Boyfriend for the Holidays

Chapter 1. The Boyfriend Act

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring down pensively at the half-packed suitcase lying open on the floor. Each item I’ve carefully placed inside feels like a part of some strange ritual—an attempt to prepare myself for a holiday I’m not even sure I want to face.

Christmas is just days away, and with it comes the annual pressures of family expectations. Every year, it’s the same routine—show up alone and endure the endless questions, the disappointed glances from my mom and dad, and my grandmother’s relentless matchmaking attempts. At twenty-eight, I’m just tired of it all. Tired of never meeting their expectations, tired of disappointing everyone, tired of disappointing myself.

This year, for the first time, I wonder if I might just stay home. I sigh, running a hand slowly through my hair, feeling the weight of my family’s expectations settle over me like a thick winter coat.

My parents have a very specific vision of a “successful” Christmas—the whole family crammed together like a modern-day Noah’s Ark, two-by-two, everyone paired off and accounted for. I can practically hear my mother’s delighted coos as she admires the perfect pairs: my sister and her husband with their two little children, my brother and his pregnant wife. But her joy always shifts to a thinly veiled disappointment, almost pity, when her gaze lands on the empty chair beside me.

My dad, a practical guy, measures success through tangible achievements, expressing his disappointment with those long, loaded silences and shared looks with my mom. He never asks about my love life, but he gives me this look, like some prophet who can already see me destined to die alone. Accepting that I’m gay hasn’t been easy for him—not because he’s homophobic, but because he knows having kids won’t be straightforward for me. For some reason, he seems convinced that if I’m not out there accidentally knocking up a random girl, I’ll never actually go through the trouble of having kids at all. And maybe he’s not wrong, but that’s the last thing I want to worry about.

Then there are my siblings—my sister, a stay-at-home mom of two, practically a fixture in our parents' lives, married to a rich husband who makes working optional, and my older brother, with his high-paying finance job, loving wife, and a baby on the way—the picture of stability. Their lives only seem to spotlight my own shortcomings, so every time I sit at the table with them, I feel like I’m wading through the same swamp, year after year, with nothing to show for myself. We only see each other on holidays, and although we message a couple of times a week, the Big Questions are saved for our face-to-face moments—because it’s just easier to torture me and watch my reaction in real time.

With another sigh, I lie back on the bed, frustration creeping in. Maybe I could skip the holiday this year. I could call my mom, claim that work is keeping me busy (a bold-faced lie, considering my assistant editor gig at an indie publishing house mostly involves reading manuscripts from the slush pile—and she knows it), or maybe say I’ve come down with the flu. Not a huge stretch, considering my scratchy throat, but I got a flu shot back in September and would never admit to my parents that it didn’t work, especially since I’m still on my mission to convince them to get theirs annually. Besides, if I don’t show up, I’ll become the holiday’s hot topic, and Mom will definitely cook up her own theory about what’s “really” wrong with me. So, not going isn’t really an option for me.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, yanking me out of my spiraling thoughts. It’s a message from Kelly, my best friend since high school.

Kelly: Hey! Are we still on for coffee?

I quickly type back, grateful for the distraction.

Mitch: Definitely. I could use some caffeine and your unsolicited advice. When?

Kelly: 30 mins, the Rabbit Hole?

Mitch: Okaaay, let’s go!

Over the years, we’ve shared everything—secrets, heartbreaks, and countless late-night talks about love, life, and all the chaos in between. Kelly was the one who helped me come out, even standing by my side when I did it in front of my parents. She was there when my first boyfriend, who I’d been obsessed with for three years, dumped me; she was there again when my second boyfriend cheated on me. And I’ve been there for her too, through her own boyfriend’s betrayal, the infamous “HPV-gate” (our name for her six-month ordeal of doctor visits, cervical dysplasia, and cancer scare, all thanks to the HPV her boyfriend passed along), and her rocky distance from her mom. Kelly is my bestie, my number one, my go-to girl.

