Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

“What the hell, Jack?” I asked angrily. “I come all the way from New York City to spend Christmas with you and you blow me off to go to a party with three of your friends that you see 200 days of the year, if not more?!”

“You can come with, if you want,” my dumbass brother said nonchalantly.

“I don’t want to come! I want you to stay here and celebrate Christmas with me, your sister, who you see twice a year!”

“Here’s your choice: come with me or stay home alone. I’m not negotiating.”

I sighed heavily. “Fine! Fine, I’ll come with. Let me get ready.”

“I’m leaving in 20 minutes and if you’re not ready by then, I’m leaving.”

I grabbed a nice shirt and my makeup bag and hurried into the bathroom to get ready. My brother was such an asshole sometimes.

The “party” was actually really boring. It was at the lead singer in Jack’s band’s house, and the only people there were the people in the band and me. They were watching TV and drinking beer, and pretty much left me to my own devices.

I absentmindedly snacked for a few minutes before sending out a mass text asking for people to save me from boredom. When ten minutes had passed and I received no reply, I slipped away to wander around.

I went down the hallway and opened the first door on my right. It turned out to be Alex’s bedroom. I was pretty surprised at what I saw. It was messy, all guys’ rooms are, but it was cleaner than any other guys’ room that I’ve seen. His bed wasn’t buried under a load of crap, his dirty clothes were in one pile in the corner of the room, instead of covering every inch of floor space.

His bedside table was bare, save for a lamp, an alarm clock and a book. I walked over and picked it up. Bold letters spelled out 1984 by George Orwell, a book I had read as a sophomore in high school.

“Usually girls don’t get invited to my bedroom until the second date, but I’m okay with moving faster.”

I jumped and turned around quickly. Alex was standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face.

“You read? Orwell?”

“Um, no, that’s a friend’s. I was just adding my own commentary to it.”

“No, you weren’t. If you didn’t care about it, it’d be on the floor or a dresser, not by your bed.”

He looked out into the hallway before closing the door. “You know my reputation, right? Pervert, sex fiend, immature? That’s the foundation my musical career is built upon. If I lose that, I lose the girls, I lose the fans, I lose the fame, I lose the dream.”

Is it worth it?”

“Yeah, it is. There’s a certain amount of secrecy between anyone slightly famous and their fans. I have to dumb myself down, act like I did in high school. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s your life,” I said shrugging. “And you read stuff like Orwell?”

“Well, I’m really more into history than satire and end of the world shit. I found this book at a garage sale and it’s pretty good so far.”

“That’s cool. I liked it when I read it. Um…we should probably get going, the guys are probably wondering where you are. Sorry I snooped in your room.”

“Let the guys wonder where I am. I’ve spent 170 days on a tour bus with them in the past year. They can spend a few hours without me.”

“Well, can we at least move to the kitchen? Your reputation, my brother’s perverted mind, and us together in a bedroom does not make a very good combination.”

“Yeah, you’re right, that’s probably for the best.”

As we were walking towards the kitchen, Alex asked, “What are your plans for Christmas?”

“Well, I flew in this morning, and I’ll stay until the 26th. Then, I have to go back to work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an event planner. I’m actually planning a New Year’s party and I have to be back in New York for that.”

“Wow, that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, I guess. But it means I only have a few days here, so it sucks that Jack decided to come here and get shitfaced. We won’t have much of a Christmas tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I still feel bad. If I’d have known, I would have never had this party.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do now.”

He thought silently for a moment. “How about if I come over and celebrate with you guys?”

“What’s that going to do?”

“I only had one beer. You’ll have someone sober to celebrate Christmas with.”

I thought for a moment. “I only have Jack’s gift. I don’t have one for you.”

“I don’t have a gift for you either.”

“We didn’t even get a Christmas tree this year. There’ll be nothing to do.”

“Then why are you complaining? Sounds like a boring Christmas.”

I sighed. “It’s the tradition and spending time with your friends and family.”

“We can be friends.”

“Fine! You can come! Happy?”

“Very,” he said, his eyes crinkling in laughter.

We continued talking about Christmas traditions, our favorite holidays, and other random things. We ended up getting into a heated discussion about which 30 Seconds to Mars album was the best. I guess we were a little too loud, because Jack came into the kitchen to investigate.

“What are you doing with my sister?! Get away from her!” he slurred.

“Jack, we’re not doing anything,” I said, trying to calm him down.

“He’s a manwhore! He just wants to get in your pants!”

“No, he doesn’t. We’re just talking.”

“Come on, we’re leaving.”

“No, I don’t want to!” I protested.

He grabbed my arm and jerked me up. “We are leaving,” he said, dragging me out.

“Come over at ten pm,” I said, before Jack pulled me out of the kitchen. Alex nodded.

The next day, Jack locked himself in his room. He had a horrible, horrible hangover. It served him right.

I got dressed and ready. I didn’t know what Alex and I were going to do. There was nothing to do at Jack’s apartment. I suppose we could play video games…

I was interrupted from my thoughts when Alex knocked at the door.

“Hey,” I said, letting him in.

“Hey. I was thinking. Since you said there was nothing to do at your house, how about we go see a movie?”

“Sounds good.”

We went and saw Sherlock Holmes, which was amazing. Afterwards, we went to his house to get some lunch.

He was lingering by the door and I was a little confused until I looked up and saw mistletoe.

“Fine. But my brother was right. You are a manwhore.”

“No I’m not!” he protested.

I grabbed his neck and kissed him.

“It’s okay, I kind of like it.” I said, smirking.