Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)
Karissa Kinword
To everyone who loves a good Hallmark Christmas movie, but wishes they would just rip each other's clothes off already.
1
It was snowing in Colorado in December. Go figure.
I dragged the wheels of my hard-shelled suitcase out of the pile of slush the Uber driver had dropped it in carelessly, right before he left me in a puff of exhaust to fend for myself at the airline terminal.
I wouldn’t miss this.
No, for three weeks I would be ice and shit-stained snow free—I couldn't wait to trade the insulated boots for strappy sandals. I’d even strategically layered my clothing for the change in climate: T-shirt, zip-up, baggy old Avalanche sweatshirt I’d acquired from an ex-boyfriend, a beanie that could be easily stuffed into the pocket of my carry-on, and my least thick pair of black leggings. All of it ready to be removed at the touchdown on a tarmac.
The main concourse of the airport was busy with travelers coming and going for the holiday, and although Christmas was still two weeks away, it seemed like everyone had the same idea. Either getting the fuck out of the torrential cold they’d grown sick of in their home state, or flying directly into it to spend the weekend drunk off their asses skiing black diamonds at Mount Sweet.
Mud-coated floors squeaked with the sound of wet shoes as I skirted through security, trying to fit my three weeks’ worth of wires and technology in the same muted beige tray as my dirty shoes before walking awkwardly through the metal detectors. After struggling through security relatively unscathed, by ten a.m., I’d gussied up at the Gate 24B bar with a grapefruit mimosa just in time for my ten-thirty flight.
I was always early, or on time technically, because I thought that anyone arriving at the time expected was only one spilled cup of coffee or old lady at a crosswalk short of being late.
My life was organized, calculated, scheduled—down to the minute. Yoga on Tuesdays, coffee with mom on Thursdays, meal prep on Sunday afternoons. I left time for lesson plans after dinner and reading before bed, and I only washed my hair every third day if I didn’t have any dry shampoo. Existing was a series of checking off boxes in a color-coded planner.
A vacation to Florida was exactly what I needed. To reset and reinvigorate before January so that I could start the new year with a new outlook on life. Between work and my personal life, the last several years had been like ripping wax off a labia—which I’d done two days prior, by the way—and Christmas in Colorado just wasn’t the same as it used to be. Being the eldest, mostly forgotten, and more than a little chafed sibling had simmered my holiday cheer over time. I loved Christmas. Parts of me always would, and other parts were forever bitter with the way my childhood was torn metaphorically and literally in half.
My parents separated when I was a pre-teen. Mom got pregnant young, so it only made sense to get married young, both believing they were doing everything right for a newborn. Only for all that first-love sparkle to silently taper into a mutual agreement years later that Scott and Mae Brody weren’t right for each other. That when their dark-haired, owl-eyed Ophelia was born, they hadn’t even really grown up yet themselves.
They both remarried and had second families now, Mom and Josh in Banesboro with their two kids, and Dad and Amy in West Linn with my three other half-siblings. Holidays tinkered from a loving reconciliation of separated parents with their daughter, to trying to figure out who got “little Phee” for Christmas Eve/Day, and which Kings grocery store parking lot was the most convenient for the quick exchange of a child.
I loved my parents, I absolutely did. Although, maybe now I saw them more as the slightly older friends I grew up with. But at twenty-six I had a real job, a real apartment, real friends in Florida that invited me to stay with them for extended periods of time. There was no way in hell I was sharing a Christmas ham at the kiddie table with kids twelve years my junior. I did enough of that type of thing at my teaching job.
When I thought about it, I’d basically been a glorified babysitter for as long as I could remember.
Pulling my phone out of my sweatshirt pocket, I discreetly snapped a photo with the flute glass of champagne to my lips.
Ophelia: Ready to get my sunshine on, mimosa number one!!
Attaching the selfie to my text, I sent it to my contact Nat babyyyy accompanied by an embarrassing barrage of connecting emojis. I would change that eventually, but the silly wave of college nostalgia I felt every time Natalia’s name came across my screen was something I couldn’t bear to part with.
I met my best friend on our first day as freshman at Colorado State. Born and raised in Florida, she had never seen snow before, or mountains, or trees that sapped instead of swayed. She chose a school across the country despite her parents’ adamant insistence she attend an Ivy League, and made sure to take advantage of every recreational activity Colorado had to offer. We moved into our tiny dorm together, spent the entire first weekend getting denied at bars with her older sisters’ fake IDs that she swore always worked back home—and resorted to binge watching Friday Night Lights squeezed together on my twin-sized bed. Four years later we were still inseparable. Every memory I had of college started and ended in a doozy fog of Natalia Russo.
Nat babyyyy: Yes Phee! Starting early, love that for us
Ophelia: Technically I’m catching up because it’s two hours from now in Florida and time is precious
Nat babyyyy: Truer words have never been spoken
Ophelia: I still have like half an hour before my flight. Are you sure you don’t mind picking me up from the airport? I could grab an Uber no problem when I land
Nat babyyyy: Fuck that, I’ll be there at 3:30, we’re getting dinner and then going OUT. There’s a huge party tonight at Jugg, wait until you see the outfits I bought us
Ophelia: I hate you and love you at the same time
Nat babyyyy: You’re really gonna hate to love me later
Ophelia: Do I need to remind you that the holidays are a time for religious reflection and doing good deeds?
Nat babyyyy: Bacardi is my religion and I WILL be reflecting on it later
Ophelia: I haven’t even left Pine Ridge and I’m already worried my soul will be lost somewhere on Pompano Beach
Nat babyyyy: Hopefully your panties too
Ophelia: K!! Love you!! See you in four hours!!