CHRISTMAS EVE, OR SOMETHING LIKE IT

Chapter 36

Everyone was throwing back shots. At one point, the bartender even sent over a round on the house. I avoided each one, telling everyone I wasn’t feeling well, when in truth, I was just too distracted to function. The upset had paralyzed me.

Michael was laughing, enjoying himself with everyone else. I just observed, like an outsider would—sneaking glances at the gorgeous guy at the bar.
Except that guy was Michael. And somehow, I felt like a stranger.

I had so many questions. Tonight wouldn’t be the best time to continue the conversation, but I wanted so badly to know what had caused his breakdown in the car—and how long he’d been feeling that way.

Was it because of today’s taping? Is he worried that once the episode airs, it will launch them into an even more frenzied level of stardom? If that’s the case, I can understand it.

Still, I know deep down that if he had to cut anyone loose, it would be me. Maybe he’s just too afraid to say it outright, hoping I’ll pick up on everything he’s been hinting at—waiting for me to be the one to suggest a break.

But a break? Already? After only five months of dating?

Devon—or was it Danielle—leaned in and whispered, asking if I was pregnant after noticing I wasn’t drinking. Of course, she went there. I assured her that wasn’t it. Even as a rumor, that kind of drama would send Michael reeling.

The band was getting a few looks, but no one approached them. Then again, this wasn’t exactly the kind of crowd that would throw themselves at Black Bloom. Maybe younger girls, some twenty-somethings—but not here. The crowd was older.

I had the time—and the sobriety—to scan every table, every face, wondering: Do they recognize them? Are they even paying attention? Most people seemed wrapped up in their own conversations, careless about work tomorrow. It’s Christmas Eve. Screw it. For most nine-to-fivers, tomorrow’s a nothing day anyway.

Around 10:30 p.m., I decided it was okay to interrupt Michael and his friends.

“Hey,” I shouted, trying to get his attention, pointing to the time on my phone. “Are we still watching the episode live with Nonna?”

Michael glanced at his friends, then back at me.

“I’m probably too fucked up to watch anything. I’ll catch it on YouTube tomorrow.”

He leaned back toward the bar, already trying to flag the bartender for another round.

I never pictured him pushing Nonna aside for time with his friends. Maybe I just don’t know him at all.

Tonight, he seemed completely uninterested in playing boyfriend.

After 11:00 p.m., I decided I was done and squeezed myself into the free space between him and one of the guys.

“I’m gonna head out. I’m so tired. I don’t know how you’re still awake,” I shouted into his ear.

“You’re leaving? Can you wait until I finish this? Then we’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Welp. Guess I’m here a little longer.

It looked like James, Samantha, Meredith, and Joey were all planning to Uber back to the hotel. Joey had flagged down someone on the wait staff for the bill. Jackets were going on once again. Steve…I had no idea where Steve went. I think he dipped hours ago.

“Goodnight and Merry Christmas,” Samantha said, opening her arms to hug me. “Will I see you in January? In Europe?”

I didn’t have the energy to mask my uncertainty, so I gave her a firm, “No.”

“Oh. Okay. That sucks. We’ll miss you.”

Highly doubtful.

I hugged each of them. “Safe flights back, guys. Merry Christmas.”

Hm. Will I ever see these people again?

“Can you order an Uber?” Michael asked, finally.

“Yeah, sure!” As much as I wanted to leave, I was dreading the ride home. Afraid of what I could expect. Before I could run all the prompts to complete our Uber order, more hugs and goodbyes.

Goodbye or Merry Christmas, they said one by one. Everyone looked particularly tipsy. Not me, though. I was as sober as the Pope.

“Call me, Andrea. We should all hang. Just us girls. Unless you’re jumping on the bus with them,” said Devon.

“I’m actually not.”

She took a step back. There was a minuscule amount of surprise on her face. Or was it shock? Shocked I’d be willing to part from Michael for weeks. I guess she expected me to go. It felt like an empty gesture, anyway.

Now, it was just Michael and me, seeking shelter in the entryway. It was too cold to wait outside.

