I’m never failed to be amazed by the Christmas decorations in Salt
Lake. Although, each year, I feel like they get more and more extravagant. The girls and I like to keep our decorations simple with a small silver tree and decorations to match while the other apartments in our complex do the same. The second we venture out of our part of town; the houses get more glamorous. This year I’ve seen one house transformed into a giant present and one house with Christmas trees almost bigger than the one in Rockefeller.
When I walk up to Miles’ truck, he’s blasting Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs. I laugh as I open the door and slide in, watching him with adoration. I know I almost slipped up the other night after my performance, when I held his face. Physical touch has always been my love language and it felt like the best way to show my gratitude.
I couldn’t bring myself to say it then, but I am so grateful for him. He sat with me for what felt like hours after the show when I waited for my mom to show up.
He still brought me home and ate dinner with me after he saw how bratty I was acting with her. I’m not proud of it but I was really pissed about her missing the end of my performance. She tends to have that nasty effect on me. I am glad that she’s letting us go to Palm Springs though, I was lucky that I didn’t tell her about Austin.
I do need the break. I know she wanted me to do it after the performance but after everything, I didn’t have the energy to. She’s going to have to wait.
“Merry Christmas, my love,” he drawls as if he has only just noticed I got in the car. I turn down the music and frown at him.
“Hey, what happened to Wrenny Rainbow? It was starting to grow on me,” I groan. He laughs as looks at me and then back at the road. Then he gives me another glance.
“You look hot,” he says without missing a beat. I give him an unimpressed look.
“Do you have to say that every time?”
“Yes. You need to get used to it,” he replies with a smug grin. I ignore him.
“You could have told me to dress down,” I say gesturing to his jeans and thick jumper. I put on a short red skater dress and black boots, with a long black puffer coat to keep warm, assuming this would be more of a formal thing.
“What part of ‘you look hot’ don’t you get? If you look better than me, they’ll know that you care, and they’ll focus on you instead of me.”
“I don’t want them to focus on me,” I moan, sulking back in my seat.
“You could be wearing a garbage bag and you’d still be the most gorgeous woman in the room, Wren.” He looks at me intensely when he says it, his eyes taking another sweep of my outfit. I’m telling you; this man has no filter. I hold up the bag that I brought in my hand. “I got your mom a necklace and I couldn’t find anything for Clara or your dad but I’m sure-”
“It’s fine,” Miles cuts me off. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do any of that but I’m sure my mom will appreciate it.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, turning to him while he drives. “I didn’t even ask if she prefers gold or silver. What if-”
He stops the car abruptly and he’s lucky we’re in the middle of an empty estate. He turns to me with a serious expression. “Amelia Wren Hackerly. Stop worrying for five minutes and just live in the moment. Can you do that for me?”
I stick my tongue in my cheek at his sudden seriousness. “I can try.” “Good,” he replies sternly.
“Fine,” I say back. “Great.” “Perfect.”
He holds my stare for a few beats before he smiles and turns back to driving. I pick up Miles’ phone from the holder and look through his playlists, trying to put some decent music on. I find one called ‘Songs for Wrenny,’ and I laugh.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking through it.
“Can’t really see when I’m driving, baby,” he says through a smile.
“Hey, rule number three still stands. Cut out the ‘baby’ stuff,” I warn and he nods. “There’s a playlist called ‘Songs for Wrenny.'”
He laughs a little, glancing to me and then back to the road. “You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”
“I mean, it says the songs are for me. Why can’t I look at it?”
“They weren’t meant to for you. More like, songs that you like and songs that remind me of you,” he says and my cheeks inflame with happiness.
“No one has ever made me a playlist before,” I say.
He snorts. “What did I just say? I didn’t make it for you. It’s more of a present for myself.”
“Whatever makes you sleep at night, Davis,” I say, laughing as I scroll through it. “Can you tell me which one is your favourite that reminds you how amazing I am?”
“The Taylor Swift one. Christmas Tree Farm,” he says immediately. “That was quick.”
He shrugs. “I add to it a lot,” he replies. “Put it on. I wanna hear you sing it.”
“I can’t sing, Miles,” I say, shaking my head. He snatches the phone from me and puts the song on with one hand.
“And neither can I.”
When the first verse plays, he doesn’t shock me when he starts to sing terribly. He nudges me when the chorus starts and I can’t help but joining in on one of my favourite songs. We’re both singing together awfully, laughing
between lines as we drive to Miles’ hometown. He makes me feel ridiculous in the best way and I love this side of myself.
I see Miles grow more skittish as we get closer to his house. Even when we’re pulled up outside, he doesn’t try to get out the car. Instead, he taps his hands on the steering wheel, staring at the other houses on the block. I put my hand on his.
