Merry Little Hate Notes

Chapter Nine

HOLLY

I KEPT SNEAKING GLANCES AT Brandon from the passenger seat of his Land Rover that still had the new-car smell. It was early Monday morning, and the sun had yet to creep over the horizon as we headed toward Aspen. To say I was questioning all my life choices that had led me to this particular moment was an understatement. I knew riding with him made the most sense, seeing as it would seem odd if we showed up separately to such a remote appointment. Not to mention my car needed new tires and wouldn’t traverse the mountain terrain very well this time of year. And let’s not forget I’d spent most of my weekend thinking about Brandon’s hand on the curve of my waist Friday. Yeah ... that.

His touch felt like a magical spark plug, and I hated it. I mean, I’d quite enjoyed it—which is why I hated it. It was so wrong to feel such a buzz from someone who hated you and had broken your heart. Lauren’s words didn’t help the situation any. She was right, just like my dad, about running away from people and memories—it was no way to live life. And I had to believe my brother wouldn’t have wanted this kind of life for me either. But surely he wouldn’t expect me to make nice with Brandon after he’d kissed me on a dare and then ghosted me. Although ... Christian seemed to forgive him easily enough for making a fool out of me, so perhaps this was exactly what Christian would want.

And ... maybe Brandon wasn’t as evil as I first presumed. On Friday he’d been more than kind, walking me through how to deliver a good presentation. He helped me practice ways of talking to Blake and not at her, and how to be enthusiastic about our product instead of preachy. Brandon had reminded me to smile and even complimented me on it. On the other hand, he could just really like money, and I was standing between him and a big payout. He had left me another note that said, You’re so Kringle-worthy in that sweater.

Yeah, well, if he thought he was looking like some Don Juan in his, he was mistaken. Not to say he didn’t look amazing. So amazing, he was giving Jesse Coulter, the marketing director whom every woman in the office fantasized about, a run for his money in Mistletoe Manness. Which I was sadly missing today in the bathroom, along with the weekend’s developments with Rita, Amy, and Joel. Did Amy give Joel another chance? Did Rita take revenge on Amy like she said she would if that went down? Inquiring minds needed to know. Well, really just my mind.

I also needed to find out whose bright idea it was to bring holiday cheer to the office. Whomever Brandon’s wingman was, he was going to pay dearly when Jane discovered his identity. Oh yeah, she was on the hunt, as the missing-puzzle-piece case was losing leads. Jane hated anything that brought people joy, so she wanted to crush the culprit who’d dared to introduce a hefty dose of holiday cheer into the office. She’d worn a black sweater as a form of protest on Friday. Her account executive was none too happy about it.

Admittedly, it was kind of fun to see all the ridiculous sweaters. And it’s not like I could refuse to participate after Lauren and Bertram guilted me into it with all their “you are our A team” and “we need you” talk. No doubt Lauren had spent some serious cash on the matching ugly Christmas sweaters. And I do mean ugly. My younger self would have loved it. This version of me wanted to as well, but fear overwhelmed her.

Just like my fear now as I watched tiny specks of snow hit Brandon’s windshield as we traveled up the I-70 corridor, wending our way up the mountainous highway to the Continental Divide. It wasn’t supposed to snow until tonight after we returned home—I had checked the weather forecast religiously over the weekend. Now on top of sneaking glances at the freaking fantastic-looking Brandon, all the charts in my head were screaming at me to abort my mission. But I could hear Carmen begging me to be brave and to remember we were one step closer to our Monica and Rachel dreams.

Carmen was so set on this happening, she’d loaned me some clothes and dressed me up like Business Barbie today. I hadn’t worn designer clothes in so long, it felt weird. A good weird. I liked how I looked in the sculpted plaid pantsuit that silhouetted my figure nicely. I’d even splurged and purchased some classy black heels to match. Splurged , meaning I didn’t hit up Costco or Target—instead I went crazy at DSW’s sale rack. I was living large and in charge. Except now I was terrified I might die in my pretty new shoes.

My charts kicked in and forced these words out of my mouth, even knowing I was going to sound like a nutjob, “Do you think we should reschedule with Artemis because of the snow?”

Brandon’s brow quirked as he glanced my way. “This is the only time Blake can meet with us before the holidays. Besides, it’s only a few flurries,” he said, like I’d lost my mind. Oh, he had no idea how far gone it was.