Are you ok? He asked.

“Me? Yes. You?”

“Um, probably not. The room feels like it’s spinning.”

God. This is going to be fun.

This Uber took forever, and Michael was looking sicker by the minute. Leaning on me for support with his arm over my shoulder, using most of my strength to keep him upright. Why does he feel so heavy? God, I need to go back to the gym.

When the car finally arrived, I pulled open the car door and sat him in sideways. He folded in half like a rag doll. Surely Uber drivers see this all the time, right?

“Michael, can you move over?” I asked.

Nothing.

He was out.

I walked around the back of the car and got in on the other side.

We would be home in twenty-five minutes. Thank god. I scooted across the back seat to make sure he was breathing; he looked that lifeless, but he was. In fact, it started turning into a snore. When it got really loud, I would shake him on the shoulder a bit, and he’d sit up, but only to slump down again.

Finally, in Brooklyn, with Michael only partially conscious, I went full mom voice. “Can you walk the front stairs for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The lights were off in Nonna’s apartment. Not that she’d be much help right now, but I was holding out hope she’d be awake if nothing else than for company.

I wanted to cry from the stress of having to deal with this, tomorrow, Christmas day…I know there’s more.

The Uber driver saw me struggling and offered help. I found that super embarrassing, but sweet at the same time. Christmas makes everyone friendly for twenty-four hours, I suppose. Or was he pushing for a bigger tip? Pick one.

Michael leaned against him while I opened the front door, and then the foyer door. I certainly didn’t want this guy coming into the house. I held my arms out, gesturing for him to pass Michael over the threshold.

“I got it. Thank you so much for your help.”

I know I shouldn’t be, but I was angry. He had to drink his ass off tonight? Of all nights?

Once inside, it looked as if he had snapped out of it. Perhaps sobering up. Without any instruction, he sleepwalked to the couch and lay down face-first.

Fucking fantastic.

Think.

I covered him with a blanket, set the tiny bathroom trash bin beside him, and left a bottle of water within reach. I was over it, but I also couldn’t bring myself to go upstairs knowing he might need something. I shouldn’t just disappear. That’s not something he would do if the situation were reversed. Ugh, I’m such a shitty partner!

Unbelievable.

Standing over him, I whispered, “Hey, are you still with me?” while nudging his arm.

“Mm-hmm. Just leave me here. Sorry.”

Don’t mind if I do.

Is it safe to run upstairs and start crying now?

We made it home. Great. Fantastic.
Fuck the holiday—I want answers.

Does he want me to leave? Is that what this is?
Did he just say it out loud for the first time?

He said it sober.
He said it.

I heard it.

I’m actually talking out loud now.

Who cares? No one can hear me. I have the whole third floor. Let the crazy out.

“He didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he did.”

“Then why say it?”

“Why backtrack?”

My stuff is everywhere. His bedroom. The bathroom. The closet.
Do I start packing?
Do I wait?
Can I just leave and come back after the holiday like nothing happened?

“Maybe he’s bored.”

“Maybe he wants someone else.”

“Maybe I’m just…here.”

I should check his phone.
No, absolutely not.

If I did? No coming back from that. No “I’m sorry.” No second chance.

I’d be out. That’d be it. That’s how it ends.

And for what? What would I even be looking for?

Another girl? Messages? Proof of something I already feel?

I can’t get out of my head. “Help!”

Crashing onto the bed, I continued to yell at myself. “God! Go to bed!”

I’d have the whole king-sized bed to myself tonight. It felt wrong, yet I enjoyed every second of it. I guess I need space, too, I thought, before drifting into the deepest of sleeps.

My alarm had been set for 6:00 a.m., and it seemed to go off the moment my head hit the pillow. How can that be?

It was Christmas Eve morning.

I was nearly afraid to go downstairs. What should I expect? Just go!

I tiptoed down, not wanting him to hear me in case I decided to flee again. When I reached the living room, I peered over the back of the couch to see that he was in the same position he had been when I left him. The water was half empty, and the trash bin was clean.

