Merry Little Hate Notes

Chapter Seventeen

HOLLY

IT WAS A SURREAL MOMENT sitting in Brandon’s car outside my house. Carmen totally ditched me for Marco, who apparently lived in a motorhome in the gym’s parking lot. It was kind of creepy if you asked me. Carmen didn’t, in fact, ask me, but I’d told her anyway. She laughed off my warning, explaining Marco was a gentle soul who only wanted to spread love and peace. I bet he did. So I snapped a picture of Marco’s den of love and peace along with his license plate, just in case. If Marco ever pulled up to the Garcias’ house in the old motorhome, Carmen’s parents, along with her abuelas, would go into cardiac arrest.

That left me with Brandon, who was more than happy to offer me a ride home. Brandon, whom I could hardly take my eyes off at the gym. Zac Efron and Josh Duhamel had nothing on him, other than perhaps being better at yoga, but I couldn’t verify that. Even if Brandon wasn’t all that flexible, he was obviously in fantastic shape. We are talking ah-mazing kind of shape. His defined muscles rippled with every pose. I admit to outright gawking when his shirt came up during every downward dog and showed off his abs and chest. His body was a wonderland.

But ... what struck me most about tonight was when our fingers accidentally touched during Savasana. It reminded me of the night of my sixteenth birthday when our fingers had danced together. I was beginning to realize how much we’d danced around each other growing up. I still couldn’t believe he’d wanted me as much as I’d wanted him. Tonight, I started to feel the truth of it, the way his fingertips grasped for mine and the look in his eyes that said he would keep reaching for me, so please hold on.

So I did. For the ten minutes of Savasana, we kept our small connection while we gazed at each other, and he mouthed that he wasn’t going anywhere. It felt all sorts of magical.

Now here we were, parked in front of the tiny brick rambler Dad and I rented. Some of the magic had faded, and reality was sinking in. I’d been kind of dreading this moment on the ride home, not knowing what to expect. I watched as Brandon stared out the window at my life, not saying a word.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

He turned his head, his brow furrowed as if confused. “Why would I feel sorry for you?”

“Because my life is nothing like it used to be, not like any of us imagined.”

“I don’t think anyone’s life ever turns out how they think it will. Despite that, you are still trying to take on the world like you always did.”

I smiled, feeling a little heated, even though it was snowing outside and I was only wearing a sports bra and yoga pants. It could have been the car’s heater, but I’m pretty sure it was the adoring look Brandon was giving me. “I’m not sure about that.”

“I am.” He reached over and tugged on a strand of my hair. “Also, I was staring at your neighbor’s house, not yours. It looks like you live next to Clark Griswold.”

I peeked out the window only to be literally blinded by the light. Every blinking blow-up snow globe and Christmas figurine you could imagine covered our sweet neighbors’ lawn. And thousands of multicolored twinkling lights adorned their house. “The Jansons take their Christmas decorations seriously. And every other holiday, too. You should see the life-size cupid they put out for Valentine’s Day.”

Brandon laughed. “Are you serious? ”

“Oh yes. It’s seriously disturbing. But oddly, I’ve come to appreciate it, probably because the Jansons are great neighbors. Mrs. Janson always tells me what’s on sale at Costco each week.”

“You’ll have to inform me too, since I’ll be getting a Costco membership soon,” Brandon teased.

“You know, I don’t see you as the kind of guy who buys toilet paper and protein bars in bulk.”

“That’s just offensive for you to assume that.” He chuckled. “You think I’m some animal who keeps a paper towel roll in his bathroom because he keeps forgetting to buy toilet paper?”

I dipped my chin to my chest. “I think you have a paper towel roll in there now.”

He jokingly pretended to shove a knife in his chest. “I’m staying with my parents right now, and that behavior would appall Lauren Cassidy. But yes, I admit my place has a paper towel roll in all three bathrooms.”

I giggled. “Maybe you should get a Costco membership, then.”

He leaned toward me, his minty breath wafting my way, tempting me to take a taste. I loved peppermint, after all, and I knew just how good it tasted on Brandon’s lips. “Believe me, I plan on it. We could go now if you want to,” he rushed to say.

I supposed that meant he didn’t want the night to end yet. “Well ... the downside of Costco is they close at eight.”

“Oh,” he sounded more than disappointed.

Weirdly, I was too. It had been a long time since I’d wanted to prolong my time with a guy. Let’s be real—it had been a long time since I’d been with a guy, period. Ooh. My mouth blurted out my scary thought: “Um ... would you want to come in?” What was I doing inviting magic into the house? Chart 218 was sending out Mayday signals, trying hard to alert me that danger loomed ahead. But my heart was doing its best to intercept those signals and remind me of Brandon’s TED Talk, and of the way he looked at me during yoga. Not to mention how I felt like myself around him.

