It wasn't the first threat she had delivered to me through the course of the way too long night. I rolled my eyes at her as John Mellencamp's version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" was turned up farther than I would have thought possible and the lights went out, leaving the blinking strings of Christmas lights the only source of illumination. I dug my hand once more into the bowl of popcorn and popped a few kernels into my mouth as she started trying to pull me toward where everyone else was dancing, I stuck my tongue full of train wreck out at her.
Kim had been trying to get me into the holiday spirit all night, which to her meant lots and lots of alcohol. Admittedly, there was not quite enough of it present at the small diner's annual employee holiday extravaganza to achieve that purpose. Partly because there were too many kids under legal drinking age and partly because I was simply not the Christmas type. Truthfully, this was Kim's fifth holiday party with me at the diner, so she probably knew better. But I was the only one willing to actually talk to the often drunk black-haired short girl. If she was feeling good, she wanted me to feel goo, too. That was all.
"You are such a Grinch!" she whined, sitting back down on her chair with a huff, nearly missing it and knocking her cup full of punch over at the same time. It was futile to do anything more than raise my eyebrows at her as she recovered herself. You had to love Kim.
"Look, Kim," I said, aware that my voice sounded tired an annoyed, "I have been here since five o'clock this morning. I worked a surprise double when Tina took ill this morning and couldn't make it in. All I want right now is to be home, happily sleeping in my bed..."
"With visions of sugar plums dancing in your head?" a voice from behind me said as something soft and fuzzy was pulled over my head. Surprised, I turned to see Dave, one of the diner's cooks, standing there with a big stupid grin on his face and a little red mustache on his upper lip from where he had apparently forgotten to wipe away the remnants of the punch he was holding in his hand. I reached up to take the Santa hat off my head, but he stopped me.
"What, Dave?" I said in greeting.
"I have been here just as long as you have and you know it," he said. "I'm still having a good time."
I sighed and decided not to respond. "Couldn't you just have a little fun?" he said, indicating with his thumb and forefinger just how much a little was. "Please? You're bringing the rest of us down. What are you even here if you're not going to have a good time?"
"Political reasons," I said.
"Political reasons?" he repeated in disbelief, taking another gulp of punch.
"Yes," I said. "Not everyone enjoys Christmas and I'm here to demonstrate that point by sitting at fast counter all night with a sour look on my face in order to piss off everyone whom Christmas is about peace on earth and goodwill towards men."
"And women," Kim added for me.
"And women," I agreed.
"I see," he said. "Got the team player speech last time you attempted to stay home on Christmas Eve instead of coming here with the rest of us, eh?"
"Ah, so you've heard it, too," I said.
"Many times," he said. "Forget being Jewish in this place, I'm telling you."
"No kidding," I said. "Although Leon does have the brains enough to call it a holiday party rather than a Christmas party."
"It just happens to fall on Christmas Eve and Christmas music is what happens to be played is all," Dave said with a sarcastic shrug. "Anyway, who'd you get for Secret Santa?"
"Natalie," Kim spoke up.
Dave and I looked at each other and started to laugh at the same time. Natalie was the resident "too good for you" rich girl. She drove to work everyday in the brand new sports car her parents bought for her and proceeded to treat the rest of us as though we're not worthy enough to lick up the trail of dirt her pretty little shoes leave behind. She only had the job because her parents decided that they wanted her to interact with those of us who made up the threads in their doormat. Not in order to learn how to earn her own living, something she would never have to do since her parents were rich enough to feed every single starving person in the world ten times over. That right there was the only reason she had avoided being fired for all her nastiness to the customers. The owner was afraid that if he got rid of her, her father would buy the restaurant away from him and have it bulldozed or something.
The thought of Kim getting her classy ass a Secret Santa gift was nothing short of ironically hilarious.
"What did you get her?" Dave ventured to ask.
"The referral to a surgeon who can remove that stick up her ass?" I suggested.
Kim rolled her eyes as Dave burst into his trademark loud, resonant laughter. Everyone turned to see what was going on, but immediately turned back when they saw that whatever it was, it was between myself, Dave, and Kim and wasn't all that likely to be that funny to anyone but us.