Knowing Michael, the only thing that would instantly snap him out of this would be a sip of strong, black coffee. After weeks of being here, I got really good at figuring out this espresso machine, which I swear was given to him by aliens.

Having Michael drink this would be the equivalent of the scene in Pulp Fiction where John Travolta shoots Uma Thurman with a shot of adrenaline to wake her up. Only that was a way more serious situation than this.

Or is it? There was still a laundry list of things to do before his parents got here. Don’t panic. All we had to do was grab a tree from the nearest tree farm, wrap any gifts we hadn’t gotten to yet, start dinner, and expect a doorbell ring around 3 p.m.

I walked to the living room with this little espresso cup, arms outstretched to keep it as far from my body as possible. A safe distance in case I spilled it. It was boiling.

“Hey, Michael? Michael? Yoooo…”

Eyes were opening. He lives!

“What?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, time to get up.” I put the coffee right under his nose like it was smelling salts. It worked; he sat up like a human within seconds.

Better not to bombard him with today’s task list just yet. Curious as to what his first words are going to be, though. Like a baby’s.

“What time did we get in last night?”

“Sometime after midnight, I think. The Uber driver, whose name I don’t even want to try to pronounce, had to help me with getting you up the stairs.”

“Oh, my god. That’s so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” He said, rubbing his eyes. “I need, like, a lot of Tylenol or something.”

“I can get that.”

After a quick run up and down the stairs, I returned to find the living room empty. But then—okay, now he’s throwing up. Perfect.

I bet he gets stuck in that half bath. Then what?

“Mike? Are you okay in there?” I gently tapped on the door.

“Yes and no. I need a few minutes.”

I feel like I should be doing something other than listening to him hurl. There was still so much to do.

Knock, knock.

Who the hell—
Gotta be Nonna.

I looked through the glass doors for confirmation. Yep, it’s her.

I wasn’t fully dressed per se, but at this point, I needed help, and I didn’t care how I looked. She’s a woman. She gets it.

“Merry early Christmas!” she shouted as she let herself in—a little too loud for someone not fully awake yet.

“Merry Christmas!” I cheered, hugging her like I hadn’t seen her in years.

“I’ve been awake since 5 a.m. I can hear the toilet being flushed over and over again through the pipes,” she laughed. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Actually, I could use some help sobering Michael up while I run a few errands.”

“What? He drank that much? I’ve never seen that before.”

She’s never seen that before? Really? Wow. Am I the first woman to make him go there? The first girlfriend who made him want to disappear?

“Go. Do what you’ve got to do. I’ll help him,” she added.

“Thank you.”

With that, I flew up the stairs. Dressed. Teeth brushed. Purse flung over my shoulder with car keys in hand as I fled the house. “Please, please, please don’t take my parking spot,” I begged while crossing the street. I am doing it again! Who am I talking to?

No one was up yet. I was talking into the dark. No cars. No people. Not even a dog walker. Just rows of dark windows and that early-morning blue, minutes from sunrise.

I plopped into the driver’s seat. It was so cold, the leather seats reminding me the second I sat down. I winced. Does this car seriously not have seat warmers? Too old.

The block was quiet. Too quiet.

Wait.

I checked the time.

…Of course.

It was still so early. No way the tree place would be open already.

I let out a short, humorless laugh, my hands still gripping the wheel.

What did I expect? I banged my head on the steering wheel’s center, and it let out a little beep.

Of course it did.

The realization of what I was really doing set in. Let’s face it. I wasn’t trying to get a start on things and take charge of the day.

I just didn’t want to be in that house. Around him. At least not yet. But there was nowhere to go, nothing to do but go back inside and wait for him to decide if he still wanted me. The car felt like the safest place to be, but I could only avoid him for so long.

Fuck. Right. Okay.

Engine off. Back up the stoop, pushing the doors open.

Nonna looked to be in the bathroom with him now. How’d she fit in there? And what was she doing? Holding back his short hair?

“Everything ok, Lena?” I was afraid of the answer.