“Yes, right,” I breathed as I stared out the window, counting the snowflakes dying quick deaths on the windshield. Unfortunately, I knew what a few flurries could turn into, especially in the mountains this time of year. We are talking careening off cliffs, or worse, being stuck on the road for hours with delectable-smelling Brandon while emergency crews cleaned up dozens of accidents on the highway.

“Are you okay, Holly?” Brandon asked, sounding more than concerned.

“I’m fine,” I lied, not wanting to admit what a chart-loving worrier I had become, especially to him. I felt stupid for even suggesting we reschedule.

“Are you sure?” he wondered.

“Yes.” No . I counted ten more snowflakes in the last ten seconds than the previous ten seconds. Agh. Breathe , I begged myself. Think of more trips to DSW and not having to ever see Brandon again . That’s what this little joyride through a winter wonder-hell meant. Oddly, the thought of never seeing Brandon again wasn’t working its magic like I thought it would.

“I thought you loved the snow.” Brandon wouldn’t let it go.

“I have a complicated relationship with it now,” I said before I could stop myself. The girl in me wanted to spill my guts to him like I used to because he’d always had a way of making me feel better. Even when I told him Hadley Pearson had made fun of me at the age of fifteen for never having kissed a boy. Brandon made me laugh when he told me Hadley had a reputation for having an enormous tongue that frightened all the guys. Then he made me feel better when he said there was nothing wrong with saving my kisses. He said saved kisses are the best kind. And he was right, except he’d failed to mention how much they would hurt after he stole them. Or the hole he would leave in me when he removed himself from my life.

“Is it because of Christian’s accident?” Brandon whispered with a slight shake in his voice as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.

We’d never broached this subject, and I didn’t think now was a good time, seeing as we were on our way to hopefully close a life-changing deal for me. And I feared opening up to him even just a little bit. He was already unlocking too many memories, the ones I feared would swallow me whole.

“No,” I was quick to answer, even though so much of what had changed me stemmed from losing Christian. But it didn’t directly cause my fear of wintry roads and so many other things in my life. “Anyway.” We needed a change of subject stat. “Camille reminded me on Friday that we aren’t off the hook for today’s team-building exercise. She said we could record our holiday karaoke song and send it to her.”

Brandon groaned, sounding as thrilled as I was about the supposedly festive activity. “All right. What song should we sing? ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’?’” He smirked at me.

I rolled my eyes, thinking of all the times Brandon and Christian would mockingly sing that song to me during the holidays.

Brandon laughed. “So, no ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’? It’s the best time of her year,” he teased me.

I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t heard that line in a long time. Unfortunately, it gave my mouth permission to speak before I could think. “It’s not anymore.” I threw a hand over my mouth. What was wrong with me? Might as well just fill him in on my entire life since he’d left and get it over with.

Brandon didn’t help matters when he rested his warm, masculine hand on my thigh, sending my body into a tizzy of electricity. “Maybe this year will be different.”

“Maybe,” I stuttered out, still feeling the buzz of his touch. Dad was still hoping we could get a tree, and I hadn’t outright said no yet. And I had worn the ugliest of Christmas sweaters, although we didn’t win. I was a little salty about it, considering the winners’ sweaters were cute and not ugly. The bathroom ladies totally thought we got robbed. Which kind of had me wanting to rock our karaoke song and get some vindication. But that meant allowing more memories to surface. And while old me was a fun girl, she was much too idealistic and na?ve.

First, before I did anything else, I needed to breathe and probably remove Brandon’s hand from my leg. But it looked kind of nice resting there. Oh. My. Gosh. What was wrong with me? The man thought I had RGF and a November face and that I was a Krispy Kringle with my tinsel in a tangle. So why was he being so nice to me? And why wasn’t I removing his hand? This was a serious question. A better question would be, why didn’t it repulse him to touch me?

Then without warning, a mother of a memory hit me, and I almost blurted, “Remember when we rode Tower of Terror and I wasn’t so sure about it and you kept your hand on my thigh just like you are now, telling me it would all be okay, even fun? Then I grabbed your hand, and you squeezed mine tight the entire ride while I screamed my head off every time we dropped. But it was so much fun, we rode it three more times. Well, mostly because I just wanted you to keep holding my hand. ”

Thankfully, those words didn’t see the light of day. But the feelings lingered.