Less than thirty minutes later, I’m sitting across from her at our favorite coffee shop, the Rabbit Hole. It’s a cozy spot halfway between our places, with soft lighting, a minimalist Scandinavian design with marble and wood surfaces, and the warm aroma of fresh coffee and berry-jam-filled pastries.

“So, when are you leaving?” Kelly asks, biting into her cherry puff and scattering crumbs on her plate, the table, and her lap.

“Christmas Day. I thought about just coming for dinner to avoid all the prep, but Jemma swore she’d kill me if I skipped out on the hassle.”

Kelly smirks. “Of course she did. So, staying a couple of days as usual?”

I nod. “I took a week off, but I don’t want to overstay. Once the Christmas glow fades and everyone else leaves, it’s just me, Mom, Dad, and Grandma, and that’s when they start the find-pathetic-Mitch-a-boyfriend routine.”

“Oh, come on,” Kelly teases, taking a gulp of coffee. “It’s not too bad if they start matchmaking again and set you up with one of the neighbors’ sons, like last year.” With her glossy black hair in two braids, dark eyeliner, and pale skin courtesy of her face powder, she looks like a Chinese-American Wednesday Addams.

“Are you kidding?” I nearly spit my coffee. “That was one of the most humiliating nights of my life. Need a refresher?”

Kelly laughs, holding her hands up defensively. “No need, I remember. So what if it was an awkward date in front of the family—”

“Kells, he was forty.”

“You’re 28; it’s not that huge of a gap.”

“I was twenty-seven.”

“Tomeito, tomahto.”

“He was bald!”

Kelly cracks up, almost spilling her coffee. “Oh, right! But he wasn’t completely bald. He was bald ing . There’s a difference.”

I roll my eyes. “Tomeito, tomahto.”

We laugh in unison.

Kelly and I are opposites. Where I’m reserved and introspective, she’s bold and spontaneous. Her knack for finding silver linings often pulls us into impulsive adventures that make me question my cautious approach to life. But every time I try spontaneity—like agreeing to meet Mrs. Dwindle’s balding, Star Wars–clueless accountant son—it reminds me why some of us (like yours truly) aren’t meant for wild spontaneity.

After we finish our pastries and coffee, Kelly sets her cup down, her expression shifting from thoughtful to suddenly excited, like she’s just had a brilliant idea.

“You know,” she begins, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, “you could easily solve this whole thing with your family. Just…bring someone.”

I raise an eyebrow, sensing she has something up her sleeve. “You’re offering to come with me?”

Kelly shakes her head. “No, dummy. You know I can’t. My mom would never let me skip Christmas. Plus, I meant, bring a boyfriend.”

I sigh dramatically. “Oh, thanks, Kells! Why didn’t I think of that? My imaginary boyfriend is dying to meet my family!”

Kelly snorts. “Stop with the sass. I’m serious.”

“Alright,” I shrug. “But you know, I don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

A grin spreads across her face. “Well, if it’s just to get through the holidays,” she says slyly, “why not find a ‘boyfriend for hire’?”

I blink, surprised by her suggestion. “You mean…pay someone to pretend to be my boyfriend?”

She shrugs, leaning back but keeping her gaze on me. “Why not? And I happen to know someone who’d be perfect for the job.”

I give her a skeptical look, but despite myself, there’s this strange flicker of excitement mixed with anxiety bubbling in my chest. I don’t even know what this feeling is, but Kelly has a talent for shaking up my boring life. I’m instantly anxious but also curious. “Like who?”

“How about Garred?” Kelly suggests, a wicked glint in her eye. “My flat mate, remember? He’s charming, easy to talk to, and could totally play the perfect boyfriend for your family.”

I raise an eyebrow, completely baffled. “Garred the firefighter? Are you kidding me?”

Garred the firefighter is, hands down, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. He’s tall, dark-haired, and built like a mountain of lean muscle, with that brooding look of a young Hollywood actor. When I first met him, I seriously considered starting a small fire at my house just so he’d come rescue me.

Kelly laughs. “Why not? He’s hot, charming, great with parents, and my mom practically adores him.”