"Actually, I got her a book on personality disorders," she replied once everyone had turned away.
Dave grinned at her. "We're not supposed to spend more than five bucks, you know."
"I know," Kim said. Then added mysteriously, "I didn't."
It's worth mentioning that Kim is notorious for stealing things from the public library.
"What about you?" he asked me. "Who are you Secret Santa to this year, dare I ask?"
"You, actually," I said.
His face immediately fell.
"Don't worry," I said. "I was nice."
"What did you get me and please tell me it isn't another copy of Gay Pride magazine like the last time you got my name."
"No, I saw the error of my ways when Josh and Liz wouldn't leave you alone for months after and Brenda set you up on a blind date with her cousin," I said.
Kim giggled. "That was funny."
"So what did you et me?" he asked.
"A couple lottery tickets," I said with a shrug.
"Oooh," he said, rubbing his hands together, "Thank you, Elly." He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
"Blah blah," I said, brushing him off. "Just be glad you got off easy this time. Whose name did you get?"
"The new kid," he said.
"Tyler?" I said.
"Taylor," he corrected.
"Blonde hair, blue eyes?" I said. "Standing by the CD player?"
He turned to briefly glance at the lone figure of the latest employee, hands stuffed in pockets and eyes matching his smile as he watched everyone dance goofily to Bon Jovi's "Back Door Santa." He had been with us since the month before and while he had already established a fan club among the old ladies who frequented the diner, it appeared he had yet to make any substantial friends among his fellow employees. Not that he looked altogether lonely.
"Yep," he said.
"His name's Taylor?" I said.
"Where have you been?" he said in reply.
"I don't know," I said. "I always thought his name was Tyler. You know how good I am with names. Anyway, what did you get him?"
"Some ornament I saw at the dollar store on my way here this morning. I can't remember what it's of."
"Nice to know you put some thought into it," I said, rolling my eyes.
Just then the music was turned down and the lights came on to reveal our portly boss, the owner of the diner, standing on a chair in the middle of the room. He held in his hands a small box that I recognized as the one we had all been required to deposit our gifts in upon arriving for work. It was apparently Secret Santa time.
"I hope you were all kind this year," was all he said before he started pulling gifts out of the box and placing them in the hands of the rightful owner.
When I went up, I was presented with a neatly wrapped box that felt heavy when he handed it to me. I was filled with sudden dread as I brought it back to my seat. Heavy was never good when the price limit was five dollars.
Together, Dave, Kim, and I tore into our gifts. As soon as he had extracted the promised lottery tickets, Dave reached into his pocket for coin and began scratching away. Kim took her new Rubics Cube out of its package and began to play with it. And I simply stared at the rather large green creature in my hand with the Santa hat, a small sign resting on its long pink tongue that read "Mistletoad."
"What the hell...?" I said, turning the slightly grotesque thing over in my hands a few times, examining its various bumps with my fingers.
Kim looked up.
"Oh, that's cute," she said, taking it from me.
Suddenly Dave's fist shot up in the air in triumph.
"Twenty bucks!" he exclaimed with pride. "Thanks, Elly," he added, kissing me on the cheek again. As he pulled away, he caught sight of my gift in Kim's hands. "What in the world is that?"
"I have no idea," I said as he picked it up.
"It's interesting," he said, sitting it on the counter in front of me. "At least whoever got it for you has sense of humor."
"Yeah, well, unless it turns into a Liam Neeson-esque prince for me tonight, it's getting locked in the nearest drawer."
"Liam Neeson?" Dave said, raising his eyebrows. "Since when did he turn into your latest way-too-old interest?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Paul got boring."
"I see," he said. "About time. I never thought I would see a woman like you obsess--actually obsess--over a guy like him. Especially not for as long as you did."
I shrugged, remembering the strange writer who had only recently started coming to the diner around the same time everyday (eleven forty-five) and sitting in the exact same booth which was occasionally in my section. He didn't say much other than his order, but would sit there for hours at a time. I went for stuff like that. Besides, he tipped well.