To my relief, Brandon popped his hand off my thigh and placed it back on the steering wheel where it belonged .

“If not ‘Holly Jolly Christmas,’ then what?” he asked. “‘Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly?’” He laughed his charming laugh.

“No songs with Holly .”

“I don’t know. It could work in our favor.” He smiled.

I didn’t agree. But old Holly had a thought. Perhaps even a good thought, but I feared it as well because too many doors were opening to old memories, and it felt kind of magical. Memories and magic came with frightening consequences. But old Holly wouldn’t let it go. “What if we did ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ but we made the days pertaining to the office?”

“Hmm.” Brandon thought. “It could work. What you got, Holly-Pops?” he said so cockily, I couldn’t help but say ...

“How’s this? On the first day of Christmas, Elevate gave to me an egotistical account executive.”

“That’s pretty good. Except ... I’m not egotistical. I’m just good at what I do.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t sound egotistical at all.” I laughed.

He glanced my way with a soft expression. “I like your laugh, Holly. Always have.”

I bit my lip. He was confusing me. Why was he being so nice all of a sudden? Especially when I knew darn well he was probably mentally composing all the hate notes he could deliver. I almost brought up the notes he’d already left me, but that would show I cared about them. And it might force me to cross over and start returning the notes. I happened to have those holiday sticky notes in my bag just itching to be used, but I was still refusing to lower myself to Brandon’s level, even if I had a slew of insults in my mind, waiting to be penned. I wanted to throw this Shakespeare gem at him: Thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows .

“Are you just trying to make sure I don’t foul up the presentation with Artemis?” I asked, not knowing what to do with his kind words. Mostly not knowing if I could trust them. I’d been here with him before. Which was a good reminder that he was an excellent actor.

“I’m not worried in the least. You got this.”

What was he doing? He was supposed to say something sarcastic.

“I hope so,” I breathed out .

“I’ve known no one as determined as you. You’re going to close this deal.”

This was getting more and more bizarre. A nice Brandon was a suspicious Brandon. “All right, well, we’d better write this song,” I said in a pitchy voice I barely recognized. “We have to turn it in before noon.”

“I’m vetoing that first day idea.” He grinned.

“Fine,” I faux complained. “We need to think of funny or maybe even annoying office situations or practices.”

“Like these team-building exercises?” Brandon quipped.

“Exactly.” I reached in my bag for my phone to type out notes for the song. “That could be our twelfth day. Twelve team-building exercises.”

“I like it.” Brandon nodded.

“What else? Maybe eleven endless email chains,” I suggested.

“Good one,” Brandon agreed. “What about ten office temp wars?”

“Yes.” I typed it into my phone and added, “Nine odious-smelling lunches.”

“Those are the worst.” Brandon’s nose wrinkled for effect.

They really were. Save your stinky food for home, please.

Brandon and I went back and forth, making fun of office culture in our song for the next hour like we were old friends. We even considered putting Jason in the song by making fun of his over cologning but decided it would probably be in poor taste. Even if Jason offended us all with his twentieth-century body spray. When it was all said and done, we came up with the following masterpiece:

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Elevate gave to me: twelve team-building exercises, eleven endless email chains, ten office temp wars, nine odious-smelling lunches, eight smart boards, seven comfy couches, six free snack bins, five missing puzzle pieces (we threw this in for Jane’s pleasure) , four Slack messages, three broken printers, two crappy coffee makers, and one employee parking spot.

I basically serenaded Brandon with this rendition without thinking twice. Something about being with Brandon was working some weird magic on me. It was as if my old self appeared out of nowhere, and the tightness in my chest I’d been carrying around for over a decade loosened up just a bit. Well ... that was until chart-loving Holly looked out the window and noticed that in all the fun I was having, we had reached Vail Pass, and the flurries had turned to a full-blown four-alarm fire of a snowstorm. And ... Vail Pass meant we would soon see the turnoff for Beaver Creek. The place it had happened. This was all assuming we didn’t have our own unfortunate event.

Brandon was laughing at the song when I went ashen and silent, running the worst-case scenarios in my mind while gripping the door and breathing shallowly, trying not to be a freak in his presence, but oh, was I about to get freaky.

“Do you want to record it?” Brandon asked, not realizing he had a basket case on his hands.