“I’d love to.” Brandon was quick to turn around, grab a hoodie from the back seat, and throw it on like I might change my mind.

I was sad to see his firm chest and bare muscular arms covered up, but I supposed since it was snowing, it made sense for him to want to stay warm.

“My dad is home.” I thought I should let him know. Not that anything untoward was going to happen between us—even though I’d had some thoughts during yoga—but I knew it was best to take things slow. Grown-up Holly and Brandon didn’t know each other all that well. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you,” I added.

However, I did fear my dad would get more crazy ideas in his head about Brandon and me mixing our genes together. No doubt any baby with half of Brandon’s DNA would be beautiful, but we should probably verify if he could still make my foot pop before we crossed that bridge. Then there was the little matter of us living on opposite sides of the country. Also, would it be wise to date a coworker? Had I learned nothing from working in the bathroom?

“I would love to see him again too. Let me get your door.” Brandon hopped out like a man on a mission and ran around to the passenger side. He wore the biggest, goofiest grin. You would have thought I’d just told him every single one of the deals we had in the works just closed. Oh, please let some of them close. As crazy as Carmen could be, I really wanted to be her roomie and live out one of my dreams. Besides, I probably needed to keep a better eye on her. My brain would surely make more charts for her tonight and give me new scenarios to worry about. I pictured my best friend living on the run in a motorhome with pot smoke billowing out of it and Marco spreading lots of light and love around, just like ol’ Tiger Eyes used to.

I slipped on my coat while Brandon opened my door. It felt very date-like. I suppose it was, considering how our fingers touched a lot earlier. It had been pretty romantic. It was reminiscent of Mr. Darcy helping Elizabeth Bennet into the carriage and doing the hand flex. Oh man, could I watch that hand flex over and over again. Carmen and I loved to send each other all the hand flex memes.

I hopped out of the car into the lightly falling snow. The magic of Christmas was getting to me, or maybe it was Brandon affecting me. Somehow, they seemed to be one and the same. It made sense, since Brandon was part of my best Christmas memories. I had this urge to have a Christmas movie marathon with him while we drank peppermint hot cocoa and ate popcorn drizzled with white chocolate and peppermint.

An empty pang hit me when I looked at our darkened house with not even a wreath on the door. We were the only house on the street without any holiday decorations. Brandon and his wingman were getting to me, even if we’d lost the present-wrapping contest today. Krista had failed to mention in the bathroom that she put herself through college working at a department store as a gift wrapper. Not once had she flinched when I was smack-talking in the bathroom about my expertise. From now on, I wouldn’t discount her or reveal any of my holiday skills.

Brandon grabbed my hand as we ran across the snow-covered lawn and up the concrete steps leading to the bare door in need of a coat of paint. It was nothing like the grand double doors of my childhood home.

Sadly, I had to drop Brandon’s hand to fish the keys out of my bag. Before I did, I took a moment to peek at him. He was cute with snowflakes in his hair, but his adoring gaze made him wildly attractive. It dawned on me he’d looked at me like that several times when we were kids, but I’d been too young, and probably too self-conscious, to understand what it meant. Maybe my dad was right—could it be I fascinated Brandon? According to his TED Talk, it was true, but I needed some solid empirical evidence.

It didn’t take long for me to open the door so we could head inside. I watched as Brandon entered our cramped, non-luxurious accommodations. No signs of pity appeared on his gorgeous face. Instead, he looked around and smiled at Dad’s bookcases stuffed with books and journals.

“I missed those books.” Brandon grinned. “I remember often walking into your dad’s study, where he took the time to tell Christian and me about his latest adventure. I always loved the pictures and stories he shared.”

“It would make his day if you asked about his research and old adventures. I think it gives him hope there may be more adventures in the future.”

“I’ll be sure to, then. ”

Something about sharing Dad’s struggles with Brandon made me feel lighter. “Dad,” I called out. “Brandon’s here.” I hadn’t said those words in forever. I remember calling out to Christian, letting him know his best friend had arrived, and I would often end up hanging out with them. As much of an egotistical jerk as Christian could sometimes be, he never once told me to get lost. I’d always hoped we would stay close as we went through life. I probably called him every day he was away during his first semester of college. Now, more than ever, I was so glad I had. I’d never have thought we wouldn’t navigate adulthood together.