“You want me to take your boyfriend to meet my family?” I say, dumbfounded.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kelly says, her expression faltering just for a second before she quickly masks it with a smile.

“What if you guys start dating? How am I supposed to explain that to my family?”

“That’s not going to happen,” she says firmly.

“Didn’t you have a crush on him or something?” I ask, frowning.

“Not anymore,” Kelly says. “He’s out of my league.”

I squint at her suspiciously. “Since when? Weren’t you planning to hook up with him on New Year’s by getting him drunk?”

Kelly blushes a bit but shakes her head. “Actually, we talked last week, and I realized I’m not his type.”

I frown even more. “You’re hiding something.”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

Then something dawns on me. “Wait…is he gay?”

Kelly looks me dead in the eye. “Nope. Straight as an arrow.”

I blush, embarrassed by the flicker of hope I let myself feel, and let out a frustrated sigh. Kelly never hides anything from me, and now she’s obviously holding something back. But I’m too rattled to press her now. I’ll pry it out of her once I get back from the holiday.

“Alright,” I say, “but what makes you think he’d even agree to something like this? Isn’t he, like, super serious?”

“Nah,” Kelly says, finishing her coffee. “He’s actually pretty cool. We’ve become really close friends.”

“Since when?!”

Kelly ignores my question, brushing it off. “I’ll just call him right now and ask.”

I hesitate, turning the idea over in my mind. Then, feeling a sudden wave of bravery, I nod. “You’re crazy,” I tell her as she grins, unfazed, and pulls out her phone.

“Let’s see what he says.”

In the next second, she’s dialing him. I watch, slightly stunned, as she puts the call on speaker. A moment later, Garred’s deep, smooth voice comes through, as confident as if he’s always winning at life—the guy has serious Henry Cavill energy.

“Hey, Kelly! What’s up? Did you forget your keys again?”

“Nope, Gar. I’m here with Mitch, and you’re on speaker!” she replies, as casual as if they’ve been friends for years.

“Hey, Mitch,” Garred says, his voice a low rumble, and I feel something flip in my stomach. Oh god. This was a terrible idea.

“Hey,” I mumble, suddenly desperate to make Kelly drop this whole thing.

But before I can start wildly gesturing for her to stop, Kelly blurts out, “Quick question: how would you feel about playing the role of Mitch’s boyfriend for a weekend? Just to help him out with his family over the holidays.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, during which I think I might actually self-combust, before Garred laughs. “Playing Mitch’s boyfriend, huh?” he says, amused. “On Christmas? Are we going for a Hallmark vibe here?”

“Sort of,” Kelly says, unfazed. “Mitch needs help because his family thinks he’s a total loser who’ll die alone,” she adds, and I slap my forehead with my palm as she throws in, “and he can pay you a hundred bucks.”

A hundred bucks?! A heads-up would be nice, but whatever.

I tense, waiting for Garred’s answer, looking at Kelly in horror.

Garred laughs again, deep and warm. I hold my breath, praying he’s about to say no.

“Sure, why not,” Garred says suddenly. “I didn’t have any plans for Christmas anyway.”

I feel my face heat up, half in shock, half in horror, as I wonder if he’s serious. Kelly seems to think the same because she asks, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Garred says, casual as anything. “And I don’t need the hundred bucks. Just feed me some homemade meals, and we’ll call it even.”

“Thank you, Garred! You’re the best!” Kelly beams at me. “Talk soon! Bye!” She hangs up and turns to me with a triumphant grin. “See? I told you he’d be perfect!”

I nod, still a little dazed by what just happened and what I’ve signed up for. My mind is already racing, picturing all the ways this could go wrong. Each one of my overactive fantasies basically looks like a scene from Meet the Fockers —pure disaster, just with a lot more family chaos. I feel a tiny bit of relief, though, remembering that at least Grandma’s still around, so we won’t have any accidental urn incidents.

Kelly squirms with excitement. “Yaaay! You’ve got yourself a boyfriend for the holidays!”

Oh god.

What have I gotten myself into?