“If you don’t want to go, we can drive away and never look back,” I suggest with a smile. He shakes his head with a weak laugh. “How about this? If you feel irritated, angry, or upset just squeeze my hand and I’ll squeeze back. That way you’ll know that I’m here. I’m going to be here, Miles.”
He nods and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. We keep our hands together as we walk up the gravel of his childhood home. It’s a small bungalow in a quiet suburb in Fruit Heights. It’s the kind of house you drive by, knowing a happy family lives here. The house is a gorgeous dark brown colour, and the lawn is covered in light snow. It feels cosy. Safe.
He knocks on the door twice before it opens. Miles’ dad is a tall, light skinned man with kind features. He looks a lot less intimidating than the pictures he showed me on the way over. He’s at least five heads taller than Miles’ mom, a breath-taking woman with dark brown locks flowing long past her shoulders.
“Merry Christmas, you two,” Miles’ dad says as if we met before, with a huge smile on his face. He pats Miles on the shoulder and nods at me with a smile. “I’m Ben.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Wren,” his mom exclaims, smiling at me.
Miles’ hand tightens around me, and I squeeze back. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr and Mrs Davis.”
“Oh, just call us Portia and Ben. We don’t mind. There’s no need for the formalities.” She turns to Miles who has been avoiding eye contact with her. “Miles, love. It’s good to see you.”
He grunts something in response not saying anything other than, “Wren got you a present.”
I shoot him a look, knowing that he’s trying to avoid talking to his mom while throwing me under the bus. I clear my throat as his mom smiles at me. “It’s only something small,” I say, handing her the gift bag.
She beams at me, her mouth forming the same dimples as Miles. “Oh, that’s so thoughtful. Thank you, Wren.”
Im about to respond but before I do, a tall, curly haired woman – I’m assuming is Clara – comes around the corner in a pink tracksuit. Maybe I am too dressed up. Her face lights up when she sees us. She pushes past her parents and pulls Miles into a hug.
“I didn’t think you’d show up,” she says through a grin when she pulls apart from him. He shrugs and looks over at me, his faces a deep red. “Wren! I’ve heard a lot about you. I didn’t know you’d be as pretty as he said.”
I blush and I’m about to speak before Miles’s mom interjects, saving me for what would have been an awkward thank you. “Why don’t you take off your outdoor clothes and come into the kitchen with us girls?”
Everyone else slips away into whatever corners of the house they need to be in. I start to unzip my coat, but Miles stops me, zipping it down for me. I watch him work slowly at the zip at my front, his eyes focused on me. It’s the kind of intimacy we haven’t acknowledged since the kiss. He comes behind me and pulls on the sleeves.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, almost laughing at this gesture. “I want to.”
He hangs up my coat with the others and I get a peak of some of the baby pictures hung on the wall. I start to walk in the direction as Clara and Portia before Miles’ hand grabs mine. I turn to him.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask. He nods and shrugs at the same time.
“Are you going to be okay in there?” He motions to the direction of the kitchen, and I smile. “Call me if you need saving.”
I start to turn in the direction of the kitchen, but he holds onto my hand until the last second, until my arm is almost ripped out of my socket. This whole time, I’ve been worrying about what’s going to happen with Miles instead of worrying about what’s going to happen if I’m left alone with his family. He gave me a small run down on the way over, but this is only the second time I’ve met any of my boyfriend’s parents.
The kitchen is small and intimate with cream stone features. Clara is sat on the counter, her legs swinging and her tall stature overcrowding the kitchen, while her mom chops vegetables on the other counter. Her head shoots us when she sees me.
“You and Miles seem very happy together,” she says, and it catches me off guard. “I can tell by that way he looks at you.”
I laugh nervously, not knowing how to go about this. “He’s a bit much sometimes but I’m glad you’re able to handle him,” Clara jokes as she jumps off the counter.
“If I’m honest, he wasn’t my cup of tea at first and I definitely made him work for it, but he’s grown on me,” I admit.
“Atta girl. It’s all about the chase,” Clara laughs. “Sometimes he needs to be dealt with that way, though. He thinks he can get what he wants without working for it.”
“Ay. Miles is a hard worker in some respects but sometimes his heart is a little misplaced,” his mom mentions.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, suddenly wanting to know more.
Miles’ mom sighs, pausing her vegetable cutting, looking of into the distance. “He loves a lot, and he loves hard. He always has and he always will. Sometimes, he can’t let go of things and he latches on. It consumes him.” She sighs. “I’m sure that is partly my fault.”
“Mom,” Clara presses, rolling her eyes as if they’ve had this conversation before. I stay quiet, letting the new information about Miles settle in.
“Enough talk about him,” Portia says, wafting her knife around. “You girls are going to have to help me dish out this food.”
*
Eating Christmas Eve dinner with Miles’ family was a lot less awkward than I thought it would be. Although Miles doesn’t talk to his
mom much, everyone else seems to be getting along great. Clara basically carries the table with her work horror stories.