But my bubble burst when Natalie asked him out on a date and he accepted. Yuck.
"Well, looks like everyone's leaving," I said, gesturing toward where a few of our co-workers were filing out the door. It was only then we noticed that most everything had been cleaned up and the music had been quieted to a murmur. It was almost midnight. Time to go home.
"Yup," Kim said, getting out of her chair and nearly tripping as she did so. She hiccuped quietly as she straightened herself.
"I'll drive you home," Dave said. It wasn't an offer. I smiled. Dave could be sweet when
he wanted to e.
"Merry Christmas, Kim," I said. "And Dave."
"Joyeux Noel, Noelle," he said in return. "See ya Wednesday."
"See ya," I said.
I watched them walk out the door and was preparing to follow suit when the big, hair
son of the owner walked up to me. He slipped me an envelope.
"Thanks," I said, opening it to find my paycheck inside a generic Christmas card
depicting Santa and his reindeer landing on someone's rooftop. "How sweet," I
mumbled.
"Thanks for coming," he said almost mechanically. "Have a Merry Christmas, Miss
Baxter."
There was something curious about the way he was so formal with all of our names. I
was never sure if he was being condescending or respectful.
"You, too," I said, hopping off my stool and making my way out the door, digging
around in my coat pocket for my keys.
As I reached my car, all the lights turned off in the restaurant and the sound of the
owner's son's truck firing up in the back parking lot sounded before the squeal of tires as
he made his getaway.
I looked at my watch. It was exactly midnight. Christmas Day.
And I hadn't slept in twenty hours.
With that, I got into the driver's seat of my car, put my key into my ignition and prepared
for a long ride home.
Only when I turned the key, instead of turning on, it coughed like an old lady with
asthma and then died. I tried again, but nothing happened. It didn't even have the
decency to cough this time. Nor did have anything to say for itself the next three times I
tried it. The car stayed ominously silent.
I sighed and sat back in my seat, cursing colorfully as I tried to think of what to do. How
could something like this happen? My car had been find that morning when I arrived.
Why now? Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen on Christmas. Not even to
Grinches like me.
About five minutes into my fruitless search for a solution to my little predicament,
someone tapped loudly on the window. I jumped half a mile and slowly turned to see a
shadowed face just outside. The person gestured for me to roll down my window.
"Need some help?"" a soft male voice asked me. It was too dark to properly see his
face, but I knew I knew the voice from somewhere. I just hoped it wasn't from one of
those videos they show you in health class during the rape and domestic violence unit.
"Yeah," I said anyway, hearing my voice shake. "My, uh, car won't start."
"I see that," he said, not unkindly. "Mind if I take a look at it?"
"Go ahead," I said.
He went over to the hood and I only saw him silhouetted against the dim street lamp for
a second before the opened hood blocked my view. As he inspected, I contemplated
getting out of the car and running as fast as I could to the nearest place for help, but I felt
frozen in place and stayed where I was. He hadn't done anything that seemed hostile
yet. No reason to panic.
A few minutes later he came back to where I was sitting.
"Tell me something," He said, his voice amused and curious, "where did you get this car
and what kind of Doctor Frankenstein owner did it have before you because whatever it
is that's under the hood of this car, it isn't like anything I've ever seen before. Not that
I'm an expert."
I swallowed and smiled a little, aware that he was making a friendly joke.
"No idea," was all I said, though.
"Mind if I try?" he said. "To start it, I mean."
"Yeah, kind of," I said.
"Not into letting strangers into your car on Christmas morning, eh?" he said, still
sounding amused.
"Not really, no," I said.
He stuck his hand out to me.
"Taylor Hanson," he said by way of introducing himself.
"Noelle Baxter," I said, thinking that I had heard his name somewhere before, but unable
to think where. Just like his voice. "Black belt, so don't try anything."
