eyes. That was different . “And you’re the one who got back into bed~”

Perrin wins ‘five more minutes’. It ends up being eight, but she becomes more enthused when I mention the idea of cooking breakfast together. We race to the bathroom and brush our teeth, and then make our way downstairs.

We go all out for breakfast, frying up eggs, bacon, chorizo, mushrooms, tomatoes, and spinach. Hashbrowns crisp up in the oven while Perrin is plating everything up with some toast.

It’s domestic—exactly what I didn’t want with Perrin when we first got here. But now, I’m glad that we’re sharing these moments. Cooking together after spending the night in each other’s arms, or mouths, makes perfection.

At the outdoor dining table, we sit side-by-side. Our elbows touch as we eat our food and let the flavours of our fried-up breakfast melt together. I chop everything up into small pieces so that my forkfuls have as many flavours as I can pick up. On the other hand, Perrin stacks her breakfast haphazardly onto a singular slice of toast, with little care for distribution, and lifts the mountain to her mouth, letting whatever falls become the toppings of her next slice.

“So, who were you on the phone with this morning?” Perrin asks as she mops her plate with bread. “Was it Leila?”

“How did you know?” Finished with my meal, I push the plate to the side and prop my elbow onto the table with the side of my head in my hand.

She gives me a smile with rosy cheeks. “It was either the shouting coming from your phone, or the fact that I know Leila is one of the only people you like to call.”

“I believe you’re going off some outdated information there, but I’ll let it pass this time because you’re right.”

“Well, duh, I’m right!”

“Don’t start keeping tally.” I raise my brows and grab the napkin my cutlery is sitting on, using the clean side to wipe the corner of Perrin’s lips.

As I put the napkin back on the table, Perrin looks away with a shy smile. Her hands go to intertwine as they usually do, but this time she pauses, and then reaches out towards me. I look at her hand curiously before taking it in mine. Our fingers thread together.

“Hey,” she whispers, staring at our hands.

“Hey,” I respond, the corner of my lip twitching into a lopsided smile.

She shuffles her chair closer to me. “I just wanted to mention something… it’s kinda related to how things turned out at the end of high school and what I mentioned in my text yesterday.”

My shoulders tense and my smile drops. I don’t realise that my grip has tightened on her hand until she starts flexing her fingers as a subtle notice. I relax my hand, but my lips stay sealed, unsure of how to respond or what to expect. I know in my mind that nothing bad is going to happen; my heart doesn’t seem to agree.

“Nari,” she mumbles, bringing her face closer and looking into my eyes. I stare back at her. The genuine concern in her gaze helps to calm my racing heart. She starts doing that thing again where her pupils dart from side-to-side, reading me. “I know you don’t do well with rejections or things that seem like rejection. I want you to know that this isn’t a rejection and it doesn't change anything about my utter love for you.”

The words are surprising to hear. No one has ever said that prior to revealing their “we need to talk” subject of conversation. I still blamed myself for the way my body locks up at the slightest appearance of critique. I don’t like knowing that words could hurt me. But, with Perrin, I am safe and oddly comforted to start working on this.

“You’re right,” I say, to assure myself just as much as acknowledge Perrin’s kind words. “You are very right, and I can appreciate that.”

She leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek and just as I chase a kiss on the lips, she pulls away with a soft look.

Her thumb runs over the side of my finger, our hands still connected. “I noticed that we have a bit of a problem when we make assumptions about each other. How you may have assumed my feelings towards you when I wasn’t ready, and how I assumed you would remain this perfect image of a best friend that was based on only my thoughts and needs. We both became frustrated when we didn’t meet our expectations… I really hope I’m not assuming too much right now, either.”

There’s this nature to her words that makes them so obvious yet so important to bring up. Yesterday was the first time I learnt of Perrin’s feelings about what happened. She might even have more that she would share in her own time.

I nod. “I know what you mean. Isn’t that what they say about communication being key in a relationship?”

Perrin shrugs. “Not everyone knows what that means. I would even say some people use it as an argument.”

“I hope we never do,” I say, bringing the back of her hand to my lips. “I think even if I didn’t realise it in the moment, it helped a lot when you told me how you felt. That just means I should ask you questions more often—about how you feel, what you’re thinking.”

If I were in younger Perrin’s position, the day of the initial confession, perhaps I would’ve done the same as her. I have trouble picking up signs of other people’s feelings, especially when they come down to feelings about me. If my best friend suddenly confessed to me one day, with all the pressure of giving an immediate response, then I would make the safest choice I could at the time. Sometimes that is “no” .

“Why wonder about how I’m feeling if you can just ask me, right?”

“Right.”

With a promise to commit to communicating and an apology on behalf of my younger self, I give her a kiss to seal the deal. It’s gentle and forgiving, and the tension in my shoulders melt away. Everything, even cleaning the dishes, is better with Perrin around.

I feel less jittery about finishing my project once we’re both in the studio space again. Our crafts are easy to slip into. I set my laptop up and reread the last chapter I wrote. I’m at the cusp of finishing this draft. It’s messy, underwritten, and has continuity errors, and there’s a very strong urge to start editing right now, but the work is mine and I wrote it all while here in the Sunlit Creative Space.

When I’m ready for a writing sprint, I put on my headphones and hit play on the book’s playlist. Two chapters to go. The most satisfying chapters for how they make all the ends meet, yet the scariest for how they require me to actually know the ending of my book.

The space around me shifts into the setting of the final scene. My fingers fly over the keyboard. I skip to the next song when the current one doesn’t capture the action, the atmosphere, the characters. A word gets stuck on the tip of my tongue, so I seek out my internet browser for an “another word for” search.

