Home for the Holidays
I put the last of my clothes into my suitcase, and turn back to the armchair with a sigh. It’s decision time. The reindeer, or the champagne? I can’t fit both of them in, and my flight is tomorrow.
It’s not as easy a choice as you might think. Whichever I don’t take is going to have to stay here. And someone is going to find it (someone who wandered in and out of this room long before it became the spare room, back when it was really mine, and going through my stuff), and then they’ll be hurt that I didn’t take it. Whichever ‘it’ is.
The champagne seems like the obvious choice. Except it’s from the local super-saver mart, and it’s own-brand. I do have some filthy windows in my apartment and it would probably bring them up a treat.
Then there’s the reindeer. Very cute, very cuddly- which is exactly what my sister said last year when I gave it to her. She has a memory like a sieve, so I know she wasn’t intentionally being mean. At least, I hope so.
I sit down on the bed, staring at the two, and it’s at this moment I hear the buzzing of my phone on the bedside table.
“Look, I’m sorry about Christmas Eve. It was just a surprise, seeing you back and… well, do you want to go somewhere and get a bit drunk, and talk about our feelings?”
“You,” I say, suddenly smiling, “are a God-send.”
I even get to sleep on the plane.