“Yep, he’s ok. You ran your errands that quickly?” She asked, poking her head out.

“Too early.”

She glanced at the hall clock as if I’d made it up.

“Oh yeah. It is early. That’s what happens when you’re old and wake up before sunrise,” she joked.

Wait—who was she calling old? Me?

The only thing I could really do right now was wrap gifts, set the table, and straighten up the house.

Will he be happy I’m doing all this? Taking initiative?

Or will he be mad?

Abandoning Nonna again, I ran up both flights of stairs.

I took a seat on the floor of the bedroom and started pulling Amazon boxes out from under the bed. I just focused on Michelle’s gifts. I ignored the little things I got for Michael. Hell, they may not even matter now.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

I jumped.

Michael had magically appeared in the bedroom, it seemed. Did he fucking teleport?

“Wrapping gifts.”

“Can you put everything down for a second?” He asked.

Oh God, here it comes.

“Put the scissors down,” he added, half-joking.

Yep, he’s afraid I’ll kill him.

“Okay. I am so sorry I drank that much. I guess I just figured I wasn’t going to see my friends for a while after last night and wanted to keep it going as long as possible, you know? Celebrate with them. I should’ve stopped earlier. I’m paying for it now, and it’s not the best day to be hungover.”

Hm, okay…where’s my bit? Where’s the apology for what he said?

Or was his ‘it’s not you’ bullshit all I was going to get?

He didn’t continue. He just started peeling off his clothes as he walked to the bathroom.

Right before the door shut, I called out, “Hey!”

“What—what happened?”

“Can I ask you something?”

By the look on his face, I could tell he was choosing between not now and I know what you’re going to say.

“Go ahead.”

Yikes. I didn’t like the tone of that go ahead.

Unsure if I should even say it, I blurted everything out anyway.

“If I am too much for you right now—at this moment in your life—you can tell me. I felt like that’s what you were getting at last night, but you took it back to save it for another day. Am I wrong?”

“Jesus. Um…”

He shut the door.

What the fuck? What—?

“Fuck these gifts,” I muttered, kicking them across the room—only to scramble and grab them again when I realized they were Michelle’s.

That’s not fair to her. Please don’t be broken!

I couldn’t think straight. What do I do?

I’ll just keep wrapping. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry.

He’s probably still out of it.

What if he’s not? What if this was him now? Calm and collected, his thoughts together. What happens to me now?

The shower lasted minutes. I was taping a bow onto a box when he came back out. I didn’t lift my eyes from what I was doing. Quiet like a mouse.

Michael attempted to kneel beside me, but changed his mind, worried he wouldn’t be able to get up again. His brain was still swimming in Jägermeister and whatever the fuck else. He chose the bed. A sturdier option.

“Hey. Sorry—I didn’t mean to just not say anything. I needed a minute. Well…the whole shower…to even figure out what you were talking about.”

“Michael, I’m asking about the stuff you said on the ride in—when you were sober. You didn’t speak to me the rest of the night. Are you pretending not to remember, or do you think I’m stupid?

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down.”

“No!”

He dropped his head into his hands, eyes squeezed shut, forcing himself to recall last night’s events.

“Oh! That? My freak-out?”

“Sure. Yes. Whatever you’re calling it.”

He looked pissed now—but also like he knew I deserved an explanation. It was all over his face. Defensive, but cornered.

“That? All of that was out of fear. Obviously. You have to understand—I love everything about my life right now. I’m just afraid I could lose it all. That I’m not strong enough to be perfect twenty-four seven. I was being open. I thought you’d understand. I didn’t think you were going to latch onto one sentence and turn it into me trying to dump you. Why does your mind do that?”

Oh, hell no! He is NOT trying to gaslight my ass!

“It didn’t sound like a mindless vent, Michael. It sounded like you were close to giving up. I know what I heard—and how you said it. You named me after Jen, for Christ’s sake.”

“Ok. Ok. I see. Um, again, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it other than everything just felt like too much. In that moment. Am I not allowed to have a panic attack? That’s not fair. You know how much dumb shit you’ve said to me before?”