As I’m reaching the end of a chapter, the doorbell rings downstairs.

I look up from my screen and slip off my headphones. My gaze finds Perrin who has her printed photos laid out on her table. A select few are set to the side, perhaps for her main collection.

I check the time. It’s been a few hours. I definitely haven’t been drinking enough water.

“I can go get that,” I say to Perrin, putting my headphones on the table and standing up.

“Not if I get it first!” She hops up from her chair and bolts down the stairs in front of me.

I stare after her, my mind still catching up with what just happened, and then shake my head. She always was a bit more competitive than she realised.

Perrin opens the door, letting in a burst of light and summer heat. Spending our time in an air-conditioned villa makes it easy to forget how hot it is outside. Sitting on the front step is a basket with two wrapped presents and a card on top that reads “Wishing you a Happy Holidays”. Perrin and I glance at each other and back to the mysterious delivery.

“Is this for us?” Perrin asks, crouching down to pick up the basket.

As she brings it inside, I close the door behind her. She sets it on the living room coffee table and we both take a seat.

“I… think so.”

I pick up the card. The inside reads:

To my Sunlit Residents, Perrin and Inari, May this day bring you many blessings. Please do accept my gifts as a show of good spirit. Much love, Thalia Ainsworth x

“They’re from Thalia,” I say, unable to contain the smile on my face.

“What! She’s already given us so much, though.” Perrin pouts at the gifts. “I don’t wanna open them.”

“It might be worse if we return them.” I grab the present closest to me. Both of them are rectangular but this one is wide and thin. The sticker on the wrapping paper says it’s for Perrin. “This one’s yours.”

I hand it over and Perrin holds it as reverently as she does her camera. She tries shaking it, as one does when trying to work out what a present is, but that doesn’t reveal anything.

After a moment of quiet gratitude, Perrin tears the wrapping paper apart, revealing the glossy cover of an abstract photography book underneath. She stands up, holding the book out with two hands, her face in a state of shock.

Then she squeals, jumping from foot-to-foot, before she shoves the book in my face.

“I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” She squeals again.

I chuckle and gently push the book back towards her. “Is it popular?”

“Not really popular, not even expensive, but it had a really small print run. At this point, you’d have to know someone to get one.”

I lean over and pick up the other present, and double check that it has my name on it. It certainly does, bringing warmth to my heart. The present weighs a bit heavier than Perrin’s, and it’s thicker too. I find an edge of the wrapping paper held down by sticky-tape and start by peeling it back. I aim to preserve such beautiful, subtly-patterned purple wrapping paper.

I feel something cool, smooth, and flat, yet neither glossy or matte, under my fingertips. Perrin puts her photo book to the side as I fully unveil the present. It’s a leather-bound journal, engraved with the words “Sunlit Creative” in the top right corner, with a sun-shaped charm tied to the spine with some leather ribbon.

I run my fingers over the cover, taking in the craftsmanship. I undo the brass buckle that keeps the book closed with a leather belt and flip through the pages. While the edges are ragged, the paper is nice and thick, equipped for an ink-dipped quill or an everyday ballpoint pen.

“Wow…” is all I can think to say. My hands are shaking with excitement.

“That looks so cool!” Perrin exclaims as she grabs my arm excitedly.

“I’ve never had one of these before.”

I whip out my phone and put it on the table as I dial Miss Ainsworth. She picks up only three seconds after that.

“Merry Christmas, lovely folks. Did you like your presents?” Her voice is chipper and proud.

“They’re wonderful, Miss Ainsworth.”

I bring my new journal to my chest and then kiss Perrin on the cheek.

The rest of the night is a race to the finish line. We take breaks to have afternoon tea and dinner, but otherwise we’re determined to call our projects finished (for now) .

Typing out the final scene is nerve-wracking and I rely on my laptop screen and a lamp for light to minimise any distractions around the room. Perrin, very considerately, is washing the dishes downstairs after she’s completed her photo binder collection and framed the winning photo set.

The finale of my manuscript is coming together. One sentence comes after another, a word after word, until…

The only words left to type are THE END .

“I’m done!” I yell, loud enough so Perrin can hear. She responds with a cheer from the kitchen.

I sit back in my chair with a sigh, hitting save on my document twice, just in case, before closing the program and then my laptop.

We tidy up what we can around the house and start getting ready for bed. We take it slow, with purpose. As much as we’re tempted to stay up so that we don’t miss out on any extra moments we can afford here, we change our minds once we’re tucked into bed and in each other’s arms again.

I run my hand across Perrin’s cheek and she leans into the touch.

“Are you happy with how everything went?” I whisper to her, as if anyone could hear us.

“It’s all I could ever want,” she replies with her big brown eyes staring at me. She’s even prettier than the last time I saw her.

“I doubt that.”

“Then it’s all I wanted for the holidays.”

As she gives me a sweet smile, I bring her face closer and kiss her. I kiss her like we aren’t going to kiss like this again, right here in this bed, in this room, in this house, at this residency. I hold her tight and don’t let go until she complains about being too hot.

Sleep takes us for the night and when morning comes again, we pack our things and have pancakes for breakfast. The doorbell rings at midday and we wonder why our drivers are early, only to be surprised by Miss Ainsworth in the flesh. She gives us big hugs and Perrin shows her the final photo set, which she hangs up in the studio for every resident to see.

I realise during the car ride home, as my thoughts and feelings catch up to me, that this was all I wanted for the holidays too.