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was stare blankly out the window at all the giant snowflakes blanketing everything, including our vision.

“Holly,” Brandon’s voice showed he realized all was not well in Hollyland. He reached out to me, but that only freaked me out more, and not just because he no longer had both hands on the wheel. The fact that I so badly wanted to take his hand startled me more than anything. Which was saying a lot, seeing as I was picturing us careening down the steep grade and crashing into multiple vehicles before we hit the side of the mountain. Cheery thoughts, right? It was just something my mind did in the aftermath of all the unthinkable things. My strategy was, if I thought through all the things that could potentially happen, I could prevent them. Did I realize this was a sick and twisted coping mechanism? Yes, yes, I did.

“Please keep your hands on the wheel,” I eked out.

“Okay, okay. I got it. Promise. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m in control. We’re safe,” he spoke to me as if I were a child. Not that I didn’t appreciate it, but it was humiliating to be so vulnerable in front of him, of all people. Really anyone, with the exception of Carmen. She was the only person who truly knew how cautious and afraid I’d become. She was well acquainted with the charts.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. “All I want is to live my best Monica Geller life,” I whispered to myself.

“What?” Brandon asked .

“Nothing.” I was an idiot.

“You want to live in a Friends episode?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to move to New York?” Brandon sounded a little worried about this. I suppose that made sense, given I worked for his father’s company.

“No. Just some cozy apartment building in town with Carmen. As long as two cute, eligible bachelors live across the hall from us and there’s a nearby coffee shop with great seating and lattes.” Ugh. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut around him?

Brandon chuckled.

I opened one eye, and judging by the grin on his face, he found me quite amusing. “You think I’m ridiculous?” Of course I was.

He glanced at me for a fraction of a second. “No. I was just thinking how lucky Chandler and Joey will be.”

“Oh. Ha ha.” No way he meant that. He was just patronizing me. “I know I’m acting weird. You probably think I’m insane—maybe I am. My worries have worries, and those worries have charts. But things have been ... well ... they haven’t been easy for a long time.” Oh my gosh. Quit spilling your guts to him. My mouth refused to listen to me. At all. “And this deal could mean me living out my Friends dream. I really want that dream,” my voice cracked, filled with so much pent-up emotion. “But this ...” I waved my hand all around at the snow pummeling us. “This scares me.”

Brandon swallowed hard, probably afraid of me and wondering if he needed to call for help. Not that I blamed him.

I leaned my head against the frigid passenger-side window that was developing a thin layer of ice, feeling so stupid and wishing I could crawl out of my skin and hide. The only sound to be heard was the windshield wipers furiously trying to keep up with the snow. But in the silence, I could hear Brandon’s trepidation. Why did I have to blurt out the feelings I was usually such a pro at hiding? I’m a professional at making people think I have my act together. I’m so good at it, even I believe it. And most of the time, I feel as if I have life under control. It’s just that I’d been holding everything together for so long, I was exhausted. For once, I wanted one of my dreams to come true. And I was so close. I didn’t know if I could take another dream slipping from my grasp.

“Holly, I’m sorry,” Brandon punctuated the awkward silence.

My head popped off the window. “For what?”

“I know you won’t believe me.” He paused. “But I’m sorry for everything.”

“For everything? What does that mean?”

He let out a heavy breath. “It means I want to talk to you. But not now.”

This weirded me out enough that for a second, I forgot we were descending an icy mountain pass. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Everything.”

“Thanks. That really clears it up.”

He let out a tired laugh. “Let’s just get through today. And maybe someday, when you no longer hate me, we’ll have that talk.”

Wait. What? “Um ... not to be nitpicky here, but what we have”—I pointed between us several times—“is mutual hate.”

“Holly,” he sighed while observing the road and driving extra cautiously. “I’ve never hated you.”

“Yes, you do,” I vehemently contradicted him.

“I think I would know if I hate you.”

For a moment, I sat stunned, trying to process this wildly confusing information. “Well, you’ve done an excellent job convincing me otherwise,” I snapped, feeling hurt, but mostly I had this odd sensation I’d missed out on something important—him. Or maybe this was just Brandon acting again. If he didn’t hate me, why would he let me believe for all these years that he did? I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t know what I could believe. Certainly not him.

Brandon blew out a huge breath. “I know, and I hate myself for it.”

If he was telling the truth, I hated him for it too.