She works on low budget film projects with her friends and enters them into festivals. You wouldn’t believe how many of her stories end with getting booked for a job, but it turns out to be some weirdos wanting to film a porno. Even with the inappropriate jokes she makes, neither one of her parents seem to bat an eye at the candour. If something like this was said around my mom, she would have slapped me silly.
“Oh my God, Miles, have you told Wren about Felicity?” Clara exclaims loudly when we’re eating dessert. Their parents have gone into the kitchen, leaving us to talk in the dining room.
“Oh, Clar, don’t,” Miles replies, shaking his head with a blush. I’ve never seen his face go so red before and it’s making my stomach crowd with butterflies.
“I have not heard about this. Who is Felicity?” I say, leaning on my hands at Clara. She takes a long swig of her wine before starting.
“She was Miles’s first crush. He was probably around five or six and there was this girl in his kindergarten class who he thought was cute. So, he came to me, asking for my help. And as the hopeless romantic tween I was, I suggested that he write a song for her. I think Miles should tell the rest of the story.” She gestures to him. He’s still shaking his head but now he’s laughing.
“Long story short, I sung her the song at recess, and she started crying.
Not out of happiness,” he admits, shoving his face into his hand.
“I must hear this song immediately,” I demand. I look over to Clara who is smiling wide, but Miles’ expression is serious. I nudge him with my knee and his face cracks.
“Felicity, will you be with me? Felicity, do you like cream cheese?
Felicity, your eyes are so pretty,” he opera sings at the top of his lungs.
I start hysterically laughing, tears springing to my eyes. I’ve always known he was a bad singer but Jesus. That poor girl who had to hear this at recess. I would have cried too. He takes a deep breath as if he’s about to continue.
“No, please stop,” I scream, and I cover his mouth with my hand. A devilish smile spreads across his face as he nips my hand with his teeth. I pull my hand away, shaking it out as I glare at him.
“I think he’s learnt a few moves since then if he’s managed to get you to date him,” Clara comments, tipping her glass towards me. I look up at him and he’s already looking at me. I hide the smile on my face my snuggling deeper into his side, letting myself pretend that this is real for two seconds. Which is easy because Miles is great to be around. He doesn’t expect anything of me. We just exist. “Do you want to know what he said when he first told me about you?”
“I’m genuinely frightened to find out,” I say.
I feel his warm hand slowly move from his thigh to mine, just beneath my dress. He squeezes it gently before leaving his hand there. I cross my legs, trapping his hand between my thighs on purpose and I hear him suck in a breath. I can feel the heat on my face, so I try not look at him.
“He mentioned you for the first time and I was asked who you were.
Then he said, ‘she’s my girlfriend but she’s everything.”
I can feel my heart racing as soon as the words leave her mouth. Everything. Why does everything he pretends to say make my heart swell? I can feel the tears prickling at my eyes, but I blink them back and turn to him.
“He said that?” I ask Clara while still looking at him.
I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He looks at me passionately, as if we’re suddenly existing outside of time. As if there is no one else in this room but us.
“I did,” he murmurs.
*
When Miles takes me home, we wait in the car when we’re parked outside my apartment. I don’t feel like going in just yet and I don’t know why. I know my girls are going to be waiting for me, ready to pester me with questions the second I get in there.
Instead, I turn to Miles in the car.
He’s taken off his jumper and he’s in a short-sleeved black top, his curly hair falling wildly on his forehead as he taps rhythmically onto the steering wheel, letting us sit in comfortable silence.
“You’re getting to good at this,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth almost accidently.
“At what?” he asks, slowly turning to me.
“The whole boyfriend thing,” I say, “Why is it that you weren’t dating anyone? Isn’t it supposed to be in your culture?”
He laughs, running a hand through his hair before pinning me with a look. “I’ve had one serious relationship: Emily. But you know about her. We just didn’t work out. We had different goals and we weren’t committed to make time for each other.”
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. “But it’s different with me?” “Yes, Wren. It’s different with you.”
My heart trips over itself. “Because we’re fake dating?” He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Do you think-” I begin but he cuts me off.
“I had a good time today,” he begins and I smile. “I know my family are a bit much to deal with but you made it bearable. Better.”
I don’t follow up what I was going to say. Because what was I going to say? I’ve had a good day with a nice boy who turns out to be more than what he lets on. That’s the only reason why I feel like I want to stay in the car and sing christmas songs with him forever.
“I had a good time too,” I say, breaking eye contact with him as I glance up a the apartment blocks. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that and the-” “Don’t make me regret taking this vacation, Milesy,” I reply, cutting of
his rambling.
“I would never compromise having so much alone time with you,” he replies with that smug smile of his and I slip out of the car.
