KRYSTAL
“Bitch, you’re bitter,” Raegan’s voice trilled as I slide the zipper of my carry-on closed.
“Yeah, well…that’s what happens when what you thought was sweet turns out to be sour. I have a right to feel the way I do, Rae,” I sigh, staring blankly at the suitcase.
“Of course you do, but,” she pauses, exhaling for an uncomfortable minute. Resigned, she finally proceeds, swallowing what she really wanted to say to protect my feelings. “I’m just worried about you, sis.”
More than anything else, I hate the person I become around this time of year. What used to be my favorite holiday is now an ironic reminder of the day my man of nearly ten years left me for another woman. This year marks the two-year anniversary of the occasion.
Christmas, specifically, was our holiday. We were the couple to know during this time of year. Ugly Christmas Sweater parties, Friendsmas, and Secret Santa dinners were all hosted by us. We kept the spirit of the season alive when most of our friends had grown out of the childlike wonder inspired only by this time of year. What I miss the most was the toy drive we began five years in. With no children of our own, we wanted to give back to the ones in the neighborhood. I miss the way they used to smile up at us, teeth too big for their childish mouths filling them from corner to corner. Warmth used to bloom in my chest when they’d call us Mr. and Mrs., despite the missing ring on my finger.
I stare out the small bedroom window of my Harlem apartment. Christmas in New York is not the way it’s portrayed in the movies. The cold grey skies mirror the drab concrete and old roads. For most people in this economy, every day is just like the last. Christmas is just the name of the day, nothing more, nothing less. Without a family to keep the flavor of the season alive, it dies. I’d rather it remain that way — dead, that is.
“Krys, you still there?” Rae’s voice brings me back to the present, back to the brochure nestled between my fingertips.
I sigh. “I don’t know Rae. This feels like a bad idea.” I flip the brochure open, taking in the picturesque cottage, nestled in Virginian hills and covered with snow that glistens under the sharp rays of the sun.
The Crescent Bay Christmas Countdown. Hosted by Emerson Bed & Breakfast.
My eyes drift over the itinerary for the twelve-day retreat, glazing over when I get to the end. Despite everything, I miss having someone to share my favorite holiday with. Each of these activities is right up my alley, but I can’t help the nagging feeling that I’d rather do them with someone else.
“You need this,” Rae stresses.
My stomach twists with guilt as I consider how thoughtful a gift this was. God knows how much this cost her, and with a family of her own to plan for, and because I insist on spending the time isolated from everyone I know and love, she’s making sure that if I’m alone, I’m alone in the most quintessential, Christmas, Whoville-ass town.
“I need my crazy Christmas bitch back,” she adds.
I smile.
Just then, my phone vibrates with a notification instructing me to leave now if I want to catch my flight. An unexpected rush of excitement hits me as I breeze over the brochure one last time before sticking it in my coat pocket and grabbing the handle of my suitcase.
“Okay,” I chuckle, “I gotta get going.”
“Let me know when you get there. Take pictures of everything. I’m living vicariously through you.” She says, determination lining her voice.
“Yes ma’am. Love you, bye.”
“Love you, bye.”
I wheel the small luggage out the door, hoisting my purse over my shoulder as I lock it behind me. A tiny drop of hope ripples through my heart. Maybe this is the first step in getting Christmas back. All I needed was someone to hook me up with a hot wire, to remind me that Christmas is what I make of it, and no one — not even a trifling ass man — can take it from me.
__________
There’s a small crowd of people hovering next to a shuttle with the Emerson Bed and Breakfast logo plastered on the side. I walk over to the strapping man, tall and dark with a smile that’s disarming but distant.
“Name?” He says.
The lack of a greeting stuns me. I was expecting a bit more of a warm welcome. “Krystal Evergreen,” I say when he lifts an expectant eyebrow at me.
“Don’t mind him.”
I turn to face a gorgeous woman, maybe an inch shorter than my five-foot-eight, with wine colored hair and skin that seems to be forever sun-kissed, even in Crescent Bay’s fifty-degree weather. “I’m Gayle Emerson, this is Jiraiya. We operate the bed and breakfast. I think you’re the last person that we were waiting for. Krystal, right?” She smiles and, in an instant, I feel at home.
“The one and only,” I smile back.
Her face warms, her eyes crinkling at the sides as her smile grows wider. She climbs into the open doorway of the shuttle, clearing her voice before projecting it over the crowd. “Attention, everyone,” she says, commanding everyone’s attention with impressive ease. I like her. All my nervous energy slips away on the icy wind, faith that this is going to be the best Christmas in years taking its place.
“First, thank you all for being here. This is our first multi-day event, and we have a schedule that’s jam-packed with activities we’re sure you’ll love. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be catered each day by yours truly,” she adds a flair, the crowd giggles, and I feel the first embers of Christmas spirit coming to life inside my chest.
She continues, “You’ll get to feast on Mary’s iconic cooking every day. We have one main activity planned each day, as well as a list of things to do around town if you feel so obliged. Crescent Bay is a charming little town that goes all in for Christmas so we encourage you to explore on your own and support the local community.” She spins, retrieving a stack of flyers, each detailing the locally owned businesses and activities to do around town.”
Once each person has a pamphlet, she presses her palms together, her eyes glistening like she’s just as excited for all this as we are. “Everyone ready to count down to Christmas?” she asks. The crowd hums bashfully. She takes a deep breath, yelling this time. “I said, is everyone ready for the Crescent Bay Christmas Countdown?”
A few of the folks respond with cheers and claps, the rest of us just shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, ducking our eyes with embarrassment as curious onlookers set their attention to our small group.