It wasn't true and when he laughed, I knew he knew it. Even so, I moved over into the
passenger seat and he opened the door, sliding into the driver's seat. As he got in, the
over head light came on and I reached up and touched the button to keep it on. As he
settled into the seat, brushing his shoulder length blonde hair out of his eyes and moving
the seat back so that his much taller form was comfortable in it, I figured out why his
voice was so familiar and why it was the same with his name.
"Taylor Hanson," I repeated in slow realization. "The new kid. Now I knew where I
know you from."
He smiled wordlessly at me before turning the key in the ignition several times. It was
obvious after a minute that the effort was futile.
"Dead as a doornail," he said.
"Damn," I mumbled under my breath.
"The old Plymouth Caravelle was dead to begin with," he murmured. "As dead as a
doornail."
"What?" I said, turning toward him and blatantly staring.
"Sorry," he said. "Reference to A Christmas Carol."
"I see," I said.
"Anyway, I can give you a ride home. Where do you live?"
"I don't want to be a bother," I said, not particularly eager to go anywhere with this
virtual stranger. In his car. Dave only lived ten miles away. I could probably walk there
and be home by mid-morning. Of course, in the cold of the night, that wasn't a
particularly attractive option either.
"It's Christmas," he said. "From me to you. What do you say? Where do you live?"
"Whittier Street," I said. "Is it out of the way?"
"A little, but my family's not expecting me home until late anyway. They thought I was
going to stop off at a friend's house before coming home, but the party got out later than
I expected. And I promise you it's perfectly safe."
"Are you sure?" I said, unable to believe I was actually going to do this.
"Well, I don't have a police record if that's what you mean," he said, obviously slightly
confused.
I rolled my eyes.
"I meant are you sure that it's no problem," I said.
"Oh!" he said. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"All right then," I said.
Together, we got out of the car. I quickly grabbed the strange gift from my secret Santa
before closing the door. He locked the car for me before handing me my keys.
In silence, we walked around to the back parking lot where a lone car was parked,
illuminated by a much brighter street light. It was a small blue thing that looked nothing
less than rusty and beat up and old and tired. One of the back doors had a few large
dents in it, suggesting an accident.
"I hope you're a careful driver," I said, gesturing toward the dents in the door while he
went over to the driver's side.
"Oh, this isn't really my car," he said. "It's my younger brother's. I'm must borrowing it
until the mechanic has the heart to pronounce mine dead."
"What's wrong with it?" I asked as he turned his eyes away from me and to where he
was attempting to unlock the door.
"What's not wrong with it?" he said back. "The thing should be on life support. But every
time something happens to it, my dad has to drag it to the mechanic's to get it revived. I
think he's just sentimental because it was my first car. But all the money we've been
sinking into it, we could have used it to buy a brand new car altogether."
"I see," I said.
"Sorry, didn't mean to ramble. I do that sometimes," he said. "To answer your question,
I am a careful driver. My brother's the one who's not."
I nodded in acknowledgment as a click sounded, signaling that the door was fi nally
unlocked. We both got in. I raised my eyebrows at him, seeing the cow patterned seat
coverings.
"Zac's a little weird sometimes," he said. "He did this mainly to make our dad mad
and...it worked."
"Nothing wrong with weird," I said, settling into my seat and sitting the toad on the
dashboard. "Speaking of weird," I said, gesturing toward it.
He smiled as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.
"Could have been worse," he said. "Could have been Pornographic Santa but Zac
wanted to give that to his girlfriend, so I got stuck with that."
It took me a minute to realize what he was saying.
"This is from you?" I said in surprise.
"Yeah. Well...sort of. I didn't know what to get you since I don't know you very well. I
tend to panic when I have to get gifts for people I don't really know. Zac happens to be
an expert at it. So I had him pick it out. I wasn't sure if you were the type of person to
like that sort of thing, but I figured it's Secret Santa and if you didn't like it, you didn't
have to know."
"I see," I said.
"You don't like it?" he said a little apprehensively.
"It's strange," I said. "In a cute way. I don't know, I'm not an expert on Christmas
decorations."
"Yeah, I noticed you weren't exactly the Christmas type."
I sighed. "It's just one of those things," I said. "Some people don't like Valentine's Day
and some people don't like the Fourth of July. I don't like Christmas."