The sound of Dad’s footsteps echoed through the narrow hall that led to the bedrooms. Dad soon appeared, smiling wider than I’d seen in a long time. He didn’t question why Brandon was here or why we were together—it was like he’d expected this turn of events. “Brandon,” he said with such tenderness, as if he were speaking to his long-lost son. I suppose in some regard he was. Christian and Brandon had been cut from the same cloth—brothers from different mothers, they used to say.

Dad walked across the creaky wooden floor toward Brandon with a spring in his step and his arms open wide. “Brandon, it’s so good to see you.”

“Dr. Harry,” Brandon said with some emotion.

Dad and Brandon embraced, clinging to each other as if they needed this. It made my eyes water as I watched them hold on to each other, seemingly unwilling to let go. It hit me how much Dad must have missed Brandon. Maybe he needed him the way I was finding I needed him. Perhaps Dad also felt more like himself in this moment, holding on to an important piece of our past and who we used to be—our best and happiest selves.

Before my tears got out of control, I said, “I’ll be right back.” I wanted to at least throw a sweatshirt over my sports bra and maybe dab on some lip gloss. I rushed back to my tiny bedroom and shut the door behind me with a soft thud, taking a minute to breathe deeply once I was alone. Part of me still couldn’t believe Brandon was here, and that I liked it. Even more, I felt comfortable with him seeing me in this life and not my old one.

I quickly rummaged through my disorganized closet, grabbed an old blue sweatshirt, and threw it on. I dared a look in the standing mirror set in the corner. My hair was plastered down from all the sweat during yoga, but my cheeks had a flush of color, so I counted that as a win. At least I didn’t look like a vampire blood donor.

Yet I still felt the need to freshen up. While I did my best to fix my hair, I listened to my dad and Brandon chat. The walls in this house were paper thin. Through their muffled voices, I could hear Dad express how much he’d missed Brandon. Brandon returned the sentiment. They spoke of Christian and how much they loved and missed him. All the tenderness made me cry hard enough that I had to fix my eyes along with my hair.

After fixing my hot mess, I flitted back into the living room to find Dad and Brandon on the couch. Dad already had an old photo album on the coffee table, filled with faded pictures capturing the excavation process of one of his first dig sites, in France. As Dad flipped through the pages, the musty scent of aged paper filled the air. I loved that smell. He spoke like a man who had been given a second chance at life, remembering who he was and who he could be again. Maybe memories weren’t so bad and didn’t need to swallow us whole—perhaps we even needed them to help us move forward.

Maybe that meant Brandon and I needed each other.

“Do you see the limestone walls there?” Dad pointed to a picture. “See the striations? We call them finger flutings. We believe Neanderthals made them almost sixty thousand years ago.”

“That’s amazing,” Brandon commented before patting the space next to him, inviting me to join them. “Do you know what they mean?”

I took the invitation and joined him on the couch. Close, but like first-date close. The kind of close where you are testing out the situation but you have a good feeling about it ... And your date smells fantastic, like cedar and sage, even though he just worked out ... and is as handsome as they come.

“We aren’t sure,” Dad responded before smiling over at us.

I begged him with my eyes not to tell Brandon that, anthropologically speaking, we were a good match and that our offspring would improve society’s gene pool.

Thankfully, he got that memo, but apparently my eyes should have sent additional memos. “It’s good to see you two together again. Past connections are important. They are a great tool for happiness.”

Wow. That was subtle.

“I agree,” Brandon chimed in, nudging me with his shoulder.

“I thought you would.” Dad winked at Brandon, then turned to the next page of the photo album. “Perhaps,” he said casually, “you could convince my daughter to make some new connections.”

“Dad,” I warned with a verbal memo this go around.

At the same time, Brandon said, “I would love to. What can I do?” as he flashed me a grin.

Dad ignored my warning and plowed on. “This is excellent news. I’m hoping to convince her to revisit Christmas.”

Brandon rested his strong, warm hand on my knee. “I think I’d like to revisit Christmas too.” He turned his pretty head toward me. “Maybe we could do that together.”

Oh. Holy. Night. Things were getting real. And magically scary.

Dad and Brandon seemed to wait with bated breath for me to respond.

All the charts in my head were converging and blinking, warning me that Christmas magic was the most powerful magic around and I should proceed with caution. But dang if I didn’t want to be happy again.

“What do you say, Holly-Pops?” Brandon rubbed my knee, making me feel all sorts of connections.

I blew out a long, slow breath. “Let them play it. Is not a comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling trick?” I quoted Shakespeare—it was my thing.

“What does that mean?” Brandon laughed.

“It means I’d like to revisit Christmas with you.”