She winks. “We’ll work on it.”
One by one, we crawl into the shuttle behind her, settling into our seats.
I didn’t notice it at first, but as we make our way to our home for the next week and a half, I realize that everyone else is speaking in hushed voices among themselves. Peeling my gaze away from the frosty window, my gaze bounces from him and her, him and her…him and him, then — oh my God.
Everyone else here is coupled up.
My fingers fly across my phone’s keyboard as I type the burning question to Rae, ignoring her previous message asking if I landed safely.
Me: Please tell me you did not sign me up for a couple’s trip
Grey bubbles appear, disappear, then reappear in rapid succession. My leg begins to vibrate on the leather seat.
Rae: It might have said something about being great for couples on the website.
That’s probably as close to a confession as I’ll get from her. I swipe over to the Emerson Bed and Breakfast website and click on the pop-up that leads to a web page advertising the retreat. The couple’s retreat.
I sink deeper into my seat, wishing it would swallow me up and spit me back into my lonely apartment. With a shaky hand, I dial her number, pressing the phone too tightly against my ear and whispering when she finally picks up.
“Why would you do this to me?” I inquire.
“Before you freak out…”
“No, no, tell me — why would you, knowing how sore of a time this is for me, send me somewhere I’d be surrounded by people disgustingly in love, spending the holiday together?” I press.
“When you put it like that,” she mumbles.
“Raegan Smith, this is not funny.”
“Okay! Okay,” she says, her voice becoming serious. “It says it’s a couple’s retreat but it also says singles are welcome. I thought, maybe, it’d be a good chance for you to meet someone new. Have some holiday fun.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I say, huddling closer to the window when the bright-eyed woman flinches next to me.
“I need you to get laid, diddle that skittle or something,” she explains, exasperated.
“I hate you so much right now,” I moan, leaning my forehead against the cold glass. If I look past my reflection, I can see the rolling hills, frosted evergreens, and clear blue sky as we drive past. This town is really a little winter wonderland. If only I didn’t have to spend the next twelve days surrounded by constant reminders of how alone I am.
I sigh, sitting back and staring forward. Jiraiya reaches over, taking Gayle’s delicate fingers tenderly in his palm, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. I close my eyes, swallow against the bitterness forming on the back of my tongue.
“I gotta go,” I offer.
“Krys,” she responds, hearing the shortness in my tone.
Before she can say anything else, I end the call.
Once we arrive at the B&B, we tour the premises and get assigned rooms. Apparently, rooms that usually house two double beds have been converted into premium suites for the time being. Despite being the only single person here, when one of the employees hands me a handmade ceramic mug, filled with steaming hot chocolate and topped with a toasted marshmallow, the echoes of the excitement I felt before rumble through me.
The entire place is flanked in decor, framed with twinkling garland, and gilded in sparkling ornaments that resemble icicles and snowflakes. My eyes roam through the room as I gratefully sip on my beverage.
“We went with a white Christmas theme,” Gayle’s voice startles me. I didn’t even feel her presence next to me.
“It’s beautiful, you guys did a great job.”
“First time in Crescent Bay?” She asks.
“Yeah, it is,” I answer.
Her eyes shine with a knowing haze, as if she can sense the loneliness I’ve masked behind my indifference, lip gloss, and blonde sew-in. I might be alone, but I’ll be drop-dead gorgeous while I’m at it.
“This town has a way of making even the coldest days feel warm. I hope you enjoy your stay,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking off with a purpose.
I return the heavy mug to my lips, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows and through the screened-in porch to the snow-covered backyard and the setting sun. Being here alone is better than being alone in my apartment, at least.
I add my empty mug to a tray with the others, ready to head to my room and get undressed for the night. Before I knew I was doing this, I had planned to watch a Christmas movie every night until Christmas. I still have them all downloaded to my laptop, and the thought of cozying up in that thick terry robe, under those plush sheets, in this cottage ripped straight out of a fairy tale ignites a giddy anticipation inside me.
As I enter the living area, someone walks through the door.
The curls on his head are short, only long enough so they just begin to curl. His skin is deep, the color of cocoa before you add any milk or sugar — and smooth and soft, like velvet. His eyes are inviting as he shakes Gayle’s hand.
“Sorry, I-I missed my flight earlier,” he chuckles. The sound of his voice is unexpected. Sonorous and throaty, but gentle and kind.
“I’m here for the Christmas Countdown?”
She playfully slaps Jiraiya’s shoulder. “See, I told you I wasn’t tripping. I knew we were missing someone.”
I pretend not to watch them out of the corner of my eyes as I make my way to my room, the key to the door held tight between my fingers. “Are you Nicholas Saint?” Gayle asks.
“In the flesh,” he muses.
She laughs. “Did your parents do that on purpose?”
“Do what on purpose?” He responds.
The energy between them shifts.
“You know,” Gayle hums, “Saint Nick? Nicholas Saint?”
He doesn’t reply, just stares at the two of them with a straight face.
“Oh my goodness,” Gayle chuckles, all her confidence wooshing out of her with the deep breath she expels. A feat I would have thought impossible. “I’m sorry I—”
“I’m just messing with you,” Nicholas smiles at them briefly before the three of them dissolve into a fit of laughter so rich it seems to shake the whole house. “Yeah, no, I’m a Christmas baby. My parents definitely did that on purpose,” he finally says.
A reluctant smile tugs on my lips.
I owe Raegan an apology. I think this is exactly what I needed.
With hands more sure of themselves, I insert my room key into the door and twist.