Okay, not the whole I wanna ruin Christmas for everyone vibe, but it damn sure doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzies like it used to. Instead, every shop acts as a flashback to the countless hours spent searching for decorations, only to have Roman email me back with his discrepancies. So much wasted time I’ll never get back.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that while the guy is a tool, this is only temporary. Since I’ve finally taken the plunge and started sending off articles, it’s only a matter of time before something catches in the wind. Even if it takes a hundred more articles, I’m still trying.
Yeah, trying to escape.
II laugh to myself, hauling the few shopping bags over my shoulder as I enter St. Mary’s, and dump my depressing thoughts at the door. The low light, deep red brick, and flush of greenery are just a few of the things I adore about the quaint shop. As expected, the line is atrocious, wrapping around the front, but it doesn’t bother me. It means more time away from the office, spent surrounded by the smell of freshly baked goods, warm soup, and ambient music.
Scrolling through my email, I grin as I scan a report sent over by Johnathan in the contracts department. That man is a magician when it comes to the tight deadlines imposed on him, while somehow still having the time and energy to hike every weekend, volunteer at dog shelters, and knit at the senior center. A damn genie is what he is.
“That smile never fails to bring out my own.” A soft voice flows through the chatter of the restaurant as it nears me.
The tone winds through my tight muscles and relaxes them in a similar way to when you hear the theme song from your favorite childhood show. My smile grows as I peer up at the owner of the smooth voice.
Trenton Baker.
High school reading teacher, Lego extraordinaire, and owner of the sweetest cocker spaniel I’ve ever met. He also happens to be my ex.
We embrace in a platonic hug, and since he’s only a few inches taller than me, his wild blond strands tickle the shell of my ear.
I flinch at the intrusion, and he must feel it, because he giggles as he releases me. Yeah, he’s a giggler. And no, it’s not the reason we broke up. Nope, we broke up because of the man sitting at the top of a chrome building, who is the literal opposite of the guy standing in front of me.
Where Roman is tall, tan, and dominating, Trenton is short, pasty, and submissive—I mean, attentive . We were together three long years, one of which was before I joined B & R marketing. But the other two were while most of my life was spent in the office.
Working for Roman sucked up too much of my time, and soon I felt bad for the guy who was off on holidays and weekends, having to spend them alone on the couch. Don’t even get me started about his long summers. He always tried to tell me he didn’t care, or that he was grateful for the time we did spend together.
But the guilt was heavy. It wasn’t fair. And while he reminded me nearly daily that his hours were spent building with Legos and playing Dungeons and Dragons with friends, I couldn’t make him wait.
Was there also the tidbit when he said a makeup blog wouldn’t be wise because it isn’t a sustainable career? Yeah, there was that too, but mostly, I felt bad.
Plus, to solidify my decision even more, there was the fact that when I did cut the cord, he was more than happy to support the decision. Didn’t put up even an iota of a fight. But then again, that's Trenton. He’s complacent in nearly every aspect of life, including the bedroom. While I wanted something rough and commanding, he wanted cuddles and the lights turned off.
Nice guy. Just not the one for me.
“What has all your pearly whites showing today, Pressy?”
Ugh. I forgot to mention the cringy nickname. Isn’t it the worst? “Just looking at a report. The guy in charge of the department is pure magic. I wish I had his ability to plow through work.”
Trenton’s murky blue eyes narrow. “You still haven’t quite gotten your sea legs yet?”
“Not quite.” I ignore the way the comment feels condescending and makes my chest tight.
I know he doesn’t mean anything by it and it’s my serious insecurities speaking to what I’m already upset with myself about. Because it’s true, no matter how hard I try, or how much I delegate to the department managers, I’m always behind.
Clearing my throat, I shuffle forward with the slow-moving line. “So, how is everything?”
Trenton beams, scratching his scruffy five o’ clock fuzz as he delves into the past year. During the next twenty minutes we wait to order, I learn about his latest batch of students, the after-school club he’s started, and the sweet baker he’s recently started dating.
“How are you?” he finally asks, paying the cashier for his lunch.
I shrug, ignoring the burn radiating behind my eyes. Nothing has happened in the three hundred and sixty five days since the last time I saw him. Nothing he’ll be proud to hear, anyway. “Ah, you know. Just working. Learning a lot from Charlotte.”
“That’s great to hear. Did you finally give up on the makeup thing? I see you toned it down quite a bit. You look great.”
Even the nice guys can be total assholes.
I open my mouth to tell him that this toned-down look took thirty minutes and four different palettes to find the perfect neutral shade, but the ping of my phone stops me. I hold a hand to put a pause in conversation, but Trenton kisses my cheek and takes his lunch from the counter.
“Duty calls, I know. But it was nice seeing you, Pressy. Take care of yourself.”
A huff works its way from my nose as I nod, then grab my own bag from the counter. After stopping at the condiment station and filling the sack with napkins, I look at my phone.
Asshat: Coffee from Winfey’s instead. And also, change the tomato to chili.
Where’s that damn reindeer?
Finally in the back seat of a taxi, covered in bags of holiday decorations, holding crinkly dry cleaning, lukewarm lunch, and a piping hot coffee, I melt into the stiff seats. I don’t bother untangling myself, knowing it will be more of a hassle to gather everything back up when we arrive in a few short miles.
The snow is coming down much harder now sticking to the benches, and roads that it was melting from earlier.
This type of weather was a foreign concept to me before moving to New York. I grew up in the south of Texas where it was something of an anomaly. And when we did experience it, it was more like shaved ice, rather than anything soft you could actually play in.
I remember one year when my mother tried to make a snowman, and he looked like one of those freaky ones from Doctor Who. Even though it gave me nightmares for a week, I cherished it because my mom made it.
I was something like a surprise, or miracle baby , as she used to say. I was born when they were older, so I wasn’t an expected addition. My mom was forty-five, and my dad was sixty. They were great. Awe-inspiring. Fantastic. The perfect parents with the ideal marriage. Everything about them made my heart swoon, and even during fights, they still fought with love.