"I've never met someone who can say something like that and mean it," he said,
sounding amused. "Unless you're my mom after a day of Christmas shopping for seven
kids."
"Seven?" I said. "Wow."
"The wonders of sex without birth control," he said, shuddering slightly.
"Where do you rank?" I said.
"Number two after my brother Isaac," he said.
"All boys?"
"No, four boys and three girls," he said.
"Wow," I said. "How old?"
"The oldest--Ike--is," he paused for a moment, thinking, "just turned twenty-two last
month and Zoe, the youngest, is almost five."
"That's quite a range," I said. "How about you? How old are you?"
"Nineteen," he said. "Twenty in March. And you?"
"Just turned twenty-one last month," I said proudly.
"How long have you been working at the diner?" he asked, glancing at me as we
stopped at a deserted intersection.
"Since I was sixteen. Isn't that sad?" I said.
"Honestly? A little," he said, grinning at me. "Do you always look that miserable at the
Christmas party?"
"Always," I said, suddenly annoyed to be back to this subject. "I hate the music, I hate
the good, I hate the games, I hate the holiday."
"Okay then," he said. "I don't pretend to understand."
I sighed. "Well, why do you like Christmas so much? What's your reason for liking it?"
He sighed and thought a moment. Admittedly, I liked that he had to think about it. It
meant his answer would be truthful.
"The presents," he said, sounding certain.
I stared at him from where I was sitting. He felt my eyes on him and he turned to grin at
me.
"There is something satisfying about what in general doesn't amount to too much more
than an overall orgy of greed," he said.
"And that's why you like Christmas?" I said. "That's pathetic."
"Yes, well, that's the reason I like Christmas," he said. "The reason I love Christmas is
for the feeling of it. The world's a different place during the holiday season. I just breathe
in an it fill me, you know?" It's wonderful. It's like your problems don't matter as much
for a little while. Just a time to be and be with your family and your friends. It's great.
"You sound like a Hallmark commercial," I said, even though I was really a bit taken
aback by his sincerity. "Anyway, Christmas has just never been a big deal in my family.
We don't sing songs around the fire while little Susie plays on the piano. We don't bake
cookies and decorate them like Christmas trees. We don't even have a tree. And we
hardly ever exchange gifts."
"What's the point then?" he asked, bewildered.
"My question exactly," I said.
"I can't imagine," he said.
"Neither can I," I said back.
"The oddest thing about that, though," he said thoughtfully, "is that your parents ended
up naming you Noelle, essentially after a holiday they don't even celebrate. Why is that?"
"They're big fans of irony," I said simply. Which was true, I have to say. "And they liked
the name."
He nodded, but said nothing.
After a moment of silence, I spoke again. "So you're not going to recommend some
religious place for me to go to get my soul saved now, are you/" I said.
He laughed. "No, I don't think so. Has that happened to you before?"
"Countless times," I said. "People think I'm some kind of Satanist just because I'm a
Scrooge. Go figure."
He smiled, but didn't respond to that either.
"This is your street," he said, turning left at an intersection. Surprised, I glanced at the
clock on the dashboard. It read nearly twelve-thirty. I hadn't realized so much time had
gone by. "Tell e when we're near your house."
"I will," I said unnecessarily. "Slow down, we're getting close."
He obeyed.
"That one," I said. "Be careful on the driveway."
He carefully pulled up to my house. The path was dimly illuminated by our outside lights.
"Thanks," I said as we pulled to a stop.
"No problem," he said. "It was nice talking to you, Noelle."
"You, too, Ty--uh, Taylor," I said, feeling myself blush ever so slightly.
"Merry Christmas," he said. "Or is it Bah-Humbug?"
I laughed. "Merry Christmas does fine," I said. "Merry Christmas to you as well. Thanks
for the toad. Tell your brother I said thanks, too."
"I will," he said just a I shut the door.
I walked up to the door, opened it and waved. He waved back and, seeing I was safe,
pulled out of the driveway and drove away.
'Tis the season for both giving and receiving.
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