Wooooow.

I could see this had the fuel to go back and forth for days. I’d just have to accept he was over-dramatizing and meant nothing of what he said. Talking it out to exhaustion might just prove his point. That he can’t handle me. Not while being on top of the world or however he’s visualizing it.

“Next time, I won’t vocalize it. Fuck.”

He got up and started rummaging through his drawers for something Christmas Eve–appropriate, his back to me.

I kept my head down. Wrapping.

To cut the tension in the room, you would have needed a nuclear weapon.

How badly could I injure myself if I were to jump for this window? Think I could walk it off?

Michael pushed the drawers shut and dropped his shoulders.

He tried the kneeling thing again—and this time got through it.

It was hard to look at him, but I tried.

“Come here,” he said, even though there was nowhere closer to go. Scissors down. Tape on the floor. He put his arms around me and pulled my head to his shoulder, his hands in my hair. I wasn’t over it. It felt like he was petting me. I couldn’t tell if this was an act of love, apology, or berating me.

“I wouldn’t give up on you. Ever.” He whispered.

After he said that, I became the sniffle machine. Apparently, that’s all I needed to hear. I still didn’t dare comment. I had no idea how things sounded coming out of my mouth anymore. Out of all our disagreements, things we’ve said, or argued about, this was the conversation I wanted erased from my memory.

The more I thought about it, the more it felt… stupid. Like repeating a word over and over until it stops sounding like anything. Just noise.

“I know we have shit to do…are we good?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay. Seriously, though?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said with a nod before he got up and walked to his closet, grabbing packages and bubble mailers. “I have to wrap some stuff too.”

I smiled. I was relieved to move forward. Really, I was.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

“Don’t—just forget it,” he said, laughing it off. “God, what’s on the list today?”

Oh, good. We’re talking about something else.

“First, we need a tree—”

“Oh, fuck. Duh.”

“Finish wrapping gifts. Clean the house. Prepare the ham… what else?”

“Alright. At 8 a.m., I’ll walk over to that place—Gardel’s—and grab a tree.”

Great! We sound like a couple again. Can you imagine the fresh hell I could’ve created if I’d snooped through his phone? I’m proud of myself for not taking it that far. Still, I wish I weren’t so psychotic. So paranoid.

Breathe.

The moment was missing something. Make-up sex perhaps?

He was so fixated on wrapping one particular gift that he didn’t see me coming. This was a surprise attack. One on which he didn’t fight back.

It was as passionate as it could be. I took the lead on most of it. After all, he still wasn’t feeling great.

He also didn’t stop me.

Could this count as part of his Christmas present?

I didn’t get him much. I mean, what do you get a person who already has almost everything?

We were on the hardwood floor, still glowing in that post-sex haze. Sweating. The room was stifling now. I got up and cracked one of the bedroom windows open, and immediately heard him snoring again. Huh?

So much for the hangover being over.

It was kind of ridiculous. Kind of adorable. Quite comical, really.

“Babe?” I nudged him.

“Hm?”

Did Michael just fall asleep? No, no, no. I need you awake.

“Michael,” I laughed, “seriously, get up. Go get that tree!”

He made a noise. I couldn’t make it out, but it sounded defiant.

He sat up and grabbed his phone to check the time. Then his eyes went wide. He looked petrified.

“What? What is it?” I asked.

“I have hundreds of notifications,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Is my screen blurry, or am I still fucked up?”

“Can I see?”

He didn’t hesitate to hand the phone over. What a contrast from last night, when he barely let go of it while looking up Lauren’s profile.

All the notifications were congratulatory. Emails and texts from friends, family, and management, everyone who had caught the Late Late Show appearance. I read some of them aloud. There were endless tags and reposts across his social media. Clips were already up everywhere, across David James’ platforms, the Late Late Show’s YouTube, and the band’s page. Just…everywhere.

Black Bloom’s first television appearance.

And with how well it was doing, it definitely wouldn’t be their last. Steve had texted a screenshot of the show’s ratings from last evening: Three million viewers!

