CHRISTMAS CODA 59

 

Christopher Holmes and JX Moriarity

(NOTE: this coda takes place in a world without COVID19)

 

“So what you’re saying is you don’t want to spend Christmas with my family.”

“I didn’t say that,” I protested.

J.X. said darkly, “It’s what you don’t say.”

Clearly this was not going to be the quick and cheerful conversation I’d (foolishly) anticipated when J.X. strolled into my office, coffee mug in hand, flannel shirt distractingly unbuttoned. I took my glasses off, rolled my chair back a few inches.

“That’s not fair.”

Maybe J.X. agreed—he was nothing if not fair-minded—because he said, “Okay, but you’re not making it easy for me to figure out what you do want to do for the holidays.”

“What’s the hurry here? Christmas is nearly a month away.”

“Kit, it’s less than two weeks. People need to make plans. We need to make plans.”

I sighed--more loudly than I’d intended.

“You said you don’t want to spend Christmas with your family, and you clearly don’t want to spend the day with mine—”

“Again. Not what I said.” I couldn’t help adding, “Anyway, we spent last year with your family.”

J.X. began to splutter. “You left midway through Christmas day and flew back to LA.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point. The point is we—”

“That is entirely the point,” J.X. interrupted. He wasn’t yelling, exactly, but he was definitely getting irritated, despite his obvious good intentions. And on that topic, is there anything more annoying than someone showing how hard they’re trying to be patient with you?

I snapped, “Look, if it means that much to you, we’ll spend Christmas with your family. Again.”

Which I freely admit was not conducive to peace on earth and goodwill to men. 

But it wasn’t just peevishness on my part. The problem is, when you marry someone who loves his kinfolk as much as J.X. does, you marry the whole family—and J.X.’s family was not all that keen on me or our impending nuptials. I mean, I did try to get along with them. I really did. And we had made some headway over the past months, but…it was my Christmas too.

And—this is not fair, I agree—I couldn’t help feeling like J.X. ought to instinctively understand that and be maybe a little more sensitive to my feelings. It’s not like I haven’t expressed them often enough.

Maybe too often.

J.X. flushed. His dark eyes got sparkly with emotion, mostly temper. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “One martyr on Christmas day is enough.”

To which I replied, “It’ll be three, won’t it? Counting your mother.”

Yeah, I know.

Bad habits, bad relationship habits, take time to break. I don’t know why I instantly reverted back to how I used to argue with David. Maybe the same reason J.X. turned without a word and walked from the room—a tactic he knew drove me crazy.

 

I blame it on Christmas.

That viral load of emotion and expectation that comes with the holidays—especially for new couples—it makes everyone nuts.

Not that J.X. and I were a new couple, exactly, but we were still learning how to be together, and this was our first real Christmas now that we’d pledged our troth. Or pledged to pledge our troth. The wedding was still six months away.

Which brought up a whole ‘nother set of emotions and expectations: this impending wedding of ours. Because I knew exactly what would happen on Christmas. We’d sit around that long formal table in the Moriaritys’ tastefully decked out dining room, and someone would, for the sake of politeness, ask J.X. how the wedding plans were coming, and the floodgates would open, and Mr. Moriarity’s eyes would glaze over and Nina would shrink smaller and smaller in her chair, and Mrs. Moriarity’s smile would get tighter and tighter, and I would start praying for an earthquake. Something in an 8.5 or higher.

Seriously, though, I just couldn’t take the idea of another excruciating family dinner, especially this particular one which would be topped off by another agonizing gift exchanges. How many ties did those people think I needed? Were they hoping I'd take the hint and hang myself? Why couldn’t J.X. see this from my point of view?

For a few minutes, I brooded over his insensitivity, pecking out the occasional word on my computer and pretending I could still concentrate on Miss Butterwith’s ongoing investigation, while I relived the last few minutes of the first argument we’d had in months.

I mean, J.X. was right. At best, I only deserved partial credit for last year. And I had vetoed the idea of Christmas with my parents, so how fair was it to nix spending the holiday with his? What did I want? To spend the day together? Alone?

Well, yes. That was exactly what I wanted.

But was that even allowed?

Probably not.

Anyway. Wasn’t this was supposed to be the Season of Love? Maybe I could stop thinking of myself for a little while and could try showing a little of that love to the man who mattered most to me in all the world.

 

I barreled out of my office straight into J.X., who staggered back a foot or two.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” I said. “And sorry for earlier. I’m being a jerk. I love you and we’ll do whatever you want for Christmas. So long as we’re together, what does it matter?”

I only hoped Santa was taking note of what a really good boy I was.

I'm not sure J.X. heard me. He waved what appeared to be a glossy brochure in front of my face.

“Okay. What about Pacific Grove?” he demanded.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that. Whatever it was. I have an alibi. I'm sure.”

He held up the brochure and read aloud, “Pacific Grove’s unique coastal take on holiday romance includes festive lights, picturesque Victorian architecture, a brisk ocean wind, and the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore. A host of holiday events evoke memories of Christmases past, kicking off with the annual Holiday Parade of Lights and a night of caroling.”

“That sounds…really nice.”

It sounded like a Hallmark movie, frankly. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“I can book us into the Seven Gables Inn right now. Just say the word.”

Now it sounded less like a Hallmark movie and more like a soon-to-be crime scene. I could already envision the whole cast of sinister guests.

“Uh…”

J.X. said, “Wine and cheese in the afternoon, milk and cookies in the evening.”

“I appreciate your appeal to my love of the finer things—” 

“Stained glass windows, crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, fine linens, and every room has a stunning view of the coast. The lighthouse is just a few minutes' walk.”

“That sounds pretty darned charming,” I said. “Are you really saying you want to spend Christmas alone? Because I’m more than happy to--”

J.X. smiled and, like the Grinch, I felt my heart expand about three sizes. “I won’t be alone, will I? I’ll be spending Christmas with you, and I can’t think of anything I want more than that.”

I was torn between hope and doubt. “Really? You really don’t mind--”

“Really.”

I sighed. “Now I feel totally guilty.”

“You’ll get over it.” J.X. laughed at my glare, tossed the brochure aside and pulled me into his arms. “But if you would like to make it up to me, I have one or two ideas…”