My father leaned in and kissed my cheek as the tears poured down my face.
“Because he was hooked up to the account, the police say the money is legally his. I could challenge it and take it to court, but with what money? I lost my job, Mom. That stupid hiccup I had to fix cost me my job.”
“They fired you over that?” my father asked.
“Yes. Me and the writer that posted the story. I missed rent because of it, so my landlord evicted me.”
“Honey, how in the world did you get home?” my father asked. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“I had to pawn the Christmas gifts I bought. I had to sell things to pay off my credit card and get the plane ticket home. I don’t have anything. Not a damn thing to my name.”
I laid my head onto my father’s shoulder while my mother cried along with me. I could feel him trembling with anger as his arm hooked around my body, pulling myself and my chair closer to him. I sobbed so hard I was hiccuping for breath. I snotted all over his shirt as tears drenched his neck. This was the worst fucking Christmas ever, and I was just so glad to be home.
“What am I going to do?” I asked breathlessly.
“Colin Murphy mentioned something about an offer,” my mother said. “What was he talking about?”
“He offered me a job as his publicist,” I said, sniffling.
“That’s wonderful,” my father said. “That solves one problem.”
“I don’t know if I’m gonna take it,” I said as I sat up.
“Why not, honey?” my mother asked.
“I don’t want it to be a charity job,” I said. “I want to earn something like that. He only offered me the job after I told him about everything that was going on in my life.”
“Wait, that man knows what’s going on with you?” my father asked.
“It was a very interesting road trip,” I said.
“Well, tell us about it,” my mother said. “Jack, get yourself some hot chocolate.”
“A job’s a job, sweetheart,” my father said. “Just think about it. Like he said.”
“I wanna hear more about this road trip you took,” my mother said.
“Well, he’s a Grinch. That’s for sure.”
“Oh, I bet that was painful for you,” my father said.
“It really was,” I said. “He hates the holidays. For a good reason, but it just blew my mind that someone actually hates Christmas.”
“Well, that kind of outlook isn’t tolerated here,” my mother said, grinning.
“I think I had him coming around to the idea,” I said. “I got him to tell me about his perfect Christmas.”
“See?” my father asked. “The man likes Christmas. Maybe he just doesn’t have anyone to spend it with.”
“I’m glad you said something about that because I may or may not have invited him to come spend it with us.”
“Well, hopefully he shows up,” my mother said. “We could use a little dose of handsome around here.”
“I take offense to that,” my father said.
“Mom, play nice,” I said.
“How did the hotel stay go?” my mother asked. “Were you somewhere nice?”
“Oh, no. Not even close. We got snowed-in outside of this little town where there was nothing but a cheap motel. You know, one of those places that’s used by more than simply travelers.”
“That was the only kind of place available?” my father asked.
“It was, and there was only one bedroom available,” I said. “It was a very interesting night.”
“He treated you with respect, right?” my father asked.
I could see his stern glare, but his question ripped me back to last night. How he warmed me with his lips and how his body rocked perfectly into mine. How his stone-cold expressions were twisted into salacious pleasure. Where his bright blue eyes had darkened with lust and mystery as we chased our endless pleasures. I had to fight back the shiver running up my spine as I sat in front of my parents, their eyes on me as I gathered my thoughts.
“He was more than respectful,” I said. “I promise. In fact, he was really good at taking care of me. He paid for food and for the hotel and for the car repairs without ever once getting angry that I couldn’t contribute financially.”
“Good,” my father said. “Wait… car repairs?”
“Oh, yeah. When we first drove into the storm, we got a flat tire on the side of the road. And get this, Dad. He even got out and fixed it.”
“Good,” he said. “Boys these days don’t know how to do a damn thing because they think technology will do everything for them. Nice to know some men still know how to take care of basic things.”
“How was the rest of the drive here this morning?” my mom asked.
“It was actually nice. We talked. He opened up a bit, so I opened up in response to his opening up. It’s how he knows what’s going on with me.”
“I bet he had to drag it out of you,” my father said. “You’ve always been crap when it comes to talking about yourself.”
“Semantics,” I said. “The point is, he wasn’t nearly as unbearable as the first leg of the drive. He wouldn’t even let me sing Christmas carols the first leg of it!”
“Honey, no one will let you sing Christmas carols if they can help it,” my mother said.
“I resent that comment.”
I felt my dismay and my hopelessness quickly melting away. I sat at the table with my parents and sipped the hot chocolate, answering their questions and filling them in a bit more on the things that had happened to me. I told them that I wasn’t sure if I’d ever go back to San Diego and