I handed his phone back to him with care. He just held it in his lap, not really looking at it, still processing everything.

“Ah, this is crazy. I’m so proud of you,” I said, grabbing his face and squeezing it.

He stayed quiet. Swiping, reading, tapping. Double-checking I wasn’t misreading.

“I don’t even know what to say. Is this really happening right now?” he said, almost to himself.

It was kind of cute to see him speechless. His eyes were red and swollen, like he might cry again, only this time for a completely different reason.

He shook his head, snapping himself out of it. “Oh, my God. Okay. Shit.”

Time was ticking. It took longer than I would’ve liked for him to get up and get dressed. He was stuck in the moment, and I couldn’t really blame him.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

“Jesus. The group chat is lit right now—”

“Michael!” I called, scooping up gifts.

“Okay, okay.”

We carried as much as we could down the stairs into the living room. I started placing the presents carefully on the floor where I assumed the tree would go—

A figure to my right.

“Oh shit!” I screamed, dropping half of them.

Nonna.

Sitting at the dining room table.

Coffee in hand.

Just…sitting there.

Fuck! How long had she been there?

My stomach dropped.

She was down here the whole time? The whole time?

Oh my God. How embarrassing! Now I’m going to throw up.

My face went hot instantly.

“I—We… I’m so—” I started, already failing to land on a sentence.

“It’s okay,” she said casually from her seat. “I heard nothing.”

But it was so obvious she had.

That was worse. That was so much worse.

I didn’t know where to look. I was absolutely mortified.

I couldn’t be too mad, though. She had already gotten started on everything. The ham was out, ingredients lined up, the table halfway set. And there she was, just chilling.

But Michael didn’t even register it. Nonna’s comment, the implication, the whole thing just slid right past him. He was still riding the high, on cloud nine. No shame, no second thought, not a care in the world.

I was happy for him.

Almost jealous.

“Did you catch the show?” He asked her.

“I did! I’m so proud!” She said, getting up to hug him. Now we were all sort of crying. What a mess.

It was really sweet.

Michael then gently pulled away, noticing the table was already set for five people. “Nonna, please don’t go crazy. It’s just us today. Kind of,” Michael added.

Just us?

It’s not just us.

Michael didn’t think much of his parents flying in from Florida.

I did.

I was nervous as hell.

What were they going to think of me?

What were they going to ask?

Were they going to grill me with the same stupid questions Jennifer did? Examine me? Check boxes? Ask about Adam? God, please don’t.

Or judge? Does Michael even care what they think?

No.

He held some kind of grudge against them, and it made sense when I laid it all out. They were more embarrassed than helpful when he went through his divorce. They chose to move to Florida rather than stay and help while Michelle was still just a baby. Drowning in debt and living in almost squalid conditions, who stepped in at that time? Not them, but Lena.

It was all kind of baffling. Who chooses their own life over their son’s? I guess it’s not that uncommon. My grandparents both passed away when I was a baby. I never really knew what unconditional love looked like. Nonna has been the closest thing.

“I’m going to get that tree. Be back,” Michael shouted from the doorway.

Time to get moving, Andrea.

I picked up his coffee and brought it to the sink. It felt like such a waste to dump it. I looked out the kitchen window. It was dark out. Gloomy and wet. It should be depressing, no? But it wasn’t.

Behind me, Nonna snickered.

She’s not going to let me forget about this that quickly, is she?

“I know,” I said. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied, smiling, giving me a wink.

I didn’t know how to read that.

Was this supposed to be cute?

Because right now it just felt…mortifying.

She stared at me until we both broke into laughter.

Okay. So, yeah. It was cute. We were having our own little moment, and I loved it.

“Hey, Nonna.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Frank and Fran will like me?”

I know. Frank and Fran. Fran, short for Francesca. How Italian can you get?

“They are going to love you,” she said, leaning in and pinching my cheek like I was ten years old.

I hoped that was true.

Even if it wasn’t true, it was still nice